Related quotes
I've always had a mad addiction to salt. I've been known to pick the salt off of pretzels and eat it!
quote by Hayden Panettiere
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Man Who Dipped His Fingers In Salt And Lick Them All
he dips his fingers in
salt and licks them all
people look at him with
all surprise
he is weird and they do not
like him
He is detestable
they say
he does this everyday
all the days of the week
all the weeks of months
all the months of those years
the people shut him away
they close their doors
they vomit when they see him
they look at him with contempt
they throw him away from
their cities
they ban him from all
other countries
he keeps the salt all to himself
he eats them and drinks them all
he has become sick
very sick like one rusty nail
he died and people did not
mourn for him
good riddance so to say
the city dances in jubilation
the world turns into a fourth of july
if they only knew him
well that i know him to be
they should have known how
he disliked salt
how all his senses revolt
against this instinct
of having his fingers dip
in salt
and of his having his tongue
lick
and how his mouth eats
all the stuff that
destroys his body
how every night he vomits
how his system fails
how he knew that with all these
he is actually killing himself
people do not know
there are things that happen
without his control
there are times when one
has no choice
but to dip the fingers in salt
no matter how bad it turns out to be
until he dies
society denies instincts
conceals the existence of vampires and gnomes and
parasites and ghouls
society keeps its own beautiful face
hides the scars and the disease
who wants to eat salt all his life?
who wants to rust like a nail and die like a brown dust on the ground?
who wants to be a scrap of iron and melt in salt?
who wants to be a robot? a man of hay?
nobody. i repeat nobody.
He never liked it himself.
Society has not asked
it never cares
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bones
Sling me under the sea.
Pack me down in the salt and wet.
No farmer’s plow shall touch my bones.
No Hamlet hold my jaws and speak
How jokes are gone and empty is my mouth.
Long, green-eyed scavengers shall pick my eyes,
Purple fish play hide-and-seek,
And I shall be song of thunder, crash of sea,
Down on the floors of salt and wet.
Sling me … under the sea.
poem by Carl Sandburg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pick It Up Or Be Gone
Pick it up or be gone.
What's given.
Pick it up or be gone.
What's there.
Pick it up or be gone.
The steak.
Or the rake.
Or the keys,
To open the gate!
Now...
Pick it up or be gone.
What's given.
Pick it up or be gone.
What's there.
Pick it up or be gone.
The steak.
Or the rake.
Or the keys,
To open the gate!
Now...
Don't try to imitate,
Homemade cake.
Oh no.
And don't ever try to duplicate,
A delicious taste.
Or...
Butter up faked mashed potatos.
Pick it up or be gone.
What's given.
Pick it up or be gone.
What's there.
Pick it up or be gone.
The steak.
Or the rake.
Or the keys,
To open the gate!
Now...
Pick it up or be gone.
Oooow.
Pick it up or be gone.
Yeah.
Pick it up or be gone.
Now...
Pick it up or be gone!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I See You in Your Fingers
I see your fingers
I see you in your fingers
I see your history from your fingers
I feel your touch from your fingers
They don't tell a lie to me
They don't give me a fake smile
Or promising kiss
But they give me a warm hold
and tickling touch
I see you from your fingers
I see the truth from your fingers
I see you in your fingers
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tast malt
Salt is
more in food
Asalt the food...
Salt is
Low in food
Tung out...!
Salt is salt
Tasty malt...?
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Frenzied Fingers Run Amuck
When I get you into my arms
I can't control the things that I do.
Fingers grab the hair on your head.
Fingers caress the small of your back.
Fingers travel down your spine
and back up again.
Fingers reach to all corners of your being,
quietly unnoticed at first,
but more frenzied with passing time.
Wild fingers travel your soul
with frenzied action that is hard to stop.
Uncontrollable fingers run wild
until you beg them to stop.
But even then, there's no counting on it.
These fingers like to run wild.
Whenever I place my fingers on you,
frenzied fingers run amuck.
Veggie Poetry
steamed okra
round, red, shiny tomatoes
violet onion, some white spring ones
and hot chili
with black pepper
some olive oil
and rosemary herbs for flavoring
a little salt
a little sugar
suit to your exquisite, exotic asian taste
add some more other
herbs and hot spices
mix them in a bowl
shed some tears
for summer salt
add some green lettuce
and black olives
and pickles to taste
pick some
then chew
do not swallow yet
take your time
enjoy your veggie poetry
do not take any meat
or poultry
now take your time alone
eat
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Art 1
from the whole
big and round like a pizza
you only pick a slice
savor and then
describe it
each spice exploding
inside your mouth
salt and pepper
and pineapple bits
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Made Okay To Do It Your Way
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
Why did you choose to pick a ball,
Knowing picking it...
Wasn't cool to do.
You complained,
That you couldn't take the weight.
And a waiting too late makes it okay.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You made okay to do it your way,
To...
Pick then kick a ball.
To,
Pick then kick a ball.
You made okay to do it your way,
To...
Pick then kick a ball.
To,
Pick then kick a ball.
Why did you choose to pick a ball,
Knowing picking it...
Wasn't cool to do.
You made okay to do it your way,
To...
Pick then kick a ball.
To,
Pick then kick a ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
You pick up then you kicked the ball.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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That Salt Adheres
for Karthik
that salt adheres to the palm
proclaiming only this
that purchase requires both
sweat and the one hidden pearl
of scraped touch
much there is in the hand
bequeathed;
beneath the thigh the grit
burns smooth the groove
where you lay
tapered fingers flame
that these lips may chaff/
chafe more the love
from the grain which
skin frames from
cloudless scansions
Kindled limbs
do not go out
do not ash hot
to powder
nor the colder grow
though each is made distinct,
distinguished,
though each
is extended, extinguished in
the other's contradiction
neither brother or lover
but both
be perseverance
of palms,
of salt
Preserve.
poem by Warren Falcon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ode to Salt
This salt
in the salt cellar
I once saw in the salt mines.
I know
you won't
believe me
but
it sings
salt sings, the skin
of the salt mines
sings
with a mouth smothered
by the earth.
I shivered in those
solitudes
when I heard
the voice
of
the salt
in the desert.
Near Antofagasta
the nitrous
pampa
resounds:
a
broken
v oice,
a mournful
song.
In its caves
the salt moans, mountain
of buried light,
translucent cathedral,
crystal of the sea, oblivion
of the waves.
And then on every table
in the world,
salt,
we see your piquant
powder
sprinkling
vital light
upon
our food.
Preserver
of the ancient
holds of ships,
discoverer
on
the high seas,
earliest
sailor
of the unknown, shifting
byways of the foam.
Dust of the sea, in you
the tongue receives a kiss
from ocean night:
taste imparts to every seasoned
dish your ocean essence;
the smallest,
miniature
wave from the saltcellar
reveals to us
more than domestic whiteness;
in it, we taste finitude.
poem by Pablo Neruda
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Salt
Early this morning
his mother asked his father
for some money
to buy salt.
But,
his father refused
and hit his mother
who did so much talking.
The boy
went out the house
and headed
to the market.
There,
he begged the salt vendors
for a little salt
but the vendors only told him,
'go home boy, and get some money! '
Now the boy
is running
with a bag of salt in his arms
and the people are screaming
THIEF! THIEF! THIEF!
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Fingers Want To Pick The Bright Stars (Crystalline)
My fingers want to pick the bright stars
that glitter blue in the darkness
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jerry the Slug
Hello Jerry
So verry Merry
I poor salt on your face
Whats that? Your screaming?
You cant run, I nailed your eyes to the floor
Flee my little mollusk
Here comes the salt!
The evil evil evil evil salt!
It will burn your impurites and slugness
Like you LOVES IT!
just like your mom
poem by Allyah Cullen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I mean, movies are like your kids or your fingers and toes or something, it's pretty hard to pick favorites.
quote by Sydney Pollack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Pinch of Salt
When a dream is born in you
With a sudden clamorous pain,
When you know the dream is true
And lovely, with no flaw nor stain,
O then, be careful, or with sudden clutch
You'll hurt the delicate thing you prize so much.
Dreams are like a bird that mocks,
Flirting the feathers of his tail.
When you seize at the salt-box,
Over the hedge you'll see him sail.
Old birds are neither caught with salt nor chaff:
They watch you from the apple bough and laugh.
Poet, never chase the dream.
Laugh yourself, and turn away.
Mask your hunger; let it seem
Small matter if he come or stay;
But when he nestles in your hand at last,
Close up your fingers tight and hold him fast.
poem by Robert Graves
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pick Yourself Up Off the Bottom
Doo-doo-doo-doo do...Bedoo.
Bedoobe doo-bee-do...Be-dooooo-beeeeahhh.
Bah dum.
And-pick-yourself-up-off-the-bottom.
Doo-doo-doo-doo do...Bedoo.
Bedoobe doo-bee-do...Be-dooooo-beeeeahhh.
Bah dum.
And-pick-yourself-up-off-the-bottom.
B ah dum.
And-pick-yourself-up-off-the-bottom.
Get back to a simpler time.
If not just in your mind...
When you found a reason and rhyme.
To unwind.
Get back to a purposeness.
When you had much more sense.
And your mind wasn't condensed...
To accepting false lies...
To fly like they do!
Hop-in-that-taxi...and get back to you.
Doo-doo-doo-doo do...Bedoo.
Bedoobe doo-bee-do...Be-dooooo-beeeeahhh.
Bah dum.
Doo-doo-doo-doo do...Bedoo.
Bedoobe doo-bee-do...Be-dooooo-beeeeahhh.
Bah dum.
And-pick-yourself-up-off-the-bottom.
Doo-doo-doo-doo do...Bedoo.
Bedoobe doo-bee-do...Be-dooooo-beeeeahhh.
Bah dum.
And-pick-yourself-up-off-the-bottom.
Bah dum.
And-pick-yourself-up-off-the-bottom.
Doo-doo-doo-doo do...Bedoo.
Bedoobe doo-bee-do...Be-dooooo-beeeeahhh.
Bah dum.
And-pick-yourself-up-off-the-bottom.
B ah dum.
And-pick-yourself-up-off-the-bottom.
B ah dum.
Pick-yourself-up-off-the-bottom.
B ah dum.
And-pick-yourself-up-off-the-bottom.
B ah dum.
Just pick-yourself-up-off-the-bottom.
Bah dum.
Pick-yourself-up-off-the-bottom.
Bah dum.
Just pick-yourself-up-off-the-bottom.
Doo-doo-d oo-doo do...Bedoo.
Bedoobe doo-bee-do...Be-dooooo-beeeeahhh.
Bah dum.
Giddyup, giddyup, giddyup, giddyup...and
Pick-yourself-up-off-the-bottom.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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After a while I thought it didn't make any sense to use a pick. It's kind of like typing with one finger on each hand instead of using all your fingers.
quote by Kevin Eubanks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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