My grandmother lived with us for a short time while I was a child. Old people tend to be slightly more eccentric - they can behave the way they want.
quote by Julie Walters
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Unique Breed
a well clad..and
well read too
people they are
a set of people
who want to do things
their way..not the right way
a set of people with a smile on their face
and a frown in their heart.
we the ordinary people still believe
' a person who rules should have a sacrificing heart'
they are people who have just taken the democratic route
to power..and once they are in it
they behave like kings..not tracherous
they behave like the saviours of mankind...and
even the learned tend to be misled..
within they are the worst plunderors and murderors
they are...A UNIQUE CLASS OF PEOPLE
poem by Samanyan Lakshminarayanan
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Im Going Slightly Mad
Words and music by queen
When the outside temperature rises
And the meaning is oh so clear
One thousand and one yellow daffodils
Begin to dance in front of you - oh dear
Are they trying to tell you something
Youre missing that one final screw
Youre simply not in the pink my dear
To be honest you havent got a clue
Im going slightly mad
Im going slightly mad
It finally happened - happened
It finally happened - ooh oh
It finally happened
Im slightly mad
Oh dear
Im one card short of a full deck
Im not quite the shilling
One wave short of a shipwreck
Im not my usual top billing
Im coming down with a fever
Im really out to sea
This kettle is boiling over
I think Im a banana tree
Oh dear
Im going slightly mad
Im going slightly mad
It finally happened - happened
It finally happened - uh huh
It finally happened
Im slightly mad
Oh dear
Ooh ooh ah ah
Ooh ooh ah ah
Im knitting with only one needle
Unravelling fast its true
Im driving only three wheels these days
But my dear how about you
Im going slightly mad
Im going slightly mad
It finally happened
It finally happened - oh yes
It finally happened
Im slightly mad
Just very slightly mad
And there you have it
song performed by by Queen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sestina
September rain falls on the house.
In the failing light, the old grandmother
sits in the kitchen with the child
beside the Little Marvel Stove,
reading the jokes from the almanac,
laughing and talking to hide her tears.
She thinks that her equinoctial tears
and the rain that beats on the roof of the house
were both foretold by the almanac,
but only known to a grandmother.
The iron kettle sings on the stove.
She cuts some bread and says to the child,
It's time for tea now; but the child
is watching the teakettle's small hard tears
dance like mad on the hot black stove,
the way the rain must dance on the house.
Tidying up, the old grandmother
hangs up the clever almanac
on its string. Birdlike, the almanac
hovers half open above the child,
hovers above the old grandmother
and her teacup full of dark brown tears.
She shivers and says she thinks the house
feels chilly, and puts more wood in the stove.
It was to be, says the Marvel Stove.
I know what I know, says the almanac.
With crayons the child draws a rigid house
and a winding pathway. Then the child
puts in a man with buttons like tears
and shows it proudly to the grandmother.
But secretly, while the grandmother
busies herself about the stove,
the little moons fall down like tears
from between the pages of the almanac
into the flower bed the child
has carefully placed in the front of the house.
Time to plant tears, says the almanac.
The grandmother sings to the marvelous stove
and the child draws another inscrutable house.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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Be with minimum anxiety
If you tend to achieve much in less time,
If you tend to expect high from low,
And if you tend to reach through short cut,
You buy your anxiety against your health.
04.03.2001, Palasa
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Short Peoople
Short People got no reason
Short People got no reason
Short People got no reason
To live
They got little hands
And little eyes
And they walk around
Tellin' great big lies
They got little noses
And tiny little teeth
They wear platform shoes
On their nasty little fett
Well I don't want no Short People
Don't want no Short People
Don't want no Short People
Round here
Short People are just the same
As you and I
(A Fool Such As I)
All men are brothers
Until the day they die
(It's A Wonderful World)
Short People got nobody
Short People got nobody
Short People got nobody
To love
They got little baby legs
And they stand so low
You got to pick 'em up
Just to say hello
They got little cars
That got beep, beep, beep
They got little voices
Goin' peep, peep, peep
They got grubby little fingers
And dirty little minds
They're gonna get you every time
Well, I don't want no Short People
Don't want no Short People
Don't want no Short People
'Round here
song performed by by Randy Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Short People
Short people
Short people got no reason
Short people got no reason
Short people got no reason
To live
They got little hands
Little eyes
They walk around
Tellin great big lies
They got little noses
And tiny little teeth
They wear platform shoes
On their nasty little feet
Well, I dont want no short people
Dont want no short people
Dont want no short people
'round here
Short people are just the same
As you and i
(a fool such as I)
All men are brothers
Until the day they die
(its a wonderful world)
Short people got nobody
Short people got nobody
Short people got nobody
To love
They got little baby legs
That stand so low
You got to pick em up
Just to say hello
They got little cars
That go beep, beep, beep
They got little voices
Goin peep, peep, peep
They got grubby little fingers
And dirty little minds
Theyre gonna get you every time
Well, I dont want no short people
Dont want no short people
Dont want no short people
round here
song performed by by Randy Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Form Of Injustice
a tall child
is angry
picks a pebble
on his sling
and hits the
eye of the
the short
child on the
road
the eyeball explodes
blood flows
the short child
screams
the tall child
runs away
laughing loudly
he is far away now
and nowhere to
be seen
the short child keeps
on screaming
some people in the market
hear
run towards the
site
go near to ask
what happened
and then one by one
leave
to do their
respective chores
for the
ordinary day
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Poem for my Grandmother
By the time
I knew grandmother
She was no more
It took sisteen-years
To know
Of her pains
On that sick bed,
My sisteen-year-old
Knowingness was shocked
To hear mum narrate her past
Grandmother as indeed a great
Woman n her life time.
Each time I go to her grave
I break down and cried for her,
I wish grandmother saw
The best of me
Before she was taken to the beyond
I know she would be proud of me
Let this poem of mine
Be for her,
My great grandmother.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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The Child In Me
I am a full-grown man
With a wife and children
A good job to do
Have all that I need
People think
I have lot of experience
To share with others
I give to them
What is expected from me?
But do not hide
The child in me
At times
I cry and laugh like him
Ask questions
As a child does
Play and behave like him
I know
Childhood cannot return
But the child in me
Takes me back
To the carefree
World of A child
No matter,
How old I become
I do not want
The child in me to die
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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Every child growing up will look to their parents, my mother and my father. My grandmother lived with us. I picked up quite a bit of family lore and history from her, which was interesting.
Grandmother Told Me So
The declaration has been spoken,
For Grandmother told me so.
The darkeys have got their fetlocks broken,
For Grandmother told me so.
Oh, won't they have a lot of iron on hand!
And when the news travels,
Oh, won't it be grand!
'Twill sweep like a sugarcane over the land,
For Grandmother told me so.
American Eagle! hysterical bird!
Oh, flap your wing and crow!
The slaves are embellished--yes, that's the word,
For Grandmother told me so!
There's curious times in that ur section,
For Grandmother told me so.
They think they will have a resurrection,
For Grandmother told me so.
The penholders raving like persons insane --
The darkeys in exodus, raising cane,
And singing like martingales after a rain,
For Grandmother told me so.
But President Abe forgot Kentucky,
For Grandmother told me so.
And Geneses, too -- and that's unlucky,
For Grandmother told me so.
Malicious champagne will be open'd in vain,
Until we shall break the last ox-yoke and chain --
Till through the Benighted States freedom shall reign,
For Grandmother told me so.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Famous In My Own Mind
In my poetic life
I’ve gained a measure
of celebrity
People who read me
Know me instantly…
As “that eccentric ol’ S.O.B.”
But that’s o.k., I’ve got no pride
It’s actually been a rather
pleasant ride
And at this point, you see
It’s just fine with me
To be
In self ordained celebrity…
“That grizzled, grumpy, (and crochety)
Eccentric ol’ S.O.B.”
poem by David Whalen
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Sure, my childhood was unusual. All these eccentric, wild people frequented our home: rock stars, drag queens, models, bikers, freaks. But I was not this little rich girl. My mom and I lived in an apartment.
quote by Liv Tyler
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Ms Eccentric
Ms Eccentric,
With your bowls of placed mints.
May I sit to inquire about your sentiments?
Why do you dine in powdered wig and gloves?
And feed bread crumbs to caged doves...
Announcing this to be an activity,
You have come to love!
Ms Eccentric,
As you sit and think of it...
Have you ever wished to be less obvious,
Doing those things intentionally meant?
Or does it make you feel better,
To get the attention you attract?
Knowing without that attention...
You would not be mentioned.
And making you bored to know that!
But you have seen to it,
No one can ignore you not one bit!
And without it to motivate...
You believe you could not exist,
Being less eccentric.
Or have someone like me,
Stop being curious enough to pay you a visit.
And I am glad you invite my curiosity with delight!
Ms Eccentric?
You know it's hard for me to show a dislike.
You know my presence feeds your appetite.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Granddaughter Sitting Beside A Sick Grandmother
wearing a short hair
a smile
her hands clasped
she sits beside her
sick grandmother
the faint light
by the window
enters gently
filtered by the
thin silky drape
the grandmother
is dying and her
daughter has an
axe to grind
she comes as
an offering
a link between
two worlds
long separated
by indifference.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Kind Of Mother?
What kind of mother wants her child to fail so badly? What kind of mother would do more than an enemy to hurt me? Don't you know that I am your own flesh and blood? Do you even care or are you keeping your secrets under a rug? Why are you so evil and have so much resentment in your heart? Its not my fault that your life has fallen apart? What kind of mother spits horrible words upon her child? And at the same time wants recognition for that same child. Well guess what? ... I made it without you! And guess what else? ... I have no sympathy for you! And at my graduation my heart was empty because of you. And my first child won't have a real grandmother because of you! And at the start of my college life I fail off because of you. And now when people give me hugs I look at them strange.And now when people show me love I dont know how to maintain. Thanks mom, for giving me the worst up bringing ill ever see. Thanks mom, for showing me you never cared about me. Guess now you can kick your feet up and laugh at me. While I continue to be a motherless child struggling to be. What kind of mother? ..
poem by Diamond Williams
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Story For A Sweet Child
To a child who lives in a mansion
Where you be blessed with luxury
You are a child, so sweet, so sweet
You smile like an angel in pink
Child, dear sweet child
I am an old grandmother
Wretched not beloved
When there comes a time
I will tell you a story
A story of destruction
Destruction.
poem by Niji Chrys
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Refugio's Hair
In the old days of our family,
My grandmother was a young woman
Whose hair was as long as the river.
She lived with her sisters on the ranch
La Calera--The Land of the Lime--
And her days were happy.
But her uncle Carlos lived there too,
Carlos whose soul had the edge of a knife.
One day, to teach her to ride a horse,
He made her climb on the fastest one,
Bareback, and sit there
As he held its long face in his arms.
And then he did the unspeakable deed
For which he would always be remembered:
He called for the handsome baby Pirrín
And he placed the child in her arms.
With that picture of a Madonna on horseback
He slapped the shank of the horse's rear leg.
The horse did what a horse must,
Racing full toward the bright horizon.
But first he ran under the álamo trees
To rid his back of this unfair weight:
This woman full of tears
And this baby full of love.
When they reached the trees and went under,
Her hair, which had trailed her,
Equal in its magnificence to the tail of the horse,
That hair rose up and flew into the branches
As if it were a thousand arms,
All of them trying to save her.
The horse ran off and left her,
The baby still in her arms,
The two of them hanging from her hair.
The baby looked only at her
And did not cry, so steady was her cradle.
Her sisters came running to save them.
But the hair would not let go.
From its fear it held on and had to be cut,
All of it, from her head.
From that day on, my grandmother
Wore her hair short like a scream,
But it was long like a river in her sleep.
poem by Alberto Ríos
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From the Diary of a Mimes
At my grandmothers house, you will see a hundred years of family portraits. We are a family of mimes. The portraits are of mimes.
You may ask why would someone wish to be a mime? For it is a limited existence beings that a mime s a simile of a single frame photograph. Look at the pictures at grandmothers house, do you feel the pain? This is my pain.
Becoming a mime.
I was six or seven years old. Grandmother and I were sitting in her living room, I had slept over at her house for a weekend while mom, dad and little brother tend to other things. Grandmother was in an odd mood today. She looked at her pictures and smiled some. And cried a little." I think its time you wore your mime face." She said. Today you will learn how to become a mime." So I said" Yes madman she proceeded to make up my face.
As she put on my makeup she started to cry. She cried for a long time. I was a little girl I started crying as well. I could not watch my grandmother cry without shedding tears of my own. So we sat and cried.
'Why are we crying' I asked? 'Well dear, sometimes life deals you a hard enough blow that even a mime will cry." I said 'Ok.'I was soon to find out what she meant. This is the day I learned a safe place for a heart to be. I learned that a person could freeze emotions and save them for future use. Yes place them in a jar, to be opened at an appropriate time. For that is what I do. You see I write a sad story, open a jar of tears and cry for a minute.
So after a good cry, grandmother took my hand and led me to the foyer wondered why I had to wear my mime face. Well grandmother had hers on, so I thought it must be a family thing, and I did not question. We sat under the foyer, was hot.New Orleans is a hot place at certain times of the year. There was no breeze, was still as could be. Nothing moved, except perhaps the webs a few lucky spiders, the ones who had prey to close in on.
'God bless mother nature, child. Its infinite wisdom, allows all creatures sustenance 'Uhh grandmother, that is a spider. Kill it, mom does.''No." She says, this is his house. If he were in mine, then I would kill him, but he lives here and kills insects.'
'You say he" I asked." How do you know it is a male spider? " She sighs." I do not know.' So I ask." Then why do you say it is a male? " It is taken for granted that any unknown sex is referred to as he. God is male." I answer" God could be a woman. I do not think anyone knows Gods sex grandmother. The world would be better if God was a female.''Perhaps so child." She answers, " Perhaps so.'
'Your father used to say that when he was your age. Always a philosophy with him." And her eye tiered up again. But I saw her turn to ice of a sudden. The tears dried. Then a long white car pulled up in the driveway, grandmother took my hand and we walked to the car. A man in a grey uniform opened the door and we sat inside. 'I will remember every detail of this day. For this is where my life changed.'
The car drove us to a big fancy building, it was full of mimes dressed in black. Even as a child I realized that something was wrong, so many mimes, all crying and made up in misery faces. I wondered why. They all parted as grandmother and I entered the building.
It was an odd place. Sad sounding music reminded me of harmonies of sorrow, organs and moans and tears. There were 3 pretty boxes in the center of the room. People were all around, most of them mimes, most were crying. 'Grand mother, what is in the boxes? 'I asked." Why do all the mimes look into them and cry? ''Never mind my child. Just be a mime.'
'Well if my daddy was here he would pick me up and I could see what was in the boxes." My grandmother looked down at me and started to cry, and the tears flowed." Brace yourself girl." She said. Then she picked me up. Eagerly I looked over the side of the box. In it was the reason I became a mime. I saw my fathers body made up to be a mime laying with his hands together as if he were praying. My brother and mother the same in other boxes. I knew they had passed away.
It was hard on a little girl, to have it etched into her mind.I kicked and screamed till grandmother set me on my feet. I ran out of the room and never spoke another word until this day.
I do not like this one much.
My Grandmother Used to Say
My grandmother used to say
you can't threaten
a poor man with poverty
a loveless soul with loneliness
a hard heart with pitilessness
because all these
lacks
are never noticed by those
already far gone.
You don't bring coals to Newcastle
bride an honest man
teach character-
that is something which must be lived-
Never try she would say
to be young past your age
kiss evil on the mouth
break the golden rule
Never kick a person when they are down
take victory laps
brag over small successes
Never tell your truth and ignore
the truth of others
think that you are the smartest person in the room
at all times;
My grandmother used to say.
Understand
she would say
that when you die
your only chance to live forever
is to spend you life
loving others.
My Grandmother used to say.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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