Related quotes
The Visiting Aunts
This is a memory from my childhood, when I was about Nine years old.
The visiting Aunts have come through the door,
They haven't been here for six months or more,
Their presence is such an incredible bore,
Well I think so!
The visiting Aunts are so out of date,
I soon noticed that when they came through the gate,
Their dresses date back to nineteen-o-eight,
Well I think so!
The visiting Aunts have kisses that smother,
With whiskery chins as one will discover,
Each one is just as bad as the other,
Well I think so!
The visiting Aunts look all around our place,
Tutting and waving their hands, so the lace
Which encircles their wrists shakes a pace,
Why don't they go!
The visiting Aunts are staying to tea,
They're both very fat and will eat more than me,
There'll be nothing left, just you wait and see,
I told you so!
The visiting Aunts they gossip away,
About this and that and 'not in our day',
They never will listen to what others say,
I really feel low!
The visiting Aunts say it's a disgrace,
The way I'm allowed to get dirt on my face,
And go running around with an undone shoelace,
Well, I can't tie a bow!
The visiting Aunts have had 'forty winks',
Mother had said they will go soon, she thinks,
They're both motionless like a couple of sphinx,
Why don't they go!
The visiting Aunts are off down the lane,
Thank goodness they've gone now, they're really a pain, .
I hope that they never visit again,
Please, days go slow!
poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Friendship increases in visiting friends, but in visiting them seldom.
quote by Francis Bacon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Myanmar - Air of Freedom
shackled without chains
again the chants of monks
again the chants of monks
aung san looks over to the hazy horizon
for days when she would breathe the air of freedom
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
It is like visiting one's funeral, like visiting loss in its purest and most monumental form, this wild darkness, which is not only unknown but which one cannot enter as oneself.
quote by Harold Brodkey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
How Low Can Traditions Sink?
Is he a hypocrite?
Another self righteous sleaze,
To be known to victimize boys...
With compelling sermons,
Preached from a pulpit.
Or...
Is he just another demon,
Philosophing life with hymns and scriptures.
And using standards long now ditched,
Into cesspools where the wicked become enriched.
And with a knowledge of this...
Give glorious performances as expected.
But when they leave people pleased,
They crawl back into their holes...
Where others like them remove their pretentions.
By disrobing from a slickness...
To do things discreet, down-low and unmentioned.
Is he a hypocrite?
Another self righteous sleaze,
To be known to victimize boys...
With compelling sermons,
Preached from a pulpit?
What do you think?
How low can traditions sink?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Between The Hammer & The Anvil
Storm warning
But there's no fear
Lies forming
The sacrament lays bare
The sinner
Will testify
They'll suffer
When sacrificed on high
The burning sermons purge their evil words
Between the hammer and the anvil
Force rises
False rituals
Baptises
The body and the soul
Our union
Their fall from grace
Confession (confess your sins)
Will seal them to their fate
The burning sermons will survive their curse
Between the hammer and the anvil
Transgression
They prey on grief
Our mission
To purify belief
This altar
Gives power and light
They'll falter
While we are shining bright
The burning sermons consecrate their sin
Between the hammer and the anvil
Storm warning
But there's no fear
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Between The Hammer And The Anvil
Storm warning
But there's no fear
Lies forming
The sacrament lays bare
The sinner
Will testify
They'll suffer
When sacrificed on high
The burning sermons purge their evil words
Between the Hammer and the Anvil
Force rises
False rituals
Baptises
The body and the soul
Our union
Their fall from grace
Confession (confess your sins)
Will seal them to their fate
The burning sermons will survive their curse
Between the Hammer and the Anvil
Transgression
They prey on grief
Our mission
To purify belief
This altar
Gives power and light
They'll falter
While we are shining bright
The burning sermons consecrate their sin
Between the Hammer and the Anvil
Storm warning
But there's no fear
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Give monks a wide berth, and as for priests just attend Mass.
Between The Hammer & The Anvil
Storm warning
But there's no fear
Lies forming
The sacrament lays bare
The sinner
Will testify
They'll suffer
When sacrificed on high
The burning sermons purge their evil words
Between the Hammer and the Anvil
Force rises
False rituals
Baptises
The body and the soul
Our union
Their fall from grace
Confession (confess your sins)
Will seal them to their fate
The burning sermons will survive their curse
Between the Hammer and the Anvil
Transgression
They prey on grief
Our mission
To purify belief
This altar
Gives power and light
They'll falter
While we are shining bright
The burning sermons consecrate their sin
Between the Hammer and the Anvil
Storm warning
But there's no fear
song performed by by Judas Priest from Painkiller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Between The Hammer The Anvil
Storm warning
But theres no fear
Lies forming
The sacrament lays bare
The sinner
Will testify
Theyll suffer
When sacrificed on high
The burning sermons purge their evil words
Between the hammer and the anvil
Force rises
False rituals
Baptises
The body and the soul
Our union
Their fall from grace
Confession (confess your sins)
Will seal them to their fate
The burning sermons will survive their curse
Between the hammer and the anvil
Transgression
They prey on grief
Our mission
To purify belief
This altar
Gives power and light
Theyll falter
While we are shining bright
The burning sermons consecrate their sin
Between the hammer and the anvil
Storm warning
But theres no fear
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Be Proud
Be pride and poison for it,
Poor is the friar who took.
Pleasure is soon, sooner than ever,
When bones are picked by the vultures
Over our heads that speak of those ones that fly nearby.
Be proud and in the death of others be proud
Against a fountain of rifles and ammunition,
These are the guns we lift to our eyes and let vultures fly to die.
The monks are not in the vicinity, like hairy monks.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Suit
The Suit
After the surgery my son come visiting
he had brought a dark suit along, hung
it in my wardrobe, said he had brought
it along in case we went to a party.
A fortnight later he flew back home but
left the suit behind so he didn’t have
to bring one next time he came visiting.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
We Are Just Visiting
We are just visiting, this is not home,
we are always connected the source
we are not alone.
We are here to create God,
yes, I said it, I said it out loud.
God gave us free will and
we are body, mind and spirit,
so let’s bring them together and use it.
Since we are just visiting,
we should take better care,
care of planet Gaia while we are here?
Written By Christina Sunrise on January 30,2012
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lives Complete
My beloved daughter came home in a flurry of
stories about feeding lambs, killing foxes and
sleeping outside on a farm in Namibia as well
as a stream of complaints about her room - I
put her trinkets away for visiting family
Her bedroom lights inexplicably won’t switch on,
her dad gets the brunt of that - I reacted like an
autistic child, my lips did not know how to smile,
listening in silence to everything she said, only
when I was alone expressing my joy
In song, singing old Dutch hymns at the top of my
voice, joy coursing through my veins, my child safe,
I rub her back and listen to her sermons about the
sanctity of her room – just the way I want it to be,
her dad changed from a wound-up spring to
Being relaxed, the smile right round his face, our
lives complete, he already lecturing her on the
year’s course, she listening with a grin, what
joy, what delight, living in a state of grace…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Devotion
As a priest of dedication and devotion
My life is gorgeous, complete and emotional.
The monks climb the ladders of faith,
And my life feigns a disorder, always bold.
The monk enjoyed his life when cold
But the shrine I build for my prayer is gruelling.
The shrine is gold, fully old and never shining,
Like the precious thoughts so pretended.
We save our time and find some space
For serious worship but the monks are fully told.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Happy Spring
Happy spring don't mean a thing
If nobody is listening
We all got to give its cling
A worthy again visiting
Singing from bough to bough
Playful birds are there
Bring together their vow
Little hearts pounding everywhere
Happy spring comes every spring
Memories soft glistening
Flowers and tints they bring
Under from earth's snowy wing
Its times come soon now
With their hope to share
New summer fun and now-how
Arriving again through the air
Refrain
Happy spring happy spring
Not too far in distances away
Happy spring what shall you bring
When you light up my May Day
In my heart I always knew
Tide of fresh fragrance would appear
With bluish sky and easy view
I'll be glad to have you here (repeat last line)
Happy spring don't mean a thing
If nobody is listening
We all got to give its cling
A worthy again visiting
Singing from bough to bough
Playful birds are there
Bring together their vow
Little hearts pounding everywhere
*(No song yet with this, also needs some refinishing later, as this was written now outside)
poem by Peter S. Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Prepared To Deliver And Teach
Speeches, sermons, lectures...
Are prepared to deliver and teach.
However...
If they are delivered too seriously,
Without a bit of comedy...
Those giving those speeches,
Sermons and lectures...
To teach with an outreach to people,
Will find most of them asleep.
Disturbed from a droning boredom,
Only to awaken to applaud...
Begun by those relieved with sighs,
That whatever was heard...
With the giving of a patience,
Is over!
'You were wonderful.
I sat through it with my eyes closed.
Absorbing in meditation...
Every meaning of your intention.
To allow the depths of your words to sink in.
But I must ask you this...
Do you mind explaining parts of it I miss? '
~No!
Not at all.
Which parts were those? ~
'The beginning? '
~Yes.~
'And...
The end.'
~Okay? ~
'Do you mind repeating,
What was said in between them? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I upon the monks walk wander
Do you perceive beauty in a raindrop?
Elegance within the tune?
Do you believe for a second
That man landed on the moon?
Honour thee, this night is free
From the shackles of expectation
Honour comes so easily
In dissolving reputation
I upon the monks walk wander
Throughout the hills of hibernation
I upon the monks walk ponder.
The theme of revelation.
Listen as the silence hands so heavy on the air.
Listen as the silence brings a selfish soul to share.
For no sound is there to drown the voice of conscience,
Who he would normally ignore un-caring.
poem by David Lacey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Guarded Religion
five buddhists chanting mantras down the hall
a young black man in the door way
tension in the atmosphere
I long to understand
why with such fear,
the entrance is guarded
and why with great hope, I've been misled
I demand to enter
I spew anger
with relentless screaming
confusion streaming
impatiently I push my way through
only to find
on the other side
no chanting
no buddhist monks
only me in eternal darkness
disappointed, I leave
not a word to the door man
with deepest regrets
I look back
to see the chanting
and the monks
in total isolation
the stern man...looks past me
Fruit And Nutter
I know some of my poems can be a bit absurd.
All you have to do is look at who writes them
he is a bit absurd too.
Anyone who plays Cowboys and Indians
at the age of sixty something
has to be a bit of a fruit and nutter.
However, saying all that
I really play Preachers and Indians
with a couple of sermons
thrown in for good measure.
They gave me the tag of Dodgy Dave,
the wife says it is because I dodge the Hoover,
but it’s because everyone thinks
I’m a bit of a fruit and nutter.
I stumble over my own sermons
and get locked up in jail for that
especially when I cannot read
what I’ve just written.
I have weird sense of humour
and all you have to do is ask my friends about that.
I have a saying
if you don’t come to my church,
my church will come to you
when you’re not looking.
When friends see me with a wicked grin
they know there’s a gag a foot
so they run and hide
and I wonder why.
What do I care
I’m just a fruit and nutter
and having a lot of fun with that.
11 September 2009
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!