I feel strikingly domestic. We're in our own world with two busses and trucks.
quote by John Mayer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The first two Prime Ministers whom I served, Ted Heath and Margaret Thatcher drew strikingly different lessons from the Second World War.
quote by Douglas Hurd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On the highway
I who have traded
open spaces, fields
and the azure sky
for crowded pavements
and neon lights
find my place
to meet the Lord
on the dangerous road.
I have found the sapphire sky,
the breath of wind,
the white-hot sun
on lanes packed with cars,
busses and trucks
of every shape and size.
Every thing flashes by
as my motorbike catches speed
and accelerates
and men in cars sit irritated
stuck in rows of traffic
and I bob and weave by
while life throbs everywhere
and death grasp at my heels,
l’Envoi
I feel raw power
throbbing below me
and experience the majesty
of wind, sun, sky
and the countryside
that rush by
and life is great
and in silence
I pray to the Creator
and when it rains
it humbles me
and I slow down
and am cold and wet
and know that I am
just mere man.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Domestic inflation reflects domestic monetary policy.
quote by Martin Feldstein
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A accountant at a transport company
Figures on paper glare at me
with the sun hanging bright in a blue sky,
while busses and lories drive past the whole time.
Outside vehicles are parked in rows and shine
and drivers walk about talking
where we are camped in, behind rusting wire and zinc.
When the managing director looks in he wants
me to make changes, to do an act of fraud.
Figures on paper glare at me
with a bonus waving,
and my name, my integrity is at stake
and drivers walk about talking
and I wonder how to get out of this trap
when I catch the eye of the managing director’s charming daughter
while busses and lories drive past the whole time.
I again check calculations, re-determine and add
and I keep things correct
and my name, my integrity is at stake.
The managing director wants the final figures,
he makes threats and his temper is just under control.
Figures on paper glare at me
while I complete the financial statements
and thousands of things go through my mind
and I keep things correct
and the day rushes past
the managing director’s daughter winks at me, walks down the passage
while busses and lories drive past the whole time,
sirens are ringing in the distance and the wall-clock ticks off the last minutes
and I know that I can loose my job
and thousands of things go through my mind
when the girl walks in with eyes cutting into my soul,
say that her dad is waiting and I feel like caught in web.
Figures on paper glare at me
while busses and lories drive past the whole time
and I hear excited voices in the managing director’s office.
Outside vehicles are parked in rows and shine
and I know that I can loose my job,
where we are camped in, behind rusting wire and zinc.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Beat The Devil
Like a bull out of its cage,
charging upon the red narrow streets,
I pounded the pavement through riverside corridors.
My cadence was erratic,
dictated by the music in my ear and I couldn't stop.
When I rode the time moved backwards,
all to my first bicycle a huffy BMX,
where I learned how to pick myself up off the ground,
dust my pants and soar.
Since them days I've lived life behind bars.
The Buzcocks were in my ears telling me something goes wrong again.
I headed East on Charles street,
swallowing something,
a fly that didn't quite satiate me,
and spent a few blocks trying to hack it.
The world was decaying around me,
Sic transit gloria mundi! glory fades...the glory fades.
I took commercial avenue to Longfellow.
I zigzagged in and out of joggers, students, and tourist types.
Trucks, vans, cars, and busses were all in my way.
I saw insatiable sailboats floating across the bay, trapped.
They reminded me of lost kites (lost in the clouds) ,
lost in the way they held onto and went into the wind.
Suddenly I took an oblique right somewhere
(you got to love one-way streets)
and met Cambridge Street.
I followed it all the way down to Tremont.
I was chasing the devil
Memento Mori
poem by Jerome Moore
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Nearly one in four women will experience domestic violence during her lifetime. And slightly more than half of female victims of domestic violence live in households with children under age 12.
quote by Lucille Roybal Allard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Breathe And Help
I seen things go wrong,
In this world
and I don't like it,
Breathe.
There so much hate,
In this world,
and I don't like it,
Breathe.
Passion is lost forever,
In this world,
and I don't like it,
Breathe.
So much domestic abuse,
In this world,
and I don't like it,
Breathe.
All this unnecessary war,
In this world,
And I don't like it,
Breathe.
People hurting people,
In this world,
And I don't like it,
Breathe.
Children in needs.
In this world,
Do something,
Help.
So much poverty,
In this world,
Do Something,
Help.
Too many countries suffering,
In this world,
Do Something,
Help.
Too many people starving,
In this world,
Do Something,
Help.
Too many things unfair,
In this world,
Do Something,
Help.
poem by Gianni Pintus
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Embroider Visions
My heart as light as a feather, already
planning on sharing domestic moments
while visiting my dad, yes, it has been
decided, the kids will go with me
Nici shall drive the Jeep, Tiaan navigate,
I shall sleep, four hundred kilometres to
see mom and dad - tuck mom in, stroll
with dad on the farm, enjoy his garden
Listen to his music and favourite stories,
admire the big trucks that inspire him so
much, also look at mum's sewing, com-
miserate with aches and pains
Spending time together doing nothing
while the kids shall accompany my sis
on field trips, she loves entertaining -
what felicity, what bliss
I shall enjoy my dreams and embroider
visions till then!
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Memento Mori
Like a bull out of its tragic cage,
charging upon the red narrow streets,
I pounded the pavement through riverside corridors.
My cadence was erratic,
dictated by the music in my ear and I couldn't stop.
When I rode the time moved backwards,
all to my first bicycle a huffy BMX,
where I learned how to pick myself up off the ground,
dust my pants and soar.
Since them days I've lived life behind bars.
The Buzcocks were in my ears telling me something goes wrong again.
I headed East on Charles street,
swallowing something,
a fly that didn't quite satiate me,
and spent a few blocks trying to hack it.
The world was decaying around me,
Sic transit gloria mundi! glory fades...the glory fades.
I took commercial avenue to Longfellow.
I zigzagged in and out of joggers, students, and tourist types.
Trucks, vans, cars, and busses were all in my way.
I saw insatiable sailboats floating across the bay, trapped in their crystal swells.
They reminded me of lost kites (lost in the clouds) ,
lost in the way they held onto and went into the wind.
Suddenly I took an oblique right somewhere
(you got to love one-way streets)
and met Cambridge Street.
I followed it all the way down to a seething Tremont street.
I was chasing the devil
Memento Mori
poem by Jerome Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This October, we renew the fight against domestic violence and abuse in America. Together, we can eliminate domestic violence from homes across the country and ensure that our children grow up in healthy, peaceful communities.
quote by Lucille Roybal Allard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Transport.
I thought I would write about, how we get about,
The various kinds of transport we see, when we are out;
It could be trains, or cars, buses, and trucks we see too,
So let me write a poem, maybe of interest to some of you.
Firstly I will write about, planes we see in the sky,
Small little 2 seaters, some may use to parachute, they'll try;
Next, is the helicopter, look like an insect flying so high,
And there are jets, of all kinds, but you can't see them fly.
Next. Is the trains, with large engines travelling along,
Then there's the small trains fixing the rails where they belong;
And what about the commuter trains, who take people everywhere,
Some in Sydney two levels, and people need to use the stair.
Now I come to trucks, all sizes and shapes and color,
Rubbish, milk, food trucks, then the giant coal mine ones with an odor;
There's the postal, and the fire truck, just too many to name,
But can't forget those council trucks, taking animals, that's a shame.
So what about buses and taxis, who come in handy,
When there is no trains to use, that's from city to dandy;
There are the usual cabs, and the maxi taxi,
So what a ride from anywhere in the coaches, but not for me.
The best sort of transport for disabled like me,
Is the motorised chair or scooter for us to get about,
But to travel to anywhere buses leave us out.
And so I'm glad there are scooters, and that makes me happy.
poem by Margaret Haig
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We're not the millionaires that people think when they see busses.
quote by Josh Silver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ol 55
Well, my time went to quickly
I went lickety-splitly out to my old fifty-five
As I pulled away slowly, feelin so holy,
God knows I was feelin alive
And now the suns comin up
Im ridin with lady luck
Freeway cars and trucks
Stars beginning to fade, and I lead the parade
Just a wishin Id stayed a little longer
Lord, dont you know the feelins gettin stronger
Six in the morning, gave me no warnin
I had to be on my way
Now the cars are all passin me,
Trucks are all flashin me
Im headed home from your place
And now the suns comin up
Im ridin with lady luck
Freeway cars and trucks
Stars beginning to fade, and I lead the parade
Just a wishin Id stayed a little longer
Lord, dont you know, the feelins gettin stronger
Well, my time went to quickly
I went lickety-splitly out to my old fifty-five
As I pulled away slowly, feelin so holy,
God knows I was feelin alive
And now the suns comin up, yes it is
Im ridin with lady luck
Freeway cars and trucks
Freeway cars and trucks,
Ridin with lady luck
Freeway cars and trucks,
Ridin with lady luck
Freeway cars and trucks
Ridin with lady luck...
song performed by by Eagles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Yvonne's The One
Lyrics currently unavailable; email to the address below
for these}
[NOTE: * indicates tracks not on the domestic release of Mirror
Mirror. All of these tracks are available on the japanese import of
Mirror Mirror. Bluebird is available on the UK cd single. Margo Wants
The Mustard is available on the US cassette single. There is also an
acoustic version of I'm Not In Love (Acoustic 95 Sessions) which is
available on the imports and domestic cassette single, but not on the
domestic cd. The lyrics are the same as I'm Not In Love (orig) and
(Rework Of Art Mix).]
********************************************************************************************
Transcribed by TJ Thurston 4/7/95
[email protected]
Administrator of Minestrone: The 10cc/Godley & Creme Mailing List
song performed by by 10 Cc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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White Trucks Galore
It was on the day of the 24th
I saw white pickup trucks heading south and north.
Now that was unusual I do say
it didn't happen again till pass the
month of May.
It happened in June -
but instead of one now there is two-
white trucks appear out of the blue.
Maybe I am suppose to buy a white truck—
maybe I will have all kinds of luck—
I know I can't play a truck in the lottery game—
but I can buy one and on the back put my name.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on June 27,2012
poem by Christina Sunrise
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In L.A., though, people get off busses calling themselves actors, so many are really not professionals.
quote by John Ratzenberger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bury Me In A Scrap Yard
I’ve been a truck driver all my life,
and when it’s my time to go,
bury me in a scrap yard,
where all the old trucks go.
I am used to the diesel smoke
and burning rubber,
just bury me with the old wrecks
and no one will notice me there.
I’ve spent a lifetime on the road
with squealing brakes, burning rubber
and diesel smoke choking my throat.
I’ve driven my old truck
a thousand miles or more
and then back home again.
Therefore, when it’s my time to go,
bury me in a scrap yard,
where all the old trucks go
and if you want to give me a marker
put a detour sign over my head.
I’ve seen loads of them
wherever I had to go,
so when I go to the Lord,
bury my earthy remains
underneath a scrap yard
where all the old trucks go
as I will be at home there
with diesel smoke and burning rubber.
poem by David Harris
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White Trucks
It was on the day of the 24th
I saw white pickup trucks galore.
Now that was unusual I do say
it didn't happen again till pass the
month of May.
It happened in June -
but instead of one now there is two-
white trucks appear out of the blue.
Maybe I am suppose to buy a white truck—
maybe I will have all kinds of luck—
I know I can't play a truck in the lottery game—
but I can buy one and on the back put my name.
Written by Suzae Chevalier on June 27,2012
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Bush promised a foreign policy of humility and a domestic policy of compassion. He has given us a foreign policy of arrogance and a domestic policy that is cynical, myopic and cruel.
It is hardly surprising that the Georgian domestic style emerges as the most remarkable in the world.
quote by Stephen Gardiner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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