En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Usually I trundle about in trainers and baggy jeans, looking about as attractive as a potato.

quote by Gail Porter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Meat And Potato Man

meat and potato man
I like my steak well done, my taters fried
Football games on monday night
Its just who i am
A meat and potato man
I like my coffee black
Oltv shows
My women hot and my beer ice cold
Its just who i am
A meat and potato man
I dont like caviar, sushi bars,
The irs or phony stars
Im a haggard fan
A meat and potato man
I like my fishinholes, lightninbugs
Flatt nscruggs, and my womans love
Its just who i am
A meat and potato man
I like my wrangler jeans, cowboy boots
Cornbread and beans and country roots
Its just who i am
A meat and potato man
I dont like politics, hypocrites
Folks with poodles dressed like kids
Im a hounddog fan
A meat and potato manyeah, thats what i am,
A meat and potato man

song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Meat & Potato Man

Meat and potato man
I like my steak well done, my taters fried
Football games on monday night
Its just who I am
A meat and potato man
I like my coffee black
Oltv shows
My women hot and my beer ice cold
Its just who I am
A meat and potato man
I dont like caviar, sushi bars,
The irs or phony stars
Im a haggard fan
A meat and potato man
I like my fishinholes, lightninbugs
Flatt nscruggs, and my womans love
Its just who I am
A meat and potato man
I like my wrangler jeans, cowboy boots
Cornbread and beans and country roots
Its just who I am
A meat and potato man
I dont like politics, hypocrites
Folks with poodles dressed like kids
Im a hounddog fan
A meat and potato manyeah, thats what I am,
A meat and potato man

song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lookism

Black hair,
Blonde hair,
Brown hair,
And blue,
Earrings,
And nose rings,
And belly rings too,
Skinny jeans,
Baggy jeans,
Purple checkered and
Colored jeans too.
Looks and more looks
Are everywhere you look.
Their on TV
And in real life.
They are in church
And on the street.
We’re always concerned with our looks cuz they are all around.
They define
Loser
And punk
To preppy and
Rich.
What you look like describes your personality.
But why?
If you where tight jeans why must you be skater?
Of if you wear your hair black,
Why must you be punk or Goth?
It is all just in our heads,
You can wear tight jeans and be Goth,
Or black hair and be prep,
Why are looks so defining?
Because we make them so.
Why do people do this?
Hell if I know.
It is all just a mirage.
None of its real.
So why are looks such a big deal?
Why do we try and make believe,
If you look like that then you must be this?
There is no point to this strange behavior.
So lets stop this lookism and just get to someone despite how they look.

poem by BlackXWhiteFeathers Raven Mendez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One Potato

One potato, two potato
three potato four.
We need some potatoes
to help feed the poor.
Too many hungry babes
are being born today.
When their mother's milk runs dry
they'll have to find a way
to keep their bellies full.
No time for play.

One potato, two potato,
three potato, four.
You say into each life
a little rain must pour?
I say the rain's that's falling
are tears from the eyes
that run down children's faces
from hunger pains and cries
that elude the ears of rich ones
that never ever buys
potatoes for them all.

poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Old Trundle-Bed

O the old trundle-bed where I slept when a boy!
What canopied king might not covet the joy?
The glory and peace of that slumber of mine,
Like a long, gracious rest in the bosom divine:
The quaint, homely couch, hidden close from the light,
But daintily drawn from its hiding at night.
O a nest of delight, from the foot to the head,
Was the queer little, clear little, old trundle-bed!

O the old trundle-bed, where I wondering saw
The stars through the window, and listened with awe
To the sigh of the winds as they tremblingly crept
Through the trees where the robin so restlessly slept:
Where I heard the low, murmurous chirp of the wren,
And the katydid listlessly chirrup again,
Till my fancies grew faint and were drowsily led
Through the maze of the dreams of the old trundle bed.

O the old trundle-bed! O the old trundle-bed!
With its plump little pillow, and old-fashioned spread;
Its snowy-white sheets, and the blankets above,
Smoothed down and tucked round with the touches of love;
The voice of my mother to lull me to sleep
With the old fairy-stories my memories keep
Still fresh as the lilies that bloom o'er the head
Once bowed o'er my own in the old trundle-bed.

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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And I was victim to that very early in my career, where I would go into auditions, and I'd be wearing a big T shirt, a big baggy T shirt and loose jeans. You know, to try and show people that there was more to me than just that.

quote by Charlize Theron
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One More Less Lonely Potato

One more less lonely potato left inside of the fridge to cool of
So that doesn’t get soggy
Because the heat might spoil that lonely potato
And that lonely potato needs a friend anyway

poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jeans On

When I wake up in the mornin light
I pull on my jeans and I feel all right
I pull my blue jeans on, I pull my old blue jeans on
I pull my blue jeans on, I pull my old blue jeans on
Its the weekend, and I know that youre free
So pull on your jeans and come on out with me
Oh cause I need to have you near me,
I need to feel you close to me
I need to have you near me, I need to feel you close to me
You and me, well go motorbike ridin in the sun
And the wind and the rain
I got money in my pocket, I got a tiger in my tank
And Im king of the road again
Ill meet ya in the usual place
You dont need a thing except your pretty face, alright
I pull my blue jeans on, I pull my old blue jeans on
I pull my blue jeans on, I pull my old blue jeans on
Aw, here we go mama
You and me, well go motorbike ridin in the sun
And the wind and the rain
I got money in my pocket, I got a tiger in my tank
And Im king of the road again
When I wake up in the mornin light
I pull on my jeans and I feel all right
Hey I pull my blue jeans on, I pull my old blue jeans on
I pull my blue jeans on, I pull my old blue jeans on
I pull my blue jeans on, I pull my old blue jeans on
I pull my blue jeans on, I pull my old blue jeans on

song performed by by Keith Urban
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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O’ Woman In Jeans

O’woman in jeans
you are modern
you are not bound in chains like
that one in saree
O‘ woman in jeans
you work and work
you don't need that multitude of suits with dupattas
few pairs of top and jeans is enough
O’ woman in jeans
you look more curvy more sensuous
even when you are fully covered
your hips your bust is far more powerful
than one in saree, in stiched suits
O’ woman in jeans
you can move you can run
you need no excuse like
that head covered women
you can thwart the attempts of rapist
O’ woman in jeans
you look sensuous
you look commanding
you look proud
you need not to play submissive
O woman in jeans

poem by Pawan Sharma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I have jeans with holes in them and I have nice jeans. I have casual and I have dressy jeans. I've got all kinds.

quote by Amanda Seyfried
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Baggy Trousers

Naughty boys in nasty schools
Headmasters breaking all the rules
Having fun and playing fools
Smashing up the woodwork tools
All the teachers in the pub
Passing round the ready-rub
Trying not to think of when
The lunch-time bell will ring again.
Oh what fun we had
But, did it really turn out bad
All I learnt at school
Was how to bend not break the rules
Oh what fun we had
But at the time it seemed so bad
Trying different ways
To make a difference to the days.
Headmasters had enough to-day
All the kids have gone away
Gone to fight with next-doors school
Every term, that is the rule
Sits alone and bends his cane
Same old backsides again
All the small ones tell tall tales
Walking home and squashing snails.
Oh what fun we had
But, did it really turn out bad
All I learnt at school
Was how to bend not break the rules
Oh what fun we had
But at the time it seemed so bad
Trying different ways
To make a difference to the days.
Lots of girls and lots of boys
Lots of smells and lots of noise
Playing football in the park
Kicking pushbikes after dark
Baggy trousers, dirty shirt
Pulling hair and eating dirt
Teacher comes to break it up
Back of the ead with a plastic cup.
Oh what fun we had
But, did it really turn out bad
All I learnt at school
Was how to bend not break the rules
Oh what fun we had
But at the time it seemed so bad
Trying different ways
To make a difference to the days.
Baggy trousers, baggy trousers, baggy trousers
Baggy trousers, baggy trousers, baggy trousers

song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I thought I would dress in baggy pants, big shoes, a cane and a derby hat. everything a contradiction: the pants baggy, the coat tight, the hat small and the shoes large.

quote by Charlie Chaplin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The 'Potato' Poem

I love potatoes chopped up into chunky chips.
I love spicy potato wedges, served up with dips.
I love potato slices which have been fried in a pan:
Of sautéed potatoes, I am the world's biggest fan.

I love potatoes which have been pummelled and bashed
With butter and milk to make a real light, fluffy mash.
Jacket potatoes, I find a bit dry, but with a nice filling
Such as chilli, to give them a try, I am more willing.

With breakfast, I love hash browns or potato cakes,
And I love potatoes mixed up with leeks in a bake.
Crispy, golden potatoes, served up with Sunday roast
Are among the kinds of potato which I love the most.

Mixed in soups and casseroles, I love potatoes diced.
On top on minced beef hotpot, I love potatoes sliced.
Fluffy potato stuffed inside a crispy potato croquette
Is also rather nice, and, for me, it is another safe bet.

I love potatoes cut into crisps: the slices, wafer thin,
And, as a starter, I simply love loaded potato skins:
I do adore a delicious dish of Bombay potato curry:
For me, it is a taste which I won't forget in a hurry.

I like potatoes diced up with creamy mayonnaise,
Served up with salad on really hot summer days.
But I don't like potatoes which have been boiled:
From potatoes, cooked this way, in horror, I recoil.

poem by Angela Wybrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My life my smile

My life my smile

I am nout but a teenage boy
I like to sit at my window and write
Listen to the many sounds of the birds
Thinking life is now my toy

So now I sit at my window
Looking at my front garden pond
Look up at the church steeple
And now I smile at what I see down low

A woman has just walked by
She’s holding an ipod in her hand
She looks happy in her blue jeans and white trainers
Whilst she walks she looks at the sky

And now I also look at the sky
It makes me grin from ear to ear
I can see the blue sky with no clouds
And I think wonderful and I feel as if I can fly

poem by Daniel Laurence
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Creepin Jean

Youre not leaving so descreet,
Just creeping out on me.
Your dizzy head, and smoky eyes,
Youll find some others bed to sleep.
So dont look back, it is too late,
No story to be told.
This creepin mess you left for me,
Promising that youd be home.
You dont know what I mean,
Creepin jeans a disease.
You dont know what I mean,
Creepin jeans a disease.
You dont know what I mean,
Creepin jeans a disease.
You dont know what I mean,
Creepin jeans a disease.
Your dirty friends and underwear,
Keep hanging round my room.
The lonely pictures that you paint
Are creepin to their doom.
So dont look back it is too late,
No story to be told.
These creepin friends you left for me,
Saying your promise to be home.
You dont know what I mean,
Creepin jeans a disease.
You dont know what I mean,
Creepin jeans a disease.
You dont know what I mean,
Creepin jeans a disease.
You dont know what I mean,
Creepin jeans a disease.

song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We are the future

We are the future
with our spikes and chains,
our baggy pants,
And unused brains

We are the future
With our belly shirts,
Hooker boots,
In mini skirts

We are the future
with our torn up jeans,
our rude t-shirts,
Wearing diamond rings

We are the future
With our high dollar clothes,
our rap music,
Pink polished toes

We are the future
And our parents hope and pray
That we'll all grow out
Of this someday

poem by Kansas Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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0004 Oxymoron

You know the type - the word's just perfect for him:
built like an ox, brain like a moron.
shaved head, one ear-ring, bull neck,
gold chain, tattoos,
black gym-pumped T shirt
(strange to think that thirty years ago
that would mark him a, er, Judy Garland fan..)
or football shirt on match days,
jeans, trainers
for a quick getaway between the blood and the pig-van,
and sharp eyes in an impassive face
as if one eye's always on the lookout for his mates
and the other for the other lot
so don't catch his eye, OK?

a 'football supporter';
now that's a real
oxymoron.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Blue Jeans I Remember

the blue jeans i remember
after a very cold season
in that coconut farm

tight blue jeans
smelling my swelling
legs
and dirty with saline
taste

unwashed in the corner
of my room
i always see your
warm hands
sliding
inside them

damn blue jeans
spare my sanity!

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All His Suits Are Torn

Billy cobin lost it all
We knew he would eventually
Some wonder why he took the fall
Others just ask who the hell is he
And why should we care for him
A baggy man with baggy clothes
A face made of paper mache
He lost his humor years ago
Along with his molars
His head planted beneath his shoulders
Kill the pain, integrity dont
Keep you warm and sane
Dont throw me out with the bath water
Dont wanna be, anyone who would wanna know me

song performed by by NOFX
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Potato

My love is a potato

Crude with piggy black eyes

Slit in the side and soiled by sod

My love is the rough handled skin

That follows the relentless storm

The tempestous waves

That raged and rent its first soft form

My love is a potato

The first and almost last known outcast

In a jungle school

His head was wedged like a spud

Mounted on a sinew of neck and bristle

His face sunken into flesh

His eyes two dark slits of piggy black lust

That lit up like a fool

I left him standing at the gate, after school!

My love is a potato after the mash and the kill

And the spill of the innocent milk of the martyr

The final slab of the butter

My love is a potato

Not quite a heart

Battered down

And worn

But after the storm

A sweetness and softening

And love is born!

yvette smith march 09

poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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