Scholarship was one thing, drudgery another. I very soon concluded that nothing would induce me to read, let alone make notes on, hundreds and hundreds of very, very, very boring books.
quote by Simon Raven
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Only One Mother
Hundreds of stars in the pretty sky,
But only one mother to dry your eyes,
Hundreds of shells on the shore together,
But only one mother to have forever
Hundreds of birds that go singing by,
But only one mother to help you try
Hundreds of lambs in the sunny weather.
But only one mother to treat us like treasure
Hundreds of dewdrops to greet the dawn,
But only one mother to help us move on
Hundreds of bees in the purple clover,
But only one mother the world wide over
Hundreds of people to tell apart
But only one mother to give us her heart
poem by Kaitlin Skelding
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Callous women folk
Hundreds and hundreds of women
Were on the way, on who you set your eyes.
hundreds and hundreds of men
might set on them their eyes.
Women grow immune to men
and undermine them altogether,
with delight in men’s plethora.
Light attracting swam! Woman is callous.
25.12.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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And so, you can do hundreds and hundreds of studies showing a general factor and just so long as you restrict your populations, your testing materials and the kinds of situations you look at, you can keep finding the same wrong thing again and again.
quote by Robert Sternberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Oh, how stingy this elite can be, wearing the same mask for hundreds and hundreds of years !
quote by Octav Bibere
Submitted by Kitzy Bush
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The Odd Person Out
You don't take narcotics or you don't smoke tobacco
And you don't drink spirits, wine or stout
And you are what is known as a cleanskin
But at times you feel the odd one out.
You don't party till late at the weekend
At home you do prefer to stay
Still you are an honourable person
Despite of you what others say.
Some others dismiss you as boring
Because you do not partake in their fun
Your great joy in life is in Nature
A walk by the lake in the sun.
You don't play sports or go to watch football
You go to the art gallery instead
And you write poems and plays and draw pictures
And hundreds of books about Nature you've read.
To most others you are very different
You don't drink alcohol, take drugs or watch football
But 'tis our different interests that make us interesting
And no two are exactly the same after all.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Hundreds and hundreds of the dead were so badly burned in the terrific heat generated by the bomb that it was not even possible to tell whether they were men or women, old or young.
quote by Wilfred Burchett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am not involved in any 'issues' because it's too sensitive for me - or my wife - to get involved. Every time we express an opinion it becomes a whole thing in itself. And the whole purpose of living in the countryside was to get away from hundreds of people. My wife fell off a horse, and suddenly there are hundreds of people around.
quote by Guy Ritchie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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100s Of Years
Trees can live for hundreds of years,
They well know to live together!
They tuft to earth, as child's to mom,
Light, water, and air they do share!
When storm does come they low their heads,
To show him respect out of fear!
The branches welcome, greet and laugh.
Leaves dance with the beat of the air.
The roots sometimes, take hold of each,
Thus, they make bridge, over the ditch.
What men ignore, they may do care
And mend that always, just to teach.
They whisper, and send their message,
Thru breeze, and soil, thru ether-
If nature lives, then all can live...
We should do that which can help her.
Hundreds, hundreds years they can live,
In warm friendship, fraternity.
But, we, intelligent creatures,
Can't keep this nature's sanctity!
poem by Nilakshi Das
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Along A Running Train
Trailing thunders in a swipe..
Hundreds chatting, hundreds eating
Within the boundary of my running
Along each count of a bogie..
Next sec
Racing brain mutes like a yogi
Standing still to realise
poem by Indira Renganathan
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But if they want to really think about the fiscal future of this country, then think about how we have moved from hundreds of billions of surpluses to hundreds of billions of deficits.
quote by Chaka Fattah
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Loving is eating.
I love you-
Comes very common
from the lips of men.
I want to eat you-
Is what it means.
To hundreds, he told.
From hundreds, she heard.
Love dies with out eating.
17.11.2001, Pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Loving is eating
I love you-
Comes very common
from the lips of men.
I want to eat you-
Is what it means.
To hundreds, he told.
From hundreds, she heard.
Love dies with out eating.
17.11.2001, Pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Happiness Of A Man
Happiness of a man is not in possibility to chose a woman out of a million,
Happiness of a man is in possibility to allow himself to be with the only loved one.
Out of millions there are hundreds of beauties.
Out of millions there are hundreds of jealous.
Out of millions there are hundreds of desirable.
But… they are not loved.
Out of millions there can be only one loved.
But… what happens in real life?
That one you really love is banned.
She is a wife of your friend,
She is banned by the time,
She is banned by the distance,
She is banned by the pride or prejudice or weakness.
Larisa Rzhepishevska (Odessa, Ukraine)
24th of August,2011
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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A story in Asimov's is read by hundreds of thousands of people.
The Romance Of A Book
Reading a book, you're hit by romance,
No matter the subject matter,
You can read and read,
And every book is different,
Some stories are more pleasant than others,
While some are funny, but most are serious,
For the romance of a book,
Is in everyone's heart,
No matter their age or height,
Whether male or female:
It is all relative and I devour,
Each and every book,
I can read the classics,
Or even a heart-warming romance,
I just get through so many books,
I love every storyline,
Not so much the gory parts,
But the cleverness of the fictional detectives,
And those rock stars that roam the stage,
For a book is something that will never age,
No matter how many years on the shelf,
And stories can be shared with everyone else,
Yet everyone has their own views,
And books can be lifting when they're feeling blue,
For people have been reading fiction for centuries,
But, of course, not all books are fictional:
There're the historical books, interesting,
Even if a reader is just passing through,
And we can all learn something from the history books,
And let's not forget the autobiographies:
Many a man and woman fascinating,
Having lead unique lives and having had special loves,
And there is a romance to these people,
For they walked the same earth as everyone else,
Yet brought something strange and special to the world,
Like a scientist making a new discovery,
Or a rock star penning a hit song,
And all these things are which make books belong,
I haven't met anyone yet who finds books boring,
Because books are not boring: they are fascinating,
Unique, special, strange, romantic and enjoyable,
And every reader's dream: like hitting 'play' on a record,
For this is the romance of a book.
poem by Paula Glynn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poetry
Why is poetry so boring?
Everytime I read it,
It leaves me snoring,
Why is poetry so boring?
Some thing it's the art,
But it's an art how?
Poetry comes from the heart,
No wonder boys frown.
Some this it's the words,
With their displeasure,
They are like sour milk curds,
Which are too big to measure.
Poetry is boring,
Everytime I read it,
It leaves me snoring,
That's why poetry is boring.
poem by Mystykka Mysterious
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Read and read to learn
To use a word sensibly,
You should come across it
At least a dozen times.
To come across such times,
Hundreds of pages
You have to read.
Vocabulary is learnt
By its usage and
Not by knowing meanings.
Read more and more
With mind set on words.
16.04.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Once There Was A True Love
once there was a true love
no poem was written
and then that true love
somehow failed
and since then
hundreds and hundreds of poems have been written.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Hundreds Of Tears
I stood in the warmth of the light
Chilled to the bone
Hundreds of faces in sight
Still I was alone
Door after door
And room after empty room
Ive stood here before
But under a different moon
In the longest days and the darkest nights
Down the longest road theres a presence of light
I hear a voice that calls me
Its loves name I call
In the end
Ive walked in and out of the fire
Between truth and lies
Now how many children watch
While one child crys
Ill tear down these walls
And watch while their souls are freed
Ill throw away pride
To drown in this endless sea
In the longest days and the darkest nights
Down the longest road theres a presence of light
I hear a voice that calls me
Its loves name I call
In the end
Hundreds of tears on the water
Mercy come rain down on me
In the longest days and the darkest nights
Down the longest road theres a presence of light
In the longest days and the darkest nights
Down the longest road theres a presence of light
I hear a voice that calls me
Its loves name I call
In the end
Hundreds of tears on the water
Mercy come rain down on me
Hundreds of tears on the water
Mercy come rain down on me
Hundreds of tears on the water
Mercy come rain down on me
Hundreds of tears on the water
Mercy come rain down on me
song performed by by Sheryl Crow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At The Abbey Theatre
DEAR Craoibhin Aoibhin, look into our case.
When we are high and airy hundreds say
That if we hold that flight they'll leave the place,
While those same hundreds mock another day
Because we have made our art of common things,
So bitterly, you'd dream they longed to look
All their lives through into some drift of wings.
You've dandled them and fed them from the book
And know them to the bone; impart to us --
We'll keep the secret -- a new trick to please.
Is there a bridle for this Proteus
That turns and changes like his draughty seas?
Or is there none, most popular of men,
But when they mock us, that we mock again?
poem by William Butler Yeats
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