But I still serve pretty big and that's one of my biggest weapons, so if my shoulder holds up and I can count on it, I can win a few matches and then you never know how the other guys are going to react to the fatigue and the length of the matches.
quote by Guy Forget
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bismarck
There are many matches going on but,
The final matches will be played in Africa!
That is about the forth coming 2010 World Cup.
The last matches will be played in Africa and,
We are waiting for the 2010 World Cup;
There and then i will meet my friend Bismarck.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The only way to get back the confidence is to play and win matches. You can practise as much as you like, but you need confidence that comes from playing and winning matches.
quote by Greg Rusedski
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You know, differentiating between training and matches. If they are all matches it becomes very natural to shoot them, although Dan thinks I should shoot more of them. I think I shoot plenty of them.
quote by Nancy Johnson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Men Who Made Bad Matches
'Tis the song of many husbands, and you all must understand
That you cannot call me coward now that women rule the land;
I have written much for women, where I thought that they were right,
But the men who made bad matches claim a song from me to-night.
Oh, the men who made bad matches are of every tribe and clime,
And, if Adam was the first man, then they date from Adam’s time.
They shall live and they shall suffer, until married life is past,
And the last sad son of Adam stands alone—at peace at last.
Oh, the men who made bad matches, and the Great Misunderstood,
Are through all the world a mighty and a silent brotherhood.
If a wife is discontented, every other woman knows—
But the men who made bad matches keep the cruel secret close.
You may say that you can tell them, by their clothing, if you will,
But a man may seem neglected, and his home be happy still.
You may tell by their assumption of conventional disguise—
But, the men who made bad matches, I can tell them by their eyes!
I have seen them by the camp-fire, where a child’s voice never comes,
I have seen them by the fireside, in their seeming happy homes—
Seen their wives’ false arms go round them, and the kisses that were lies—
Oh, the men who made bad matches! I can tell them by their eyes.
I have seen them bad in prison—seen them sullen, seen them sad;
I have seen them (in the mad-house)—I have seen them raving mad.
Watched them fight the battle bravely, for the children’s sake alone,
Like a father who has wronged them, and who lives but to atone.
But it’s cruel, oh! it’s cruel, for the husband and the wife,
Who have not one thought in common, and are yoked for weary life.
They must see it through and suffer, for the children they must rear—
Oh, the folk who made bad matches have a heavy cross to bear.
There is not a ray of comfort, in the future’s gloomy sky,
For the children of bad matches will make trouble by-and-bye.
And though second wives be angels, while the first wives were the worst,
No second wife yet wedded makes a man forget the first.
Ah! the men who made bad matches think more often than we know,
Of the girls they should have married, in the glorious long ago,
And there’s many a wife and mother thinks with bitter pain to-day,
Of her giddy, silly girlhood, and the man she sent away.
Life is sad for men and women, but the thoughts are bitter sad
Of the girls we should have married, and the boys we should have had.
But we’ll part now with a handshake, if we cannot with a kiss,
And bad matches may be mended in a better world than this.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Our two biggest rivals had adjusted their whole season to this one aim of beating us. Of course, it is a big compliment that they were so motivated to stop us but it was very tough to face two matches like that so close together. Suddenly three trophies are down to one.
quote by Dennis Bergkamp
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Motel Matches
Somewhere in the distance I can hear who shot sam?
This is my conviction, that I am an innocent man
Though you say Im unkind
Im being as nice as I can
Boys everywhere, fumbling with the catches
I struck lucky with motel matches
Falling for you without a second look
Falling out of your open pocketbook
Giving you away like motel matches
I wake with the siren in an emergency
Though your mind is full of love
In your eyes there is a vacancy
And you know what Ill do
When the light outside changes from red to blue
Chorus
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Smile At The World
You called her baby doll
She got a really big smile
You called her baby girl
She smiled a big smile
He's got a real big smile and a car that matches
He's got a lot of money and a real big smile
He's got girls and game, he never acts lame
He's smiles a lot which increases his style
You're never fully dressed
if you don't wear a smile
If you feel the need you can
take my shoes and walk awhile
You gave her a big hug
She got a real big smile
You played with her hair
She couldn't help but smile
You've got a real big smile and a hug that matches
Baby boy now don't go changin, why dontchya stay the same
Keep it up, boy, because she loves to see that smile
Don't go breakin all the rules, Cuz that's not why she came
You're never fully dressed
if you don't wear a smile
If you don't feel so happy
take my shoes and walk awhile
You called her beautiful
She got a real big smile
You held her tight
And for a while she smiled
She's got a real big smile and a heart that matches
If you need a hand, she'll know just what to do
She's sweet and her smile makes her pretty
It just gets everyone, with it she just can't lose
You're never fully dressed
if you don't wear a smile
Think about this girl
And Smile at the world
poem by Gabriella Franco
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Imagination Expectation Seed Our Character Dreams
imagination expectation seed our character dreams
realization awaited seldom matches desired schemes
reality ill matches misconceptions time split seams
to want peer mainstream desires experience teaches
does not fit all personality individual developing tastes
time sows unique thoughts realizations in vision eyes
poem by Terence George Craddock
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From The Ashes
My right hand holds matches,
My left holds my past,
I hope the wind catches,
And burns it down fast,
Im gonna step into the fire,
With my failures and my shame,
And wave good-bye to yesterday,
As I danced among the flames,
So dont try to save me now,
Let the walls of my world all burn down,
Just stand back and wait till the smoke finally passes,
And I will rise,
From the ashes,
From the ashes,
From the ashes,
For all that Im loosing, much more will I gain,
The hard part is choosing,
To change what needs changed,
And my stance will be much lighter,
With these demonds off my chest,
Im born with better spirit,
To lay the old to rest
So dont try to save me now,
Let the walls of my world all burn down,
Just stand back and wait till the smoke finally passes,
And I will rise
From the ashes,
From the ashes,
From the ashes,
And Ill walk away stonger,
I will be fyin,
Higher and truer
Then Ive flown before,
My right hand holds matches,
My left holds my past,
I hope the catches,
And burns it down
Fast.
song performed by by Martina Mcbride
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Buddha Steps # 8
the trees are alive!
even in the dead of winter,
if you're still,
you can feel their pulse,
waiting....
chainsaws and axes,
matches and hearth.
you are alive!
just below your numbness,
if you're still,
you can feel your pulse,
waiting...
chainsaws and axes,
matches and hearth.
God is alive!
just beyond your conceptions,
if you're still,
you can feel eternity's pulse,
waiting...
chainsaws and axes,
matches and hearth.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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At Lord's
It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk,
Though my own red roses there may blow;
It is little I repair to the matches of the Southron folk,
Though the red roses crest the caps, I know.
For the field is full of shades as I near the shadowy coast,
And a ghostly batsman plays to the bowling of a ghost,
And I look through my tears on a soundless-clapping host
As the run-stealers flicker to and fro,
To and fro: -
O my Hornby and my Barlow long ago!
poem by Francis Thompson
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Tears of joy...
Perfume of tenderness
Soft hugs of kindness
Lips filled with honesty
A heart of loyalty
A brain of integrity
A voice of romance
Her Words exhilarate
That's the flower I hold
One that's very rare
With beauty that matches
Angels in the sky
Her beauty within
Matches yellow roses
Found in paradise
As beauty within
Wets my cocoon of life
Gladness slaps my face
Knowing the flames of love
Burns in my flower's heart
Gives gratification
Which makes me cry
Many tears of joy
copyright ©
poem by Eyan Desir
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Hamar-Made Matches
'Here your Hamar-made matches!'-
Of them these verses I sang;
A thought to which humor attaches,
But yet to my heart sparks sprang.
Sparks from the box-side flying
Sank deep in my memory,
Till in a light undying
Two eyes cast their spell on me,-
Light on the fire that's present,
When faith blazes forth in deed.
Know, that to every peasant
Those eyes sent a light in need.
Sent to souls without measure
The flame of love's message broad,
Gathering in one treasure
Fatherland, home, and God.
For it was Herman Anker
Took of his fathers' gold,
Loaned it as wisdom's banker,
Spread riches of thought untold,
Scattered it wide as living
Seed for the soil to enwrap;
Flowers spring from his giving
Over all Norway's lap.
Flowers spring forth, though stony
The ground where it fell, and cold.
Never did patrimony
Bear fruitage so many fold.
Heed this, Norwegian peasant,
Heed it, you townsman, too!
That fruit of love's seed may be present,
Our thanks must fall fresh as dew.
'Here your Hamar-made matches!'
My thanks kindle fast. And oh!
This song at your heart-strings catches,
That kindling your thanks may glow.
The matches hold them in hiding,-
Scratching one you will find
The light with a warmth abiding
Carries them to his mind.
'Here your Hamar-made matches!'
Only to strike one here,
Our thanks far-away dispatches,
With peace his fair home to cheer.
His matches in thousands of houses,
In great and in small as well!-
The light that thanksgiving arouses
Shall scatter the darkness fell.
His matches in thousands of houses!-
Some eve from his factory
He'll see how thanksgiving arouses
The land, and its love flames free.
He'll see in the eyes so tender,
Through gleams that his matches woke,
The thanks that his nation would render,
His glistening wreath of oak,-
He'll feel that Norway with double
The warmth of other lands glows;
The harvest must more be than trouble,
When faith in its future grows.
'Here your Hamar-made matches!'
No phosphorus-poison more!
The bearer of light up-catches
The work of the school before:-
From home all the poison taking,
Hastening the light's advance,
Longings to warm light waking,
That lay there and had no chance.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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Wind And Fire
everyone says dont play with fire when you light a maych.shouldnt they say dont play with matches? or when you light a lighter dont play with lighters? i think so because its so confusing i mean i know fire is from both but still its cofusing it makes me stand there and wonder this because they arent being specific of wether or not you should play with the items the fire is coming from.so shouldnt they say dont play with matches or lighters?
poem by Trevor Adams
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You know what burns me? Matches.
quote by Jay London
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You should be able to have good matches against anybody.
quote by Charlie Haas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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More Me
I am what they call plain pretty,
an in-betweener
not really pretty
not really plain
and I attract guys
who see me as a compromise
from what they really what-
the cheer leader blond
with the hot bod.
I am the bland personality
with pretty eyes
a weak chin;
cautious
with an intense gaze
reflecting my need
to have more that what I am ever offered
by guys who are plain-pretty too
or too too nice and have the slow
uptake of the often rejected.
My world offers me only the boring.
I could do something I suppose
but I missed the ring;
I was the also ran,
the next to the last chosen
the bridesmaid;
the sidekick;
the not-as-pretty friend
and what I did was to break
free of my old world
and soar
with plastic surgery.
Last year I took the knife and now I am strangely pretty
but I still know who I am inside
and that is disturbing;
and more disturbing is that I want to
reject the guys seeking pretty
for the times the rejected me as almost pretty
and that makes me feel pretty-strange;
angry and not lovable;
not an airhead now-
but the trophy.
I thought last night
how many almost-pretty
might have been easier
and more me.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Lies About Tall Guys
Just seems like it’s that way to me
Taller guys seem to get executive jobs
Shorter guys work mostly as clerks
Taller guys never seem to be slobs
Shorter guys always seem to be jerks
Taller guys seem to get all of the action
Shorter guys seem to be quite invisible
Taller guys always seem to deserve satisfaction
Shorter guys are lonely and miserable
Just seems like it’s that way to me
Taller guys just seem born to play sports
Shorter guys kinda seem to like tennis
Taller guys certainly look better in shorts
Shorter guys look like Dennis the Menace
Taller guys are usually at the top of their class
Shorter guys seem to fail quite a lot
Taller guys always seem to kick ass
Shorter guys want to, but simply cannot
sure seems like it’s that way to me
Taller guys get better grades and such
Shorter guys seem to barely scrape by
Taller guys seem to do better, pretty much
Shorter guys always wonder why
Taller guys seem to have eyes like a hawk
Shorter guys seem to wear glasses a lot
Taller guys cover more ground when they walk
Shorter guys, to keep up, have to trot
Sure seems like it’s that way to me
Taller guys and their friends look like N.B.A players
Shorter guys look more like cheerleaders
Taller guys seem to look like dragon slayers
Shorter guys look a lot more like bleeders
Taller guys seem to have more gear to protect
Shorter guys wear more protective gear
Taller guys, more confidence seem to project
Shorter guys have less confidence, more fear
Really seems like it’s that way to me
Taller guys appeal to the female gender
Shorter guys always seem to choke
Taller guys carry a lot more legal tender
Shorter guys always seem to be broke
Taller guys seem to drive high dollar cars
Shorter guys drive toyotas
Taller guys seem to reach for the stars
Shorter guys reach for diet sodas
Taller guys are obnoxious, let’s neuter them all
Shorter guys are great people, always a delight
Taller guys are an abomination against mother nature’s law
If you think I’m a short guy….well, you’re right!
Really seems like the way it should be
poem by David Whalen
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Beggers, Scoundrels, And Saints
trinity, infinity,
borrowed matches,
unread books.
hallowed hands, man to man,
digging deep,
with sharpened hooks.
reach to the sky, live or die,
dare to breathe
the naked air.
risk it all, before the fall,
be remembered
because you care.
children of the stars, destiny calls.
climb over hurdles, walk through walls.
what can be held holds what cant....
beggers, scoundrels, and saints!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The game ranch
We went to visit my cousins
on their game ranch
and you hated it there
although every thing
was very comfortable
and you were well cared for.
What had set you off?
I still do not know,
but at breakfast you were already furious
although everybody
danced to serve and entertain you.
Was it the hunting tales
of the previous night
around the blazing big fire,
or the bush hog
that the Spaniard boasted
about killing,
which almost smashed him
of which his wife
had taken a video?
At the shooting range
some cool drink tins were set
and you didn’t want any help from me
and didn’t really listen
to the instructions from my cousins,
closing your eyes with every shot
that you took with the pistol
and missed every target by a mile.
I looked at the nine-millimetre pistol
with its missing front sight
and both my cousins smiled
as if conspiring with each other
and I clasped both hands together
in a well taught military hold
and your eyes went big,
almost popping out of your head
while the row of tins
was shot off
in what sounded like almost one shot.
On instruction I shot at the fallen tins
letting them jump into the air
until the magazine was empty
and the cousins
put matches standing up on bricks
and gave me a old.303 rifle
with an open sight.
I aimed carefully before pressing the trigger
and shot those matches down
and on your face
there was a frown
and even before we left
to go hunting
with some trackers
you looked at me
as if I had turned into a killer
and was going to shoot
at every living thing.
poem by Gert Strydom
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