You know, it's absolutely connected to The Mollusk in that, it's what we're writing after The Mollusk. A lot of this stuff reminds me of things on The Mollusk.
Related quotes
The Mollusk
Hey little boy, whatcha got there?
Kind sir its a mollusk Ive found
Did you find it in the sandy ground?
Does it emulate the oceans sound?
Yes I found it on the ground
Emulating the oceans sound
Bring forth the mollusk cast unto me
Lets be forever let forever be free
Hey little boy come walk with me
And bring your new found mollusk along
Does it speaketh of the trinity
Can it gaze at the sun with its wandering eye
Yes it speaks of the trinity
Casting light at the sun with its wandering eye
Bring forth the mollusk, cast unto me
Lets be forever let forever be free
You see there are three things that spur the mollusk from the sand
The waking of all creatures that live on the land
And with just one faint glance, back into the sea
The mollusk lingers, with its wandering eye
song performed by by Ween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Mollusk
Hey little boy, whatcha got there?
Kind sir its a mollusk Ive found
Did you find it in the sandy ground?
Does it emulate the oceans sound?
Yes I found it on the ground
Emulating the oceans sound
Bring forth the mollusk cast unto me
Lets be forever let forever be free
Hey little boy come walk with me
And bring your new found mollusk along
Does it speaketh of the trinity
Can it gaze at the sun with its wandering eye
Yes it speaks of the trinity
Casting light at the sun with its wandering eye
Bring forth the mollusk, cast unto me
Lets be forever let forever be free
You see there are three things that spur the mollusk from the sand
The waking of all creatures that live on the land
And with just one faint glance, back into the sea
The mollusk lingers, with its wandering eye
song performed by by Ween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Sea Child
Sea child
Go swim in the sea here at home
Because it is very hot outside
And the only way for you to cool down
Is to swim in the lake
But the water is not hot in the sea
Because it is nice and cold
Sea child
Why don't you start a collection of sea shells?
And what you will need to start a collection of sea shell
Is to pick up the sea shells outside the sea here at home
Also the seashells are made of any marine mollusk
poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sweet Lips
door to passion
a svelte pink lace
fine lined sensuous haven
sensitive as a mollusk
shy like an Oriental country belle
warm as a newborn babe
craving for mummy's swollen breast
door to passion,
hottest Assamese chillies
sting, set to fire a woman's heart
like equinox Sun
tempest in the calm of space
only eyes would give away
lips to experience its tremour
door to passion
a black woman's
thick erotic pouty loads
deceptive as chameleon
manoevre through them
and you see ivory white
towers bordering an
orifice of ecstatic desires
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ever So Motherly Limbs
It’s no holds barred in the venal
Contagions of the sound:
I almost have $200,000 dollars and
A c&ck as hard as spikenard,
And a Jewish lip that I want to press as fat
As a cherry red mollusk who’s been making
Its fornicating rounds around the sea,
Who has been eating legumes and thinking of
You and all the sounds you make with your
Husband deep in the crèches of your bed;
And I just want to move up and wet my pants
In your basin,
Maybe once hold the gossip of your hands,
And throw back your spirits and count the changing
Of my wounds,
Perhaps fart and navigate for one afternoon through
The mausoleum of your rooms:
Sharon, I am not beautiful, but I can go on and on,
Meaningless and harmless, erecting my art like
A child,
Looking up for your holocaust eyes, because any mortal
Could die into them,
And I have given up, and I am no good while the
Police are not around. If you saw me
You would think me imperfect, and I was.
You would love my brother in law just because,
But I want to be perfect, perfectly asleep in the moving
Shadow, the zoetrope and perfumed orchard
Of your ever so motherly limbs.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Swan At Some Distance
Bannered and awaiting the snows, don’t
You sit and wait under your mountain of all things-
Like a dark eyed jewel:
Alone, on a dark road near sea level,
So far beneath you, I have sexual dreams of taking you
Along Southern Blvd,
And you are so needy and pressed
Like something god has been kind enough to
Return; and you don’t know how to play
Soccer; and I am a dream myself in roller-skates
In the crepuscule of soft dinners,
Your eyes engorging on the fictionalized ice-creams
Of that wild satellite that isn’t even real.
A mollusk travels across the dog hair on my pillow,
Gets caught in the sharp tinsel of my scars;
And I awaken and moan. Even before I awaken, I sense
That it is the barren establishment the sun’s strings are returning
Me into- the silver fish blue lipped on the prow of his
Apathetic ship- and here I’ve never been able to achieve
The rights of beauty. For there you are all done up
With your man, and I am left to strive alone in perpetually
Venal motions- freckled by a consumption of green
Scars, the vermilion decrepitude that used to make you think
From across the room that I might be a swan.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Life Defining
Life is not defined by set limitations
for life defies all prior set limitations
I see all beings as evolving
from God within God
moving ever closer
passing ever further
plant-life to mineral
microbe to mollusk
muskrat to monkey
tad-pole to personage
moving ever closer
passing ever further
until the self fulfilled finale of eternity
open ended arrival of divine destiny
(surely the time has come
never has it passed
always has it been
Here and Now
immediate intimacy of the moment)
watering seeds
pruning weeds
upturning stones
nurturing conscious fruit
harvesting human truth
I see evolution being perhaps
no more than the process by which
consciousness regains its identity
from animal to amaranth
earth-garden where angels
groom and earn their wings
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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So Connected To You
There are times when I'm happy
and times when I'm sad
and all of these times that I have had
are all connected to you,
so connected to you.
so connected to you.
There are times when it's sunny
and times when it's not
and all of these times I never forgot
were all connected to you,
so connected to you.
'Cause you have my heart on a string
and I can't control one little thing.
Where's my composure? Where did it go?
'Can't even answer for I don't know.
There are times when I'm jumpy
and times when I'm still
and times when I'm playful
like Jack and Jill.
And they're all connected to you,
so connected to you.
So what do I do to get over you?
You've got me crazy in love with you.
I take a step forward and fall back two
and everywhere that I go
there'll be times when I want you
and times when I don't.
There'll be times that I'll have you
and times that I won't
but there's absolutely nothing I can do
'Cause I'm connected to you,
so connected to you
So I know we can never be through.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Gautama Christ
The names of God and especially those of His representative
Who is called Jesus or Christ according to holy books and
someone's mouth
These names have been used, worn out and left
On the shores of rivers of of human lives
Like the empty shells of a mollusk.
However when we touch these sacred but exhausted
Names, these wounded scattered petals
Which have come out of the oceans of love and fear
Something still remains, a sip of water,
A rainbow footprint that still shimmers in the light.
While the names of God were used
By the best and the worst, by the clean and the dirty
By the white and the black, by bloody murderers
And by victims flaming gold with napalm
While Nixon with his hands
Of Cain blessed those whom he condemned to death,
While fewer and fewer divine footprints were found
on the beach
People began to study colors,
The future of honey, the sign of uranium
They looked with anxiety and hope for the possibilities
Of killing themselves or not killing themselves, of organizing
themselves into a fabric
Of going further on, of breaking through limits without stopping
What we came across in these blood thirsty times
With their smoke of burning trash, their dead ashes
As we weren't able to stop looking
We often stopped to look at the names of God
We lifted them with tenderness because they reminded us
Of our ancestors, of the first people, those who said the prayers
Those who discovered the hymn that united them in misfortune
And now seeing the empty fragments which sheltered those
ancient people
We feel those smooth substances,
Worn out and used up by good and by evil.
poem by Pablo Neruda
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beach Liaison
Foamy, frothy blue-green silk sea drapes over freckled, speckled skin
A face bare, wet and rough, a complexion bleached by sun, sea, salt
Barren on the surface yet life breathes free in cracks and crannies
Underneath the craggy covering he hides in slender shell
His caramel body is smooth, supple as he slips into the
Spiral sheath to the sharp pointed end of the day when, at tides
Edge, the sea caresses pink coral reef sky as day submits
To darkness, concealing intimate silhouettes of lovers
Embracing among the shadows of sea grapes and dune grasses
At dusky brink between day and night sea birds flit
Kingfishers’ white feathers flutter away from lapping sea tongue
A salty kiss on parched lips and on sandy cheeks communicates
A silent poem song in language like Sanskrit scratched out with
Bird claw quills on sand skin a dry and rough parchment while the small
Kingfisher flock pecks away without wit into gritty flesh
To slurp up his mollusk body like salt-water taffy pulled
Out of its wax paper wrapped up tight but never feeling safe
Sharp pecking beak finds his soft snail soul plucked from firm, corkscrew case
In bird beak swallowed whole he prays: I’ve already been in heaven
Though tragedy sweeps away all that is real and some things imagined
Always in my heart I will carry sunshine and silken sea.
poem by Laura Pariseau
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Climb To Claim!
modern human at the markets,
want to get everything quicker,
the wrapped up delicious imported fruits,
look clean with no holes as the local apples,
the oranges gone through bathing process,
to be exported, the juicy fruits of,
rambuttan, Durians, Mangoes and bananas,
mostly organic and visited by their friends,
the pest and plucked by human, painfully bitten,
ask the kid where she gets the mango from,
she may say 'from the stores', not knowing hardship,
Let every kid learn the truth,
nothing comes easier on their plates.
I had climbed the trees of various textures,
When I was young, I was close to the nature,
Whenever I went back home for holidays,
Pesticides not around to declare mayday,
For insects, mollusk and escaped crustaceans,
Train like millipede with red and black hues,
Venomous Centipedes found below moist heaps,
Sweet mangoes invite ants of all sizes,
Jackfruits are the good hosts to bees and flies,
Careful and cautious, I aimed to pick up the fruit,
Though very high for my body that was too petite,
Many times bitten mercilessly to have swelling heart,
A group of drunken bees arrived to make me a drunk,
tolerance kept me awake to climb to the top,
Plucked those fruits victoriously without dropping,
Returned to show my people for them to have,
The taste of sweet success that is hidden,
not far away from our illusionized vision.
the victory acquired through hardship,
appreciated for ever, to reach higher height.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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940 Pearl Birthstone Of June
Pain produces perfect pearl
For pearls are not just mineral
Aphrodisiacal oysters
Provide perfect pearls - pre-packaged!
Inside their shells gently growing.
The pearl symbolises - purity
In love - in life - in liberty.
Pain produces perfect pearl.
Natural pearls are so spontaneous
Growing slowly throughout lifetime
Seven years inside the mollusk
Gulfs of Persia - California
Jordan - Mexico and Mannar
Pearls of every size and colour
White - silver - cream - green - black and blue
Natual pearls are so spontaneous.
Birthstone pearls grace Joyful June
Fueling faithfulness and friendship
Healing heads and hearts and hearing
Bringing wearers nearer Heaven
Twinned with Zodiac sign Gemini
Channels the strength of Sister Moon
Pulsating purifying power.
Birthstone pearls grace Joyful June
Polished pearls give perfect pleasure
Pain produces perfect pearls
Natural pearls are so spontaneous
Birthstone pearls grace Joyful June.
June Joyful grace pearls Birthstone
Spontaneous so are pearls natural
Pearls perfect produces pain
Pleasure perfect give pearls polished.
This poem is dedicated to a Polished Pearl.
(John Knight - Cool Colchester - 23 January 2010)
poem by John Knight
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When I started writing songs, I stopped painting completely, and the only art things I do are connected to the career, like album sleeves and, to some extent, posters and things like that.
quote by Bryan Ferry
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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But when I started writing songs, I stopped painting completely, and the only art things I do are connected to the career, like album sleeves and, to some extent, posters and things like that.
quote by Bryan Ferry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Everything Reminds Me Of Her
I never really had a problem because of leaving
But everything reminds me of her this evening
So if I seem a little out of it, sorry
But why should I lie?
Everything reminds me of her
The spin of the earth impaled a silhouette of the sun on the steeple
And I got to hear the same sermon all the time now from you people
Why are you staring into outer space, crying?
Just because you came across it, and lost it
Everything reminds me of her
Everything reminds me of her
Everything reminds me of her
song performed by by Elliott Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Behind The Machine Gun
There are nights spoiled
like women dancing with macabre,
men praying in pub houses
both soaked in the belly
of licorice and blood-colored
soldering of chemical spirits,
like children sleeplessly lying
in beds without bedtime stories;
parents making out with whores
in a nameless stag diner,
like these moths suspended
in my cobwebbed chandeliers
These somber nights would
sometime trample in the crevasses
of my womanless bed
crying a song to my spine
and clinging to the crowfeet
juxtaposed my cellar eyes
and what I would do is:
connive with the varmints
and try not to hide the sordid
and vile words rummaging my guts
What I'd do is:
I'd open the shutters and welcome
the machinations of the night -
The still vehicles, the sensual hounds,
the morose streetlamps
trying to crawl the lissome,
svelte, undulating electric lines
I'd steal a cigarette stick and light
to let the incorporeal hands
probe inside my ribcage,
touch the collapsing tubes
close enough to the intimacy
of the mechanical blood valves
And when I realize with
everything in line for the sepulcher
I would sit behind my machine
fire the tacit shotgun and allow
the disturbed sparrows to become
my terse alphabets and that
is how I come with poetry -
as the squalor in mollusk sex
the muse is dead like the story
of an effaced morning glory
Isn't it wretched?
Poignant and putrid?
Like how everything in the night
is fecundated by raw emotions
as sanguine as a senile coma
dreaming of a euthanasia
or another chance to divulge -
to be hauled out of the quagmire
and again, desecrate upon creative hands
the cicatrix yearns for more blood,
the tourniquet gripping the hematoma;
searing with all the valor
that can be supplied to the harried night.
poem by Norman Santos
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Crowds
It is not given to every man to take a bath of multitude; enjoying a crowd is an art; and only he can relish a debauch of vitality at the expense of the human species, on whom, in his cradle, a fairy has bestowed the love of masks and masquerading, the hate of home, and the passion for roaming.
Multitude, solitude: identical terms, and interchangeable by the active and fertile poet. The man who is unable to people his solitude is equally unable to be alone in a bustling crowd.
The poet enjoys the incomparable privilege of being able to be himself of someone else, as he chooses. Like those wandering souls who go looking for a body, he enters as he likes into each man's personality. For him alone everything is vacant; and if certain places seem closed to him, it is only because in his eyes they are not worth visiting.
The solitary and thoughtful stroller finds a singular intoxication in this universal communion. The man who loves to lose himself in a crowd enjoys feverish delights that the egoist locked up in himself as in a box, and the slothful man like a mollusk in his shell, will be eternally deprived of. He adopts as his own all the occupations, all the joys and all the sorrows that chance offers.
What men call love is a very small, restricted, feeble thing compared with this ineffable orgy, this divine prostitution of the soul giving itself entire, all it poetry and all its charity, to the unexpected as it comes along, to the stranger as he passes.
It is a good thing sometimes to teach the fortunate of this world, if only to humble for an instant their foolish pride, that there are higher joys than theirs, finer and more uncircumscribed. The founders of colonies, shepherds of peoples, missionary priests exiled to the ends of the earth, doubtlessly know something of this mysterious drunkenness; and in the midst of the vast family created by their genius, they must often laugh at those who pity them because of their troubled fortunes and chaste lives.
poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Absolutely Everybody
Absolutely everybody,
Everybody needs a little loving,
Everybody needs somebody thinking of them.
Everybody needs a little respect,
And whatever it takes,
Im gonna get it.
Everybody needs a hand to hold,
Someone to cling to
When the nights are getting cold.
Im no different,
I am just the same,
A player in the game.
Absolutely everybody,
Everybody, everybody.
Absolutely everybody
In the whole wide world.
Absolutely everybody,
Every boy and every girl,
Absolutely everybody.
Everybody needs a human touch.
I cant live without it,
It means too much to me.
Everybody needs one true friend,
Someone wholl be there til the very end.
And absolutely everybody breathes,
And everybody, everybody bleeds.
Were no different,
Were all the same,
Players in the game.
Absolutely, everybody,
Everybody, everybody.
Absolutely everybody
In the whole wide world.
Everybody breathes,
And everybody needs.
Absolutely everybody.
Absolutely everybody.
Every boy and girl,
Every woman and child.
Every father and son.
I said now everyone,
Yes now everyone.
Everybody needs a human touch.
Everybody, everybody needs love.
Im no different,
I am just the same,
A player in the game.
Absolutely everybody.
Dream dealers pty ltd
Transistor music australia pty ltd
1999
song performed by by Vanessa Amorosi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You don't start out writing good stuff. You start out writing crap and thinking it's good stuff, and then gradually you get better at it. That's why I say one of the most valuable traits is persistence.
quote by Octavia Butler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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