And left the flushed print in a poppy there.
quote by Francis Thompson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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
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Poppy The Fairy
Upon a bank beneath a tree
Beside a trickley brook,
Upon an upturned nutshell I saw a fairy stood.
I offered her a sandwich and asked of her, her name?
“Poppy Bell”, she quick replied, and “This ham is rather tame, ”
I thought this oh so curious as in the bread was game.
I took the fairy home with me for a cup of tea,
“Would you like one lump or two? ” Said she “I will take three! ”
I’d never known a fairy take three sugars in her tea.
So filled to brim with sandwiches and tea up to her head,
That little Fairy Poppy Bell dozed off upon my bed
At lunchtime she was snoring loud by teatime she was dead!
It may have been the sandwiches; it may have been the bed,
It may have been the sugared tea that to Poppy’ I fed,
I’m not sure what it really was that made that fairy dead.
I quickly took a shoebox -
After taking out the shoes,
And in it I placed Poppy on her everlasting snooze.
I went back to the trickley brook,
I stood beneath the tree,
And there I buried Poppy with her sugars - One, two three.
No sooner had I buried her,
That on that very bank
The reddest little Poppy grew and bowed to me in thanks.
I picked the little Poppy
All red and bright and new,
And now I always wear it upon my favourite shoe.
It was a short time later
Whilst rambling through a wood,
That on an upturned nut shell I saw a fairy stood.
I offered her a sandwich and asked of her, her name?
“Poppy Bell! ” she quick replied,
“It’s me! I’m back again.”
poem by John Thomas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Holly Up On Poppy
Holly up on poppy
Canter never stop
She has escaped from the world
Where they bake beautiful girls
Holly up on poppy
Trotting to the top
She talks and banners unfurl
Their secrets crayoned in swirls
Everyday i
Have to pluck up
Courage to look her in the eyes
The eyes of storms
Anyway i
Love to watch her
Ride and play the alchemy
That love performed
Laughing
Holly up on poppy...
Everytime i
Look at my watch
Im reminded we are poor
In hours per day
Every second
Spent with her
s a bulging wallet overstuffed
With angels pay
Laughter!
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poppy Seller
The poppy seller stands near the Rotunda.
He vends his paper flowers as before.
He wears a small red poppy in Remembrance
of heroes fallen in our nation’s wars.
The people pass as if he’s’ non existent,
more interested to buy well watered beer.
The Veteran feels the sting of their indifference-
Upon his grizzled cheek I spy a tear.
I cannot, will not also pass in silence
I stop and donate something at his stall
He stammers thanks, but he needn’t thank me-
more fitting that I thank those who gave all.
They who owed us nothing gave us everything.
We, their debtors, balk to pay our share.
And still the poppy flourishes in Burgundy,
past living memory, as a wordless prayer..
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The big print giveth, and the fine print taketh away.
quote by Fulton J. Sheen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The big print giveth and the small print taketh away.
To Remember
To remember those people who risked their lives
To show appreciation, to show we care
To save our country, they gave their lives
For their families it was like a dreaded nightmare
To support those soldiers and wear a poppy
To give some money, and not be soppy
To wear a poppy and remember that first day poppies grew, that one day it was sunny
Do you remember why
Why we wear a poppy for a couple of days
To show we remember and to show our gratitude is high
To do that, doesn’t pay
So to remember
To be silent
For a couple of minutes
Doesn’t pay
It just shows gratitude
For that one sad day
Poppy Brown and I
We've spent a lot of time together
Poppy Brown and I,
Sitting by the window-ledge
Staring at the sky;
Keeping silent vigil watching
Up and down the street,
Passing many moments, Listening for her feet.
We've spent a lot of time together
Poppy Brown and I,
Playing out the hours
Passing slowly by;
Keeping silent company,
Quiet as the moon,
Waiting for our loved one,
Hoping she'll come soon.
We've spent a lot of time together
Poppy Brown and I,
Loving at the window-ledge
Waiting by and by;
Keeping silent vigil,
Playing out the night,
Looking to each other,
A kiss and then a fight.
We've spent a lot of time together
Poppy Brown and I,
Waiting out the hours
Willing them to fly;
Keeping silent company,
Our mutual request:
The imminent arrival of
The one we love the best.
(Written 28th March 2006)
poem by John Carter Brown
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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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.
In the Trenches
I snatched two poppies
From the parapet’s ledge,
Two bright red poppies
That winked on the ledge.
Behind my ear
I stuck one through,
One blood red poppy
I gave to you.
The sandbags narrowed
And screwed out our jest,
And tore the poppy
You had on your breast ...
Down - a shell - O! Christ,
I am choked ... safe ... dust blind, I
See trench floor poppies
Strewn. Smashed you lie.
poem by Isaac Rosenberg
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The risky job
Barley sown,
Barley is harvested.
Poppy sown,
Poppy is harvested.
A child sown,
Harvest is unpredictable,
The most risky job.
27.03.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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
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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
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If you do big things they print your face, and if you do little things they only print your thumbs.
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
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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
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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
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Bullets and Poppies
Bullets were flying
and soldiers were dying
as crimson poppies
swayed in the breeze,
beyond the trenches
beyond the green leas
in the fourteen-eighteen war
'the war to end all wars'
but these words sadly
failed to please.
The poppy's the emblem
and sorrowful hearts in sympathy
wander back to Flanders Fields
where thousands of comrades
were shamefully killed.
Golden the archives,
with names of the heroes...
and the poppy still sways
in the breeze, because
wars will never cease.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Don't Shut Us Out
We do not print poetry
The newspaper said
So I burned that paper
Instead
They write about rape, murders and theft
From day to day politics
To the little good will, man does
Are we in a curse
How dare they not print
Our verse
We shall and forever be
A very, very poetic
Society
In our mind, body and soul
So run your papers
Run them in black
Sell them in your box
I'll keep my fifty cents
I'm not coming back
poem by Matt Mondschein
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