The truly skillful politician is one who, when he comes to a fork in the road, goes both ways.
quote by Marco A. Almazan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Fork To Take
I had pegged you as
protégé, adoptee,
someone I could save.
The last thing
I needed
was
another lover.
You call yourself
'an accident
looking
for a place
to happen.'
I call you
my sweet, my love,
not only
because you carry knives
for me
& want to beat up
all my
ex-husbands-
but because
you can laugh
at yourself
for wanting to.
We dream
of the baby
we will never have.
The little Jewish WASP
with golden blue eyes,
poems on the tip of his tongue.
your height, my hair,
& jokes that hit
their targets
on a slant.
He will never be
in the Social Register.
But will he know
which fork to take-
as you did
when you drove
off my road,
slyly taking the wrong fork
in order to stay
the night?
O you are sly,
my sweet wheat
looking for
a harvest.
Shall I reap you?
Shall I do to you
what the hurricane
does with the waving
grain?
Shall I thresh & bind you,
run barefoot
through your body
trying to stamp out
death?
Or shall I merely
let you
lift me up
like the wind spinning
an errant seed,
& let it
take me
where it will,
right fork,
wrong fork,
no fork
at all,
since we will take
the same path
through
the air
after all?
poem by Erica Jong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Oh, my ways are strange ways and new ways and old ways, And deep ways and steep ways and high ways and low, I'm at home and at ease on a track that I know not, And restless and lost on a road that I know.
quote by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Maybe the Dalai Lama is the only person who is totally honest, and even with him, he's skillful not to hurt anybody. He's skillful.
quote by Richard Gere
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Furze and Bracken
The furze and bracken
is browned and a little battered.
The Michaelmas daisies
and brambles shine in the September sun.
A Painted Lady slowly
opens and closes its wings.
Every moment
is a fork in the road
and every fork
is always the same,
the choice between right and wrong.
And wrong is always
arrogating to oneself
things which do not belong.
And right
is always
following the Light.
poem by Brian Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fork In The Road
i have reached
the fork in the road,
now the choice,
both silent and grieving.
i cannot hold starlight
in aging hands,
i cannot turn the tide
with a glance or a wave.
i cannot stop the wars
with my body or my thoughts.
i cannot feed the hungry,
i can only share their hunger.
the snow is falling,
the winds almost cruel,
as the fire i built
dies down to embers...
who am i?
and what have i done?
i find i'm a part
of all that i've fought!
silent screams now echoes,
the low moans of the heart.
betrayed by my soul
between light and darkness,
my lips are moving...
but not even you
can hear the sounds they make!
the fork in the road,
just outside your door!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The path leads one.
On my way in the path
When I met the first fork,
I took at random an arm [of the fork]
Which led me to the next fork,
From where taking an arm,
I met another and so on
Till I reached where I am now.
The path led me than I led myself.
06.02.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Two states
There are two states
One love
One hate
Two ways to go
At the fork in the road
Some choose left
Some choose right
And some sit up and think about it all through the night
And some walk straight through
Unplanned in what they 'ought to do'
And when you are young you can run down the street
But when you are old you have two left feet
There are two ways to go
One pace is fast, the other slow
Two ways to be
One stands in chains
While the other walks free
And there are two states of the heart
One love
One hate
So why do we hate the things we love?
And love the things we hate?
Is it because we're born into a 'divided state'
We hate the ones we love?
And love the ones we hate?
Too blind to see
Standing here in chains
When we were all born to be free.
poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Hollywood
by Michael Nesmith
The sun that's falling from the southwestern sky
Tells me that I must depart,
So, by sundown today, I'll be on my way,
But I'll be leaving my heart.
It's not the countryside that appealed to my eyes,
It's the spirit and it captured my mind,
But the things I tried to be made a wreck out of me,
Now a different road, I must find.
These things I think are new, I guess they're really old,
It seems I've done 'em once before
Now, to go back to that fork in the road,
Takes all the strength of my soul and more.
Oh, goodbye, goodbye you cruel town,
You've been a fair-weather friend,
Now I will go to some places that I know
Where things don't start just to end.
These things I think are new, I guess they're really old,
It seems that I've done 'em once before,
Now, to go back to that fork in the road,
Takes all the strength of my soul and more.
Oh, goodbye, good goodbye you cruel town,
You've been a fair-weather friend,
Now I will go to some place that I know
Where things don't start just to end.
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
If you come to a fork in the road, take it.
quote by Yogi Berra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
When you arrive at a fork in the road, take it.
quote by Yogi Berra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Treehouse
I can see the things she does for me
I'm living in a treehouse
I live in constant fear
Awakening must be near
I'm sleeping in a dreamhouse
Up in the trees
A tine in the fork in the road is pointing to heaven
But the sky is old
A tine in the fork in the road is pointing at nothing
Cause it's all been sold
I live with you
To die in a jamais vu
I love you
But this isn't true
I can see the things she does for me
I'm living in a treehouse
I live in constant fear
Awakening must be near
I'm sleeping in a dreamhouse
Waiting for the end
song performed by by Nada Surf from High/Low
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
God has planned a whole
One who seeks the road misses it
Let the thief do his job
Let the politicians manipulate war among the states
In the name of nationalism communism fascism
And democracy or theocracy
Let the capitalist seduce the consumers
And rob the people
Do not ask them to change their course
Because that will be a sacrilege
God has planned a whole
And there is room there for thieves politicians
And the capitalists
He has preordained everyones way of life
And it is the duty of the thief to steal
It is the duty of the capitalist to rob
It is the duty of the politician to lie
And suppose a politician gives up his vocation
And seeks the road to liberation
He surely misses the road
Because God has given the snake venom
To bite others
If he doesnot pour that into the blood of the lambs
If the philosopher does not pour his thoughts
Into the blood of the lambs
He will transgress Gods will
God is overhead
And pollution terrorism exploitation
The possibility of a nuclear trafficking of women
And children --everything is all right with the world
poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
fork in the road...
standing still to hear
the leaves
haiku by Chenou Liu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
When you come to a fork in the road, take it.
Yogi Berra in Sports Illustrated
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy! | In Romanian
Choice is your fate
At a fork in a path you’re confronted
With two ways as to which way you must go.
When you opt for this, that would seem better,
And when you opt that, this would seem better.
25.06.2011
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
If one comes to a fork of the road in a strange country, she stops to think.
Mudguard
It's a rainy season here
But in some places no rain for years.
Mr.Driver, why did you choose this muddy road?
I am just only a mudguard to a politician's Limousine
And you are his paid servant.
There is no such a big difference between us
And we sustain on common grounds.
So, Mr. Chauffeur be flexible and avoid this nauseous road.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Misleading Ways
Mislead nobody in desperate ways,
Body-build forever the day and care;
An entryway has been delivered
To an ethos to blame and curse.
The established way is represented
By the face so tucked in,
Inwardly it strikes and tugs
Like an ant and its legs.
Please ambulate like an ant to be legs,
Arm yourself with weapons up to the ankle,
Forelegs have a lesson to manage.
Misleading and deception cares for nothing
And nobody, like the bodies of ants.
One fork in the road shall shake an ant
Into a seizure, so that a foot of heaven is missing.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On a Fork of Byron's
Like any other fork.—No mark you meet with
To point some psychological conceit with.
An ordinary fork. A fork to eat with.
No individuality of fashion:
No stamp of frenzy fine, or poet-passion;
An article in no respect Parnassian.
No muse “with ivy never sere” hath decked it:
In fact, it would be foolish to expect it.
I question if the muses recollect it.
A plain straightforward fork; yet interesting,
As to the world in general attesting
That poetizing hinges on digesting.
A fork not standing on its merits merely,
But, being Byron's, testifying clearly
That verse and victuals are related nearly.
Quite genuine; crest and all; a fork to swear by;
Some poet-stories doubtless hanging thereby,—
Associations such as gold can ne'er buy.
For 'twixt the fork and the divine afflatus
The links are perfect; there is no hiatus;
Fork, stomach, brain, pen,—all one apparatus.
So when the food that on the fork ascended
Grew into verse as with the brain it blended,
The fork wrote just as truly as the pen did.
For though the fork the earlier resource is,
Between the two no violent divorce is,—
I hold them to be correlated forces.
Perchance the unsuspected ministration
Of this same fork first set in circulation
The coinage of his rich imagination.
Perchance this very fork could give the clue to
What many of the famous thoughts were due to,
That now are part of me, and part of you too.
And if its prongs administered the fuel
That working duly unto brain-renewal
Kindled the thoughts that even yet fire you all,—
This very fork—(unless I quite astray be,
And you of unimpressionable clay be)—
A factor in your moral product may be.
And musing thus, does not this fork begin to you
To seem as consanguineously akin to you
As if the bard himself had stuck it into you?
'Tis ever thus: what Genius consecrateth
The nearest with the most remote collateth,
Till meanest use on highest issue waiteth.
This salad, now, in which the fork I'm pressing,
Wherein are all sweet savours coalescing—
What subtle shoot of genius efflorescing
Flowered in the flavour of so rich a blessing?
Is it that Byron's fork, some charm possessing,
Transmutes the—stop a bit—Who did the dressing?
poem by James Brunton Stephens
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Am No Politician
I am no politician.
I am direct.
Every blemish and flaw I have,
I accept without regret.
I am not trying to win your approval
To represent your requests.
Nor will I disappoint you...
With deceit to later confess.
I am no politician.
Seeking a way to line my pockets.
I find that disgusting!
And I observe those who can not stop it!
Your quality of life...
With standards you behold.
Isn't my fault at all!
That your best interests,
They have sold!
You selected them to dismiss me.
To keep me and mine in check!
You elected them to suppress my dignity.
To keep my indentity distressed.
You chose them to divide and conquer.
By rules and laws
They clearly defied...
You now regret!
Why me...
You despise?
I am no politician!
My priorities are my happiness.
Not to masquerade with pretentions...
For purposes to make promises,
With intentions to forget.
I am no politician...
To trap you like prey.
And dangle you to capture...
As I make arrangements with others,
To take away the safety from your nests.
To portray in false charades.
I am no politician.
So voice your anger,
To those you believed...
Would come to your aid.
While on your knees you plead.
I am no politician!
I sleep at night.
In peace and at rest!
I am no politician...
Nor a hypocrite you will find,
Who will say something other
Than what is on my mind!
You can bet,
With respect...
I am direct.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!