My belt holds my pants up, but the belt loops hold my belt up. I don't really know what's happening down there. Who is the real hero?
quote by Mitch Hedberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Snap (Fun Poem 125)
Woke up and had a shower
felt great and refreshed,
laid my clothes out
and started to get dressed.
Dragged on my trousers
and then pulled on my belt.
Snap!
I stood there with half a belt in my hand
and my trousers around my ankles.
Now I need a length of string
to hold my trousers up.
Looks like it gonna be
a new belt day today.
(7 July 2011)
poem by David Harris
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Treadmill
The conveyor belt keeps rolling.
You stare straight ahead to the wall
And trek forward while the world stalls,
Hearing tapping feet repeating.
The conveyor belt keeps rolling.
Through your window, nature might call,
But you don't hear that—not at all.
You're closed in by your surroundings.
The conveyor belt keeps rolling.
Meanwhile, opportunity sprawls,
Begging you to escape the small,
Stationary steps to nothing.
The conveyor belt keeps rolling.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Belt Buckle (live)
RED, RED LIPS
SWIVELIN?HIPS
MOVIN' IN SOME NEW BLUE JEANS
SHUFFLIN' SWEET RIGHT WITH THAT BEAT
SHE CAN REALLY SHAKE THAT THING
BELT BUCKLE
SHININ' DAY AND NIGHT
WHEN SHE SHAKE THAT THING
HOPE IT'S NEXT TO MINE
I SAID, LORD HAVE MERCY, MY O?MY
YOU BEEN LOOKIN' TOO GOOD
I THINK YOU WANNA SHAKE WITH ME
BABY I THINK YOU SHOULD
BELT BUCKLE
SHININ' DAY AND NIGHT
WHEN YOU SHAKE THAT THING
HOPE IT? NEXT TO MINE
PLEASE, PLEASE BABY, I WANNA SAY
YOU LOOKIN' SO FINE
AND IF YOU HOLD MINE NEXT TO YOURS
I'LL HOLD YOU NEXT TO MINE
BELT BUCKLE
SHININ?DAY AND NIGHT
WHEN YOU SHAKE THAT THING
HOPE IT'S NEXT TO MINE
song performed by by ZZ Top
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You got to choose between tightening your belt or losing your pants.
quote by Navjot Singh Sidhu
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Put Those Pants Back On
Look, BOY!
Pull those pants up.
Or either take them off.
'But POP? '
Don't you 'POP me boy.
You heard what I said.
'Ooookkkaaay.'
What are you doing?
Put those pants back on.
'That's what I've been trying to tell you.
I am overdressed these days.
Some of the kids are totally butt naked.
And they are allowed because they have high grades! '
So what are you saying?
You get F's on purpose?
'Well...
Kinda.'
Well..
Kinda put those pants around your waist.
And kinda do it with a belt.
I don't care if you are perceived,
To be the dumbest walking the hallways in school.
Your ass will stay covered.
Is that understood?
'Yes.'
Yes what?
'Yes, Your Majesty.'
Hee with two Haahs.
Now get out of here.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I know where Wells grow—Droughtless Wells
460
I know where Wells grow—Droughtless Wells—
Deep dug—for Summer days—
Where Mosses go no more away—
And Pebble—safely plays—
It's made of Fathoms—and a Belt—
A Belt of jagged Stone—
Inlaid with Emerald—half way down—
And Diamonds—jumbled on—
It has no Bucket—Were I rich
A Bucket I would buy—
I'm often thirsty—but my lips
Are so high up—You see—
I read in an Old fashioned Book
That People "thirst no more"—
The Wells have Buckets to them there—
It must mean that—I'm sure—
Shall We remember Parching—then?
Those Waters sound so grand—
I think a little Well—like Mine—
Dearer to understand—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Ride On
I got something in my pocket that makes it hard for me to stay
When I lay down I can feel it, every night and every day
It's a dream I can't get hold of, it's a certain way to be
Lord knows I try to lose it, but it will not let me be.
Ride on, ride on
Is it something that I'm needing, is it something that I fear
Am I chasing or am I running? do I want it to be here?
So strap your scars up, pull your belt in tight
Tell yourself it's worth the pain, 'till that something in your pocket
Ain't never felt again
Ride on, ride on, keep riding on.
Are you looking out, for what's missing inside
You can scream and shout, but you can never ever hide
So strap your scars up, pull your belt in tight
Tell yourself it's worth the pain
To let something in your pocket
Ain't never felt again
Ride on, ride on, keep riding on.
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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1st Date And A Hanging
He hung there,
not like 'strange fruit'
but like a body.
Hs blackened tongue partially protruding from his mouth,
and a belt around his neck.
911 operator asked if I was sure he was dead.
'Oh yeah.. he's f78king dead'
His face was purple black,
there was no doubt.
he was dead.
'I'm going to need you to cut him down'- the 911 operator..
'ummm... what? '
'Cut im down'
I climbed next to him,
tryng to balance on the wrought iron fence from which he had picked to end his life.
Do you realize how close you have to get to a dead man in order to cut him down off a gate?
My mind went blank as I sawed throuh the belt with a dull knife.
My mind went blank,
I looked at the belt...
only the belt,
not what was attached.
I had blocked out what was dangling from the other end of that belt,
until I heard the muted 'thud'
Body hitting pavement.
Then it was all flashing lights, sirens, interviews, crime scene photogs.
It was all yellow tape and I stood back to watch.
It took them hours,
meanwhile, the type of people who roam the streets at homeless shelters at 3: 00 AM,
walked past... slowly.
always the same dumb question:
'Is he dead? ' they would ask me.
'Well, he isn't doig well.'
They kept walking.
Later, after the carnival died down, my bar tender texted me.
'Hows work? '
(I think she lived vicariously through the chaos of my line of work)
I told her of the nights events.
I had to cut down the body of a man,
a resident,
one I knew well
down from a gate.
Within the hour she was at my workplace.
I sat in her car, eating chocolates she brought to cheer me up.
chain smoking
and trying to catch my breath,
trying to catch up with myself.
My bartender considers this our first date.
(we are married now) .
I consider it the night I cut down a man
A man who hung himself over a woman
from a gate...
and then ate chococlate and chain smoked.
poem by Brevet Wilson
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Handsome Friend Charlie
handsome friend charlie
of the G community
poses in a photo shoot
for he says he's gonna be
a star someday
we saw it
but it's rather weird
he holds his brown belt
rather than wear it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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My Uncle
He was about to leave,
but found time to advise:
'Diplomacy will do you good, ' he said
'Don't be like people who hit below the belt.
Me, I only go as far as the belt itself.'
Patting his six-shooter
tucked in it.
He saddled to his horse....
err, his bike, somewhat
to go to city haunts.
He loves the scene
the sins.
Long detained in farmer's life
he wanted out, sometimes.
Or in.
Places like Follies 69.
Not a good place
where to get farm help though.
The last one
most recent
she run off with a stag.
That's right- a male deer
which she sold
auction style.
'My boy, ' said uncle.
'Choose a lass with hindsight
and foresight.
Her one eye looking at the past,
while the other sees the future.'
But not many cross-eyed ladies
in our county, I suppose.
And none
quite beautiful enough.
poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
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Improved Farm Land
Tall timber stood here once, hee on a corn belt farm along the Monon.
Here the roots of a half-mile of trees dug their runners deep in the loam for a grip and a hold against wind storms.
Then the axemen came and the chips flew to the zing of steel and handle--the lank railsplitters cut the big ones first, the beeches and the oaks, then the brush.
Dynamite, wagons, and horses took the stumps--the plows sunk their teeth in--now it is first class corn land--omproved property--and the hogs grunt over the fodder crops.
It would come hard now for this half mile of improved farm land along the Monon corn belt, on a piece of Grand Prarie, to remember once it had a great singing family of trees.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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The Hunter And Dog
The Hunter.
The man who crosses the field carries his shotgun
tucked into his left arm. In his belt five rabbits hang.
This is not a hobby hunter in camouflage outfit,
but a mall time farmer who uses the wildlife to
augment his meager income… his dog that has been
walking at heel runs in front of him, barks, and up
from the tall, dry grass a rabbit springs a shot and
now he has six rabbits hanging from his belt….
He will sell his catch later at a hotel or restaurant.
The man who crossed field, his face is naturally dark,
by years spent outdoors, walks into a landscape of
trees and bushes and disappears from view.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Do not hit me below the belt, please
Do not hit me, please, below the belt
I am already harassed a lot
The ugly three sisters
Very secretly
Weaving
A plot
Under
The dark
frown and taunt
please do not tease me
any more I am already harassed a lot
I can not bear with any more
The nasty trick you play,
I am too weak to you
Totally blind to
The wrongs
You do
You know I am feeling very bore
Losing Interest, a torn sack
full of binding void
all shouts and cries
sounds and noises
meaningless
I do not love you any more
Your deceptive beauty
Is a sinking ship
A lousy whore
Stinking
Dead
Body
Already all the creepy and gory lures are felt
I stand at your door with bare and folded hands
Please, do not hit me, any more, below the belt.
poem by Abdul Wahab
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Commedy/funny
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
my tummy hurts
when i see u flirt
im wearing a shirt
pants without a belt
are you still reading this?
does it make sense to u?
no it doesnt
oh, how you thout it wud be
im so sorry my dear reader...
this aint funny
and thats what makes it funny...
dont hate caus i am the best....
too funny i cant continue..
ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha ha
have a good laugh..
poem by Marx Morris Twumasi
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The Eyes Of Winter
These frozen eyes of winter glittering so cruel
Like scorching flames of fire, icy hearts to melt
When hearts can make the flame to eye the night so cool
And cool the night in winter, frozen songs to belt
But winter's heart, so cool in light, on ice love dwelt
And dwelt in our igloo like a piece of flame,
When flames are hearts of sorrow needing songs to belt
And igloo is a scene, on which we sing for fame.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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Quaternion
Fix belt tip under books on table top
While holding buckle level, step away
Rotate the buckle once; two pi nonstop
A twist results which looping won't unplay.
Restart and rotate buckle four times pi
And now by looping belt round buckle end
The twists are cleared, exhibiting to eye
Zen essence of rotation; comprehend?
Never mind.
October sixteenth, eighteen forty-three,
beside the Royal Canal of Dublin town,
Will Hamilton glimpsed spatial clarity,
as view from fourth dimension looking down.
For multiplying triples, fly one higher,
by summing in a more capacious zone,
‘A circuit closed and spark flashed' to inspire
famed maths graffiti carved in Broome Bridge stone.
i^=j^=k^= ijk = -1
poem by Diane Hine
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He is not fat -- it is his belt that doesn't fit.
Superman don't need no seat belt.
quote by Muhammad Ali
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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