Slander by the stream will be heard by the frogs.
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Slander
The word is out -- heads are talkin
And just like a fire ragin wild in the night,
The rumors hot, the room is rockin,
Its out of control, too vicious to fight
Two lovers split -- a heart is shattered
And out of revenge it steals through the night,
Making sure the lies are scattered
To every border of this town tonight
The words on the street, you call it truth,
I call it slander,
Times are tough, talk is cheap --
Soon theyll talk about you --
Slander
The jury splits -- undecided,
Theyre searching for clues,
My live in their hands
The hour has come, they stand divided,
The future shall judge the good and the bad
And now, theres talk on the street --
I call it slander,
I will fight this somehow
Revenge will be sweet
Slander -- like a knife in my heart --
Slander
Slander -- gonna keep us apart --
Slander
Slander c theres talk on the street
Slander -- revenge will be sweet
Slander -- Im ready to fight
Slander -- I will find it tonight
Slander -- like a knife in my heart --
Slander
Slander -- gonna keep us apart
Slander
Slander -- theres talk on the street --
Slander -- revenge will be sweet
Slander -- too vicious to fight
Slander -- wild in the night
song performed by by Survivor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Scandal
She hastens out and scarcely pins her clothes
To hear the news and tell the news she knows;
She talks of sluts, marks each unmended gown,
Her self the dirtiest slut in all the town.
She stands with eager haste at slander's tale,
And drinks the news as drunkards drink their ale.
Excuse is ready at the biggest lie--
She only heard it and it passes bye.
The very cat looks up and knows her face
And hastens to the chair to get the place;
When once set down she never goes away,
Till tales are done and talk has nought to say.
She goes from house to house the village oer,
Her slander bothers everybody's door.
poem by John Clare
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Tadpoles swarm in the Graduate's Pond
He quitted the Socioeconomic further studies
And looked for a job.
His raving resume nobody accepts
And he decided to open a Tadpole farm
At the backyard isolated pond.
He breeds the Tadpoles
And when they become frogs
He sell them to the Scientists
They do research for various matters.
I heard the downright cry of dozy frogs
That's similar to Slaughter House screams!
It's really breathtaking
How the ridiculous educated Man turns to be a criminal?
I read the Encyclopedia and stumble in the Socioeconomic gap!
*How great a Simpleton among the Intellectuals?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Slander is more deadly than weapons; weapons wound from close range, slander hurts from a distance.
Stupid Looks
People are now heard saying,
What 'could' have been done...
When what 'should' have been done,
They did not do.
Ignoring what has been stated,
To have someone else appear as if crazed...
Delivers the opposite effect,
To eventually reveal...
Those who procrastinate standing,
With stupid looks on their faces.
People seem only quick to listen,
After and not before something to them happens.
And to those they have chosen to critique and slander,
They are 'always' proactive...
With their character assassinations.
Even when they have clearly victimized themselves.
People are now heard saying,
What 'could' have been done...
When what 'should' have been done,
They did not do.
And they seek to lay blame on someone else,
As if it is their tradition to not self examine.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I raised frogs every spring in our house from tadpoles and by end of summer our house was overrun with frogs.
quote by William Joyce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Slander
Slander has a sharper edge than a sword,
More venomous than venom in action,
More severe than cyclones in damage,
And penetrates through the impenetrable.
Victims of slander are often women,
Mostly mistresses of men in high ranks,
Maidens of all ranks and famous queens.
It sleeps with them in their graves to our delight.
28.02.2009
[Inspired by Shakespeare’s Cymbeline act III, iv]
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Though boys throw stones at frogs in sport, the frogs do not die in sport, but in earnest.
And I kissed a lot of frogs as well, but no, I kissed a lot of frogs and now I've found my prince.
quote by Joan Collins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grenouillage à Trois
Deep in the forest, on two logs
were perched two rather handsome frogs.
The logs were pretty close together
and served as shelters for the weather.
Now, on the smaller of the logs
was sitting, still, the bigger frog.
He looked across and had discovered
that on a tree a third frog hovered,
apparently intent to pounce!
He must have weighed a paltry ounce.
They say that from necessity
all frogs, no matter where they be
will act. So this one did pretend
for competition soon to end
that in the tree the frog was meat,
a moth or insect he would eat.
Thus ends the story of the frogs
on trees and on two fallen logs,
while after all they got together
and sheltered in their log from weather.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Do Not Give Poetry A Bad Name
The frogs should not have croaked a lot
when everyone is fast asleep
Aristophanes after all is right
These frogs should not live like the Clouds.
On the other hand
THe Philosophers should cling to being
Philosophers
Stay with the embrace of Reason and Not
Embrace the Strong Arms of Emotions
For Emotions belong to nothing but the
Realm of Poetry
aH! Lysistrata shall now wage her own
War against the Men
Claiming as she does
Her sole right to Eroticism
Honestly, i still love to hear the frogs croaking
In the Pond
I for the meantime loves to Keep
The Philosophers dwell in their Own
Cloud Point of view.
If Lysistrata obliges
One night with Her would be enough
After which, I shall work hard to
Give Poetry its Own Right Name.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Assault
I
I had forgotten how the frogs must sound
After a year of silence, else I think
I should not so have ventured forth alone
At dusk upon this unfrequented road.
II
I am waylaid by Beauty. Who will walk
Between me and the crying of the frogs?
Oh, savage Beauty, suffer me to pass,
That am a timid woman, on her way
From one house to another!
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Frogs in Love
The bogs are damp with almost too much rain -
By night, the frogs have returned once again,
For November; it is the time they mate,
But why O why our backyard populate?
Perhaps they feel it's romantic: the smoke,
The chill, the wet; relentlessly they croak!
Dear God! Why let the bogs with tall grass grow?
Or teach a colony of frogs to Love?
poem by Dinesh Sairam
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Birds in May
As (woo'd by May's delights) I have been borne
To take the kind air of a wistful morn
Near Tavy's voiceful stream (to whom I owe
More strains than from my pipe can ever flow),
Here have I heard a sweet bird never lin
To chide the river for his clam'rous din;
There seem'd another in his song to tell,
That what the fair stream did he liked well
And going further heard another too,
All varying still in what the others do
A little thence, a fourth with little pain
Conn'd all their lessons, and them sung again;
So numberless the songsters are that sing
In the sweet groves of the too-careless spring,
That I no sooner could the hearing lose
Of one of them, but straight another rose
And perching deftly on a quaking spray,
Nigh tir'd herself to make her hearer stay.
. . . . .
Shrill as a thrush upon a morn of May.
poem by William Browne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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One Thousand Frogs
One Thousand Frogs
one frog chants a mantra
to the silent moon
two frogs chant a mantra
to the merciful silent moon
ten frogs chant a mantra
to the bright merciful silent moon
one thousand frogs chant a mantra
to the large bright merciful silent moon
- Frog Mantra, Accents Publishing,2012 -
poem by Suchoon Mo_
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A Song (#1)
ON a summer's day as I sat by a stream,
A dainty maid came by,
And she blessed my sight like a rosy dream,
And left me there to sigh, to sigh,
And left me there to sigh, to sigh.
On another day as I sat by the stream,
This maiden paused a while,
Then I made me bold as I told my dream,
She heard it with a smile, a smile,
She heard it with a smile, a smile.
Oh, the months have fled and the autumn's red,
The maid no more goes by;
For my dream came true and the maid I wed,
And now no more I sigh, I sigh,
And now no more I sigh.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The frogs [Broaştele]
Up in my poplar moon lays down its nest,
And like a raven night begins to fly.
Its wings throw stars, but these don't get to rest,
They're sipped by frogs, which by the ponds do lie.
Because the frogs engulf such bits of night,
Then in the ponds they dive for having fun,
Stirring the water with their bellies white
In which so many stars melt one by one.
poem by Al. O. Teodoreanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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Minus
The last survivor of a boiled crap
Another casualty with the casual frown
The janitor vandals they bark in your face
Juveniles with the piles and paste
It's a sensation
A bankrupt corpse
In the garbage classes
With the crutches of frogs
Don't be confused when the fuse is up
And you're taking a leak into your brother's cup
When the cup is filled you can run and be killed
In the billion miles of the muscles that build
Radiation
Feeling the force
Karaoke
Vomiting morons
The scalps of zero hair on the call
Rubbing in a blind man's running mall
With the cancer sores and the robot pants
Throwing imbeciles on the window sills
It's a sensation
A bankrupt corpse
In the garbage classes
With the crutches of frogs
Frogs
song performed by by Beck from Odelay
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Oh So Ordinary
Oh so ordinary
is a hot summer night
when the whirl of a fan
is music in the dark
accompanying
croaking frogs
in the distance
oh so ordinary
is waking to a glowing
herald of break of day
and the frogs
now deep asleep
and quiet
oh so ordinary
an electric coffee pot
percolating
as a toilet is flushed
and a faucet lets go
cool morning water
oh so ordinary
a day goes by
in a rush
while someone
stacks oranges
and red apples
and peaches
and apricots
in perfect rows
oh so ordinary
that someone
pushes the wheelchairs
and lines them in
a large room
perfect rows
and there they sit
oh so ordinary
memories of
a seasick morning
on a day called D Day
and another of
a train station farewell
and that was that
he never returned
and another
of sawing two by fours
under a cloudless blue sky
in a backyard
of a tiny two bedroom house
in East L.A.
and another of
a wedding day in 1942
with just a week
before that train farewell
and I still feel the rice
a handful my brother threw
as if it were yesterday
and another of
peeling an orange
near a stream
in the mountains
in that beautiful place that
just right now
I don't seem
to recall
but I can still
taste
that orange.
poem by Bro. Bartleby
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