When the ox just stumbles, they all sharpen their knives.
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Even the devil himself does not know where women sharpen their knives.
Peace in War?
So you sharpen your knives
You also oil your guns
What is that grenade for?
I see, you have a jungle jacket,
How smart?
Tell me, would you heal the wounds?
The wounds,
That gape and stare at you,
The wounds that wouldn't let
A nap over your eyes.
Wounds that would hollow your heart,
Dripping bloody soiled hands
That would make your seeds
Sprout with fright to the wound?
Tell me,
Was it for peace?
Now agape. Why?
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Not For Sale!
black coffee...
a blood pressure pill,
one aspirin, two ibuprofen,
and up to face the day!
what doesnt hurt
often fumbles or stumbles.
set your chin,
and tear down a wall!
truth barks,
and often growls.
what stinks just stinks,
no need to cover!
the work we do
with mechanical souls,
merely feeds the body,
what about the mind?
years sharpen doubt...
cold water is cold.
and poverty and loss...
you know the rest!
black coffee...
dont try to sell me.
i can still feel the heat,
and my soul is not for sale!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Grandfather
my grandfather drowned
while fishing...
i was only fourteen,
i took the call.
in the whirl of
funeral arrangements,
preachers, headstones,
and old hymns...
too much was forgotten.
he gave me my first
pocket knife, showed me
how to sharpen it....
when i grew up
i sharpened knives
for all the women
in the neighborhood.
i can still remember
him taking me to the depot
to watch the train pass by....
when i see a train now
i sometimes wonder...
if he's on it, and coming
for me.....
a way of life gone...
maybe better in some ways....
my grandfather died while fishing....
the fish won the battle
that night!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Your Pencil
Sharpen your pencil and let me use it,
For the righteous works of some people are clearly evident;
But those thst are otherwise cannot be hidden.
Sharpen your pencil according to the promise of life,
And like a tree planted by the waters of love;
For the sins of others are ahead of them while,
The sins of others trail behind them.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Even If He Feels It
Wise is the man who stumbles...
Gets up.
And continues to move forward.
Many would rather sit,
And relive the experience,
Of it.
To discuss the affects.
A man who stumbles,
Will not allow himself to be broken.
Even IF he feels it.
He may even show it hurts.
However,
When he begins to believe he is...
He will spend the rest of his life,
A broken man.
With only sadness to offer!
And memories of failure to share.
Recalling a stumbling fall,
Over and over.
Wise is the man who stumbles...
Gets up.
And continues to move forward.
Many would rather sit,
And relive the experience,
Of it.
To discuss the affects.
Seeking pity!
Or something to numb,
The effects of regret!
Dedicated to:
Landry Marcel Pertillar
My Nephew
'No...you are 'not' Superman. But close! '
Love you,
Uncle Larry
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pretty For You
Swallow this scene, Im on fire
Arms waving, burning higher
Impressing you with what Ive done
But every minute Im losing one by one
Swallow this scene, sharpen knives
Pin cushion, pierce my sides
And every blade will catch the sun
And every minute Im losing one by one
Right now pretty for you
Am I finally pretty?
An ornament for everyone
But every minute Im losing one by one
Swallow this scene, there is laughter
For the ugly ever-after
And after they have poked their fun
And every lover Im losing one by one
song performed by by Verve Pipe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Knives Out
I want you to know
Hes not coming back
Look into my eyes
Im not coming back
So knives out
Catch the mouse
Dont look down
Shove it in your mouth
If youd been a dog
They wouldve drowned you at birth
Look into my eyes
Its the only way youll know Im telling the truth
So knives out
Cook him up
Squash his head
Put him in the pot
I want you to know
Hes not coming back
Hes bloated and frozen
Still theres no point in letting it go to waste
So knives out
Catch the mouse
Squash his head
Put him in the pot
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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So Low
If anyone rises at 6.31
And fakes all day that
They're having their fun
They never did get it right
Since they got it so low
To anyone drinking the morning away
The afternoon will prove a mistake
They never will get it right
Now they've got it so low
And we laugh and we drink
And we teach ourselves not to think
(And we find it hard not to think)
We never did get it right
Since we got it so low
To all the faces that
Freeze for you there
In your memory when you try not to care
They never disappear down the slow road
For all of those people
Who bleed by the side
And split from their tongues
And sharpen their knives
They never will get a life now
They've got it so low
(Repeat chorus)
Cornfields and pig-tails and
Fish in the stream
The night that the boys stole
A billion dollar dream
From the high jinx school
For girls down the road
Stories are smoke trails
And some may be true
You're listening to me
But I'm talking to you
I hope you never fall from grace
If you get it so low
(Repeat chorus x2)
song performed by by Ocean Colour Scene from One From The Modern
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Kind Knives
Sweet and nice
Can be like knives
But not your personality
for it is like a butterfly
Landing gently
Traveling swiftly
Cutting through the air
With those beautiful wings
For thats why your personality
Is not like knives but like a butterfly
poem by Jonathan Kjaer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Night Of The Long Knives
Whos your leader, whos your man?
Who will help you fill your hand?
Whos your friend and whos your foe?
Whos your judas, you dont know?
Night of the long knives
Wheres that saviour, wheres that light
When youre praying for your life?
Whos that fighting back to back?
Whos defending whose attack?
Night of the long knives
(stick em in the back woods)
Night of the long knives
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Graves Of Your Fathers
dead poets stacked like saltine crackers,
in the hangers where the bombs are loaded.
the smell of flesh burning
doesnt change with skin colors,
screams in the night defy language!
justice oozes from pus filled wounds,
faces stolen from bodies marching.
death falls like the rain that has no after,
on the poor and the ignorant without discrimination.
the power surges, lights flicker and fade,
the children of the poets sharpen knives,
and sleep with stray cats....
when even darkness sickens itself,
and women gather garbage by flashlight.
the beast you fed the poets' tongues,
sits staring at your mother!
and you walk blindly down the tracks,
throwing pennies on the graves of your fathers!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The Scissors-Grinder's Song
Fetch on your scissors, your slender blade--
To make them brilliant and sharp's my trade;
To every door-step my grindstone comes,
And on and ever it strolls and hums.
I and my grindstone, we wander by,
And no one asks me from whence come I;
How poor I am, no one cares to know,
None care to hear of my spirit's woe.
I'm ground by sorrow both day and night,
And yet I never am polished bright;
I'm ground by hunger, and though it pales
The face, to sharpen the wit it fails.
I'm ground by grief, but the work is ill,
For notched and rusty my heart is, still.
The wheel is whirling, the stone has grit--
Fetch on your steel--shall I sharpen it?
poem by Carmen Sylva
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Don't Carry Knives
Stab me without warning
As your phone clicks away
Lying in a pool of blood
Boast to your friends today
All your brave talkin’ ‘bout stabbing, jabbing,
nabbing and grabbing, won’t make it all go away
Your mates are talkin’ ‘bout deceiving, leaving,
thieving and grieving, it’s not just another day
Why can’t you see your mother’s crying, a son’s dying.
someone’s lying, about the knives they’re buying
All you need to do is throw your knives away.
All of your boasting will get you is trouble and strife, if you carry a knife,
he had 2 kids & a wife, now you’re the one doing life
For the sake of mothers and wives
Please don’t carry anymore knives from today
All you are doing is turning this into a police state
Will your mother wait, at the prison gate, to find out her sons fate?
If you want a bit better life
You better not carry a knife
Can’t you feel the burning
Is this your destiny
Doing life in prison’s
Not as good as they say
poem by Gordon David
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If we only have the will to walk, then God is pleased with our stumbles.
quote by C.S. Lewis
Submitted by Rebeca Bucur
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