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A man is often a bad adviser to himself and a good adviser to another.
For My Dog Amber Who Died A Year Ago
Belly rub,
belly rub,
begs my dog.
Gonna catch that freesby,
then bring it right back to you.
Belly rub,
belly rub,
begs my dog.
if you feed me steak, ill jump in
the pool.
Belly rub,
belly rub,
begs my dog.
if you let me sleep in your bed,
ill protect you from demons and
ghost.
poem by David Gerardino
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Belly rub
Belly rub,
belly rub,
begs my dog.
Gonna catch that freesby,
then bring it right back to you.
Belly rub,
belly rub,
begs my dog.
if you feed me steak, ill jump in
the pool.
Belly rub,
belly rub,
begs my dog.
if you let me sleep in your bed,
ill protect you from demons and
ghost.
poem by David Gerardino
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The eye looking at the sun will not need an adviser before it blinks.
When I Touch Your Belly
When I touch your belly tears of amazement run down my eyes.
I am so amazed that inside your womb a life lies.
A child that was created all from our love;
God, I can’t believe that in a few weeks you’ll give birth to our miracle of love.
When I touch your belly with my ear;
I can’t believe the heart beat I hear.
It like a little drum beating a message to me;
In the sounds of the beat I swear our child is saying hi daddy.
When I touch your belly I caressing you as well as our child;
I’m caressing you to say thank you for carrying our child.
I could not have chosen a better mother then you.
These are all the things I’m saying when I touch your belly.
The hungry belly and the full belly do not walk the same road.
Night is the secret adviser of the day.
aphorism by Paul Louis Lampert
Submitted by Simona Enache
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An empty stomach is not a good political adviser.
quote by Albert Einstein
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Till age six, your son is your master; until ten he's your servant; until sixteen, a wonderful adviser; from then on, he's either your friend or your enemy.
I met a hustler at a dinner party. He had been invited because I was looking for an adviser to help me with the street scenes. So we put him on the film.
quote by John Schlesinger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Phone Call
The eleven digit number, I very carefully dial,
Hoping that my query, will only take a while.
I am greeted by a cheery, automated voice:
To sit and listen, I don’t have much choice.
The speaker, I admit, sounds very polite,
But, I don’t require details of their website.
I really just wanted to find something out,
And, avoid all this, unnecessary, faffing about.
I’m given a list of options: one through to four.
Having chosen option ‘one’, I’m given six more.
The options, once again, to me, are explained.
Already, I’m starting to find this all, a real pain.
This time, I decide to go for option number two,
But, to a human adviser, I still can’t be put through.
Having dialled two, another list of options, I endure,
But this time, I will admit, there is one option fewer.
The final option on the list, is number five:
At last, I can talk to someone, who is alive!
But, by an automated voice, I am, then, told,
That, they are currently busy, so ‘please hold.’
By cheerful, piped music, I am initially greeted;
Once finished, it is, then, immediately repeated.
To the repeated musical strains, I sit and listen,
Still feeling very intent, on fulfilling my mission.
This is taking way much longer, than I first thought,
And, by now, my nerves are, ever so slightly, fraught.
The receiver, at the other end, is picked up, at long last.
Checking my watch, I see, ten minutes have now passed.
Of the answer to my question, the adviser isn’t too sure,
So I’m put back on ‘hold’, to the same music as before.
This is going to take ages, I’m now beginning to realise.
I’m quite impatient by now, and, annoyed, I roll my eyes.
The adviser apologises, and he thanks me for waiting.
This whole scenario, for me, is getting rather grating.
At last, my query is answered by someone,
And, twenty minutes later, I’m finally done.
poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No risk, no stress
As an adviser, as a selector,
As a judge and as a preacher
We enjoy the profession
As it involves no risk at all.
10.08.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Can be a servant
Don’t feel being a servant
In the family of your son
If it is for your belly
For you had been a servant
At your will to bring him up
With no return for your belly.
06.05.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Alabaster Cave ~ A Villanelle
Inside the belly of the whale
He left her to construct her fate
A conduct far beyond the pale
A darkness like the pit of hell
She slipped and tumbled upside down
Inside the belly of the whale
Skeletal hands with sharp toenails
That clung to alabaster walls
And onyx wing-beats flapped pell-mell
The mousy guano rained and fell
Laying eggs inside her hair
Inside the belly of the whale!
She looked to hide to no avail
He'd plowed ahead and left her there
A conduct far beyond the pale
No handholds, twas like reading Braille
He'd doused the green light lamp telltales
Inside the belly of the whale
A conduct far beyond the pale
poem by Sara Fielder
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Condoleezza Rice, the national security adviser, is right there... she's in town because her father was at Johnson Smith College... and she was delivering a speech there.
quote by Al Michaels
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Blue Bird...
THERE is a blue bird
nesting inside my belly
there are butterflies in
there too,
THERE is nothing that
comes out from my belly
there is nothing that
flutters in there
nothing flies away
there is nothing
that comes out from
my mouth
THERE is only a blue bird
in my belly
the butterflies do not
last
only the blue bird
yes
this blue bird
this silence
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Erotic Lullaby For Bedding, After Roethke
Belly belly the hard boiled egg.
I map out of a dream.
Love a long necked boy.
Dance lips! Leaves of legion.
Jelly, yard dog! Leap to June.
Suckle me, honey,
long necked, boney onion.
Why cry when peeled?
Count the rings of a tree,
the circles of a breath.
The nose is a love.
Press me, press me.
Iron me soft.
A breath leans,
nape of jeans falling.
Wedge me, wedge me.
Be an ax.
Clap me, trunk of calcium,
bone of need.
Sing, throat, puller of weeds,
secret coronations.
I day your arbor.
You arbor my seed,
belly belly
egg of sway.
Falter me,
long necked, naked boy.
Lather I'd rather thee.
All egg is joy.
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On Poverty..
How will the poor man raise his voice,
Without food in his belly?
He is willing to work,
But wishes he had the energy.
Like many things in this universe,
This cycle too has been reversed.
He will have to become someone,
So as to feed his belly.
He will have to ignore his hunger,
If food he wants to see.
poem by Sameer Daniel Gardner
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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