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Not Only Can They Squeeze Blood From a Turnip
When a society's entire financial structure,
Is based upon a failing system...
Already built upon the hidden talents,
Of those gifted with deceit.
And those institutions are given cartoon names,
Such as Freddie and Fannie...
There are going to be problems.
Ones without realistic solutions faced.
At least not honest ones.
And now trillions of dollars will be borrowed,
To pay for their failures.
If a society is already suffering from an economic crunch...
At who's expense are these fresh lies being told?
Those embittered by an abrupt awakening,
From their delusions?
Or those sold on the bottomless pockets,
Fed on having 'great' aspirations?
My mother once said to me...
'Boy, I ain't got no money!
What do you think I am?
A turnip?
You can't squeeze blood from a turnip.
Nor is there a money tree outside!
I do not have money for you and your sister,
To have lunch today!
And you will get over it! '
I wish my mother was alive today!
She would be amazed to see...
The things being done,
At DisneyWorld!
They are creating remarkable fantasies.
And...
The people leave the grounds totally conditioned,
To accept anything they are told!
'Mama,
If you can hear me,
Not only can they squeeze blood from a turnip today...
A dollar can be produced from thin air!
I haven't seen that yet.
But that's the latest rumor.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mr. Finney's Turnip
Mr. Finney had a turnip,
And it grew, and it grew,
And it grew behind the barn,
And the turnip did no harm.
And it grew, and it grew,
Till it could grow no taller;
Then Mr. Finney took it up
And put it in the cellar.
There it lay, there it lay,
Till it began to rot ;
When his daughter Susie washed it
And put it in the pot.
Then she boiled it and boiled it,
As long as she was able;
Then his daughter Susie took it
And put it on the table.
Mr. Finney and his wife
Both sat down to sup;
And they ate, and they ate,
Until they ate the turnip up.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Hospital For Defectives
By your unnumbered charities
A miracle disclose,
Lord of the Images, whose love
The eyelids and the rose
Takes for a language, and today
Tell to me what is said
By these men in a turnip field
And their unleavened bread.
For all things seem to figure out
The stirrings of your heart,
And two men pick the turnips up
And two men pull the cart;
And yet between the four of them
No word is ever said
Because the yeast was not put in
Which makes the human bread.
But three men stare on vacancy
And one man strokes his knees;
What is the meaning to be found
In such dark vowels as these?
Lord of the Images, whose love
The eyelid and the rose
Takes for a metaphor, today,
Beneath the warder's blows,
The unleavened man did not cry out
Or turn his face away;
Through such men in a turnip field
What is it that you say?
Submitted by Andrew Mayers
poem by Thomas Blackburn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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First a turnip, then a sheep; next a cow, and then the gallows.
This diamond has so many carats it's almost a turnip.
quote by Richard Burton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A degenerate nobleman is like a turnip. There is nothing good of him but that which is underground.
Blood Red Roses
Blood red
The roses she'd
Always received
Blood red
Blood red
The sole chroma
Of her world
Blood red
Blood red
Spurted out from
His thorn-like barbs
Blood red
Blood red
Her anguished life
Assiduous
Blood red
Blood red
Her favorite
Shade of roses
Blood red
poem by Alice Vedral Rivera
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I was the fattest baby in Clark County, Arkansas. They put me in the newspaper. It was like a prize turnip.
quote by Billy Bob Thornton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Couplet: A Place To Stay
There was a stingy, hateful man named Old Jack that died uncaring;
Too mean to pass through heaven's gates—he missed hearing angels singing.
Jack was sent to the Devil's Pit that roars with redhot, burning coals;
The smoke's too dark, the heat's too hot—the devil lives there with lost souls.
And after all promised rewards for living each devilish day;
One hot coal was Jack's lifetime prize—Jack was burned and sent on his way.
Jack found an oversized turnip, carved creepy eyes and a weird face;
Into the dried up turnip shell—one hot coal lit it's inside space.
Now Jack wanders the countryside, his coal burns to this very day;
Inside Jack's old Jack-O-Lantern—while he scouts for a place to stay.
Author's Note: A story about a Halloween “Jack-O-Lantern” Legend. Jack is not
real but the Devil and his dark pit are real.
poem by Caryl Ramsdale
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If You Want Blood You Got It
Its criminal, there ought to be a law
Criminal, and you know what were shootin for
Shouting at the other guy
When his back is turned
Dont know the reason why
Aint it bout time you learn
If you want blood, you got it
If you want blood, you got it
Blood on the sheets, blood on the rocks
Blood in the gutter, give my last drop
You want blood, you got it
Wha-ooh
Its animal, livin in the human zoo
Its animal, and I know what you gotta do
Its the curse of the working man
Givin more and gettin less
Doin everything he can, cleaning up the mess
If you want blood, you got it
If you want blood, you got it
Blood on the sheets, blood on the rocks
Blood in the gutter, give my last drop
You want blood, you got it
Ooooh (shove it)?
You want blood, you want blood
After you
Blood on the sheets, blood on the rocks,
Blood in the gutter, give my last drop
You want blood, you got it
If you want blood, you got it
If you want blood, you got it
If you want blood, you got it
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nothing But the Blood
What can wash away my sin?
Nothing but the blood of Jesus;
What can make me whole again?
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
For my pardon this I see -
Nothing but the blood of Jesus;
For my cleansing, this my plea -
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
Nothing can for sin atone -
Nothing but the blood of Jesus;
Naught of good that I have done -
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
This is all my hope and peace -
Nothing but the blood of Jesus;
This is all my righteousness -
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
CHORUS
Oh! precious is the flow
That makes me white as snow;
No other fount I know,
Nothing but the blood of Jesus.
poem by Robert Wadsworth Lowry
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nothin But The Blood
Words & music:michael w. smith and chris harris
Woa-o-woa-oah-woa-o-woa-oah
Woa-o-woa-oah-woa-o-woa-oah
Woa-o-woa-oah-woa-o-woa-oah
Woa-o-woa-oah-woa-o-woa-oah
What can wash away my sins
(theres) nothing but the blood of jesus
What can make me whole again
Nothing but the blood of jesus
This is all my righteousness
Its nothing but the blood of jesus
This is all my hope and peace
Nothing but the blood of jesus
Nothing but the blood of jesus
Nothing but the blood of jesus
Nothing but the blood of jesus
Nothing but the blood of jesus
song performed by by Michael W. Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blood stained top
My blood stained top lies on the floor.
Coved in crimson red.
From the bursting seems of my skin.
The blood did pour.
Going all over my top.
As the blood seeps in to my top.
It has made it blood stained.
Like blood tears.
My life remains in tatters.
Like my top I cut to bits.
My skin is sliced to ribbons.
And the blood is oozing,
down my top
Making it blood stained
See the top in the morning.
A memento of the night before.
It won't stop me.
For I'll have to do it again
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Harmony
A blind field mouse hit on a dumb cat.
'Hey! I hit someone and I feel the warmth of a fur coat.
I sniff a fresh paint of a kitchen and I would like to snatch a turnip.'
The kind cat took him away from his shrewd Master's rat trap in the garden.
* To Mary Jane Stevenson, California state director Organizing for America.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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There is blood between us
I
There’s blood between us
that flows very strong
and that red
bind us to each other
with genes and ancestors
and you will forever be my brother.
II
There’s blood between us
and our hands
are full of it
and it’s blood of enemies
that had to flow
for us to stay alive
and that blood ties
you and me
in a own companionship
and you are my best comrade.
III
There’s blood between us
that binds you to me
and maybe a child
will appear out of us both
as sign of how sincere
our love is
and that blood
ties you my love
to me
as the one that I adore.
IV
There’s blood between us
that flows on a cross
where the Son of God
suffered for me
and that blood
wash all my sins away
and tie me
to become a child
of the Almighty Father.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Hate Song
I hate winter
I hate the snow
I hate the rain
I hate noise
I hate ponegranate
I hate sweet potatoe
I hate turnip
I hate the dark days
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Turned-up nose
I want to clear this matter up some way
And at the same time make my point
That love note I sent you the other day?
The one that got your nose all out of joint?
I think I simply typed too fast
And didn’t say what I meant to say
Not …“I like your huge, turnip nose”…
But “I like your cute turned up nose”
Was What I really meant to say
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A freudian slip (who nose?)
I want to clear this matter up some way
And at the same time make my point
That love note I sent you the other day?
The one that got your nose all out of joint?
I think I simply typed too fast
And didn’t say what I meant to say
Not …“I like your huge, turnip nose”…
But “I like your cute turned up nose”
Was What I really meant to say
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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