With a face like mine, I do better in print.
quote by Jerry Springer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Thought Print, Life Print
from time print
comes thought print
and from there life print
and from there
every person's
chance to relive
a million times
easy as the sun rises
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ugo Print
On Lake Avenue, there is a business owner named Que.
He owns Ugo Print and he has a great crew.
His crew develops, creates and makes a new
your brochures, business cards and letterhead too.
Ugo Print took my artwork and enlarged it for a fair price,
better then Fed Ex, and staff is really nice.
Business cards of mine where printed with a great format,
Ugo Print made it great I can vouch for that.
Embroidery and screen printing Ugo does as well,
they are a full range printing company that does sell,
sell direct mail that makes your business boom,
print with Que who is exceptional and his employees too.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on September 8,2011
www.purplepoems.com www.christinasunrise.com
poem by Christina Sunrise
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Face With A Difference
I see somewhere around me
A face with a difference.
I see a face that`s not set on my face.
Its lips don`t kiss mine.
Its breath doesn`t feel mine
But I continue to see that face with a difference.
In the midst of faces that smile and sack
This is a different face indeed.
When I draw a picture of a face
I shall consider this one indeed.
This face has a thousand reflections
And in the twilight of my evening
I shall cherish this one face ever and ever.
In the corridors of my future unwoven
I shall chase this face henceforth.
My eyes see the difference
And that face begins to merge with mine.
My face turns upward to see
The things brighter and shapely.
I have now a face.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
If you do big things they print your face, and if you do little things they print only your thumbs.
quote by Arthur Baer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
If you do big things they print your face, and if you do little things they only print your thumbs.
Say Its All Mine
Well I know its over
Like a waste of mind
Well I know its side ball
I cant seem to find
Like a waste of someone
Like a wasted home
Well I know its over
I know its over long
Did you ever slip inside my ozone
I saw it in my eyes
Ever slip into me baby?
And I know its mine
I gotta say its all mine
With so low
Well I know its not mine
With so much
Well I say its all mine
With so low
And I know its not mine
Well its solace baby
I saw the face of mine
You took my hand and held on
For the longest time
I was always looking to be the one for you
It could have been so perfect
If I still lied at you
And I want to scream inside you no-one
Did you ever look at me
I saw a place where I was open
Now it will die mine
I gotta say its all mine
When no man
When I know its not mine
With so much
When Im faking the lies
With so low
I gotta say its all mine
Gotta say its all mine
Wanna say its all mine
Gonna say its all mine
It was so good
It was so good
It was so good
It was so good
It was so good
It was so good
It was so mine
I gotta say its all mine
With so low
When I know its not mine
Its over
And I can face it no lie
With so much
Well I know its not mine
With so low
I know its not mine
With so much
I gotta face its a lie
With so low
I know its not mine
With so far
I gotta place its a lie
It was so good
So good
Say its so good
Say its so good
Say its so good
Say its so good
Say its so good
song performed by by Moby
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Not Wanting To Forget
The Modigliani print was on the wall
By the front door. Who’s she? Bridshaw’s
Dame asked, pointing at the print.
It’s a painting by Modigliani, Bridshaw said.
Is he a friend of yours? The dame asked.
Bridshaw pulled a face and said, No, he’s
Dead now. Shame, she replied, stroking
The print, her finger tracing the woman’s
Outline, her tongue hanging out of the side
Of her mouth in concentration. She’s a bit
On the thin side, the dame said, and I don’t
Like the black coat she’s wearing, like some
Darn widow. Bridshaw wanted to get the dame
In bed for sex; the Modigliani print was no
Big deal, he’d bought it in some art shop on
The high street from the guy with the Boston
Tones. Shame he’s dead, the dame said, he
Could have painted me; I would have made
A good model, more meat on me than that
Woman in black, thin as a pole. Bridshaw
Nodded his head, Sure, sure, but you’re too
Late, the guy’s dead, now can we move on,
Get a drink, hit the bed, have sex, and then
A cigarette. Sure, the dame said, moving away
From the Modigliani print, taking the image
Of the woman with her, not wanting to forget.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Time out of Mind
Losing ping of my mind,
i can't print my future.
Days glistened frustrating me,
on high hopes could not reach,
Sunshine blinks on innocent face,
I who responsible for his future
I try to rescue myself and tired,
if i am to be a sailor,
Sometimes silence and darkness makes thunder,
timed out! timed out! timed out!
So i can't print my future.
-Shaleheen
poem by Musfiq us Shaleheen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
That Face
I see a face that face is mine
The mirror marks the changing time
Her face Ill never see again
And mine will never be the same
That face was fine only yesterday
My problems seemed so far away
Reflections I see of myself
As in sickness as in health
As she left as for worse
No chance to re-rehearse
Try to forget try not to see
Who is that face looking at me
Reflections of yesterday
If only I could make you stay
One day past is like a year
She wouldnt say what made her leave
I didnt think shed ever go
And why she did Ill never know
I wish I could return and see
But now its just a memory
Reflections of yesterday
Reflections of yesterday
I see a face that face is mine
The mirror marks the changing time
Her face Ill never see again
And mine will never be the same
Reflections of yesterday
Reflections of yesterday
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The big print giveth, and the fine print taketh away.
quote by Fulton J. Sheen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Mediocrity or purpose divine.
A poem does not look much,
Just scribbled on any scrap
Of available paper or tissue.
Put it into print,
Give it a title.
All can be revealed
in an instant.
Mediocrity or purpose divine.
A poem does not always
Seem relevant.
Just scribbled with
Errors and adjustments.
Crossed out lines and words.
Does not do it justice.
Put it into print.
Give it a name or two.
All will unfold,
In an instant.
How pompous it all seems,
This little old poem divine
That started off as solely mine.
In a terrible dream.
I escaped to find reality.
.
poem by Peter Vealey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The big print giveth and the small print taketh away.
One of the reasons I started Tzadik, which is my own label, is to keep things in print. I got tired of labels dropping things out of print when they don't sell.
Modesty is reserved
That painting lures me to buy.
I can’t. It would rob my wealth.
Its duplicate costs me one tenth.
Even that I prefer to let go.
I settled with its photo print
For paltry sum I grow not poor by.
Woman bends just to flirt
Like one buying a photo print
13.05.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
War Babies
See the white clouds roll in
Spirits lying next to me
Catch the wildflower falling
Its the wound that never bleeds
Hear the sirens calling
Spinning out their show
Hold - the moment close to me
Take it down too slow
Be mine, be mine, war babies
Be mine, be mine, war babies
Can you still keep going?
Shattered pieces left inside
To face the final, knowing
That theres somethings you cant hide
Be mine, be mine, war babies
Be mine, be mine, war babies
So will the force let go?
Or will the phantoms stay?
Let the foreteller be your sight
- it feels like somethings happening today
Some shames like no other
And nothing feels the same
Nothing feels the same
War babies
Be mine, be mine, war babies
Nothing feels the same
War babies
War babies
Nothing feels the same
Be mine
Be mine
War babies
Written by : kerr/burchill reproduced without permission
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I've Given In Print
I've given in print,
My sentiments...
On several levels of thought.
I've explained, complained...
And attempted to refrain,
From political or religious...
Ideologies,
I either witnessed...
Or have been taught!
And through the years I've learned,
To myself be true.
No matter what it was,
Others believed I should or could do.
And I do have a hint,
To leave in print...
For anyone feeling,
Similar sentiments.
Be true to 'you'.
It's not easy to do.
However,
With a faith kept that is trusted...
With an honest decision to 'self' that is made,
There will be peaks and valleys lived to experience.
But eventually there is a happiness that comes,
With an acknowledgement that no one is owed...
For those things you've done.
Many can say this.
But to feel inside what is true for you,
That has been done in the doing...
Is a blessing felt no matter who scutinizes it.
And I've been fortunate to mention it in print.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In 1986 we were trying to help women get in print, stay in print, and come to the attention of booksellers and libraries. At that time, books by men mystery writers were reviewed seven times as often as books by women.
quote by Sara Paretsky
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Metaphor For My Face....
i pass by the wall
where a picture of
a face is hung,
something that i
cannot just pass
through towards
the door and not
look back at it
again
just a few seconds
i tell myself
i touch the face again
and sigh
it is mine
it was a face then
when i was at your
young age
i was reckless
in that one
it was a set of
wasted eyes
of luscious lips
that took so many
kisses
and let go
all not keeping
one
i leave the picture now
another time wasted
on such a beautiful face
as mine
i must go
to places then
where all mirrors
are broken
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mine Eyes Beg Sight Of Thee
Mine eyes beg sight of thee; mine mind begs, thought;
Mine heart begs consort with thee-for us to be what we ought;
Mine arms beg thine own body, in loving embrace-
Contrariwise, mine own body begs of same, face to face!
Mine own soul begs for thine, as its mate-
Our re-acquaintance made as was, through the powers of fate;
Mine whole life begs for thine own beauty's attestation:
As I bide still, I ruminate upon my futurity's celebration.
Until this time, when we shall meet my beloved, fair thee well:
May we both one day be the story that we lovingly tell.
All that I am begs for all that you are-
In a world with myriad resplendence, you are its brightest star!
Query not why it is that I covet thee as I do,
Ponder only: that in the morrow, more of same shall be gifted, to you!
poem by Maurice Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Henry George
(Melbourne)
I CAME to buy a book. It was a shop
Down in a narrow quiet street, and here
They kept, I knew, these socialistic books.
I entered. All was bare, but clean and neat.
The shelves were ranged with unsold wares; the counter
Held a few sheets and papers. Here and there
Hung prints and calendars. I rapped, and straight
A young Girl came out through the inner door.
She had a clear and simple face; I saw
She had no beauty, loveliness, nor charm,
But, as your eyes met those grey light-lit eyes
Like to a mountain spring so pure, you thought:
'He'd be a clever man who looked, and lied!'
I asked her for the book. . . . We spoke a little.
Her words were as her face was, as her eyes.
Yes, she'd read many books like this of mine:
Also some poets, Shelley, Byron too,
And Tennyson, but 'poets only dreamed!'
Thus, then, we talked, until by chance I spoke
A phrase and then a name. 'Twas 'Henry George.'
Her face lit up. O it was beautiful,
Or never woman's face was! 'Henry George?'
She said. And then a look, a flush, a smile,
Such as sprung up in Magdalenè's cheek
When some voice uttered Jesus, made her angel.
She turned and pointed up the counter. I,
Loosing mine eyes from that ensainted face,
Looked also. 'Twas a print, a common print,
The head and shoulders of a man. She said,
Quite in a whisper: 'That's him, Henry George!'
Darling, that in this life of wrong and woe,
The lovely woman-soul within you brooded
And wept and loved and hated and pitied,
And knew not what its helplessness could do,
Its helplessness, its sheer bewilderment —
That then those eyes should fall, those angel eyes,
On one who'd brooded, wept, loved, hated, pitied,
Even as you had, but therefrom had sprung
A hope, a plan, a scheme to right this wrong,
And make this woe less hateful to the sun —
And that pure soul had found its Master thus
To listen to, remember, watch and love,
And trust the dawn that rose up through the dark:
O this was good
For me to see, as for some weary hopeless
Longer and toiler for 'the Kingdom of Heaven'
To stand some lifeless twilight hour, and hear,
There in a dim-lit house of Lazarus,
Mary who said: 'Thus, thus he looked, he spake,
The Master!' — So to hear her rapturous words,
And gaze upon her up-raised heavenly face!
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!