Love's a recurring theme through my work.
quote by Tracy Chapman
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I tried to pay some small tribute to A Man and a Woman (1966) with the recurring musical theme.
quote by Dwight Yoakam
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Key To What?
diddles on flight
on freedom
was a chosen theme
in early 2011 theme May
titles are an easy guide
to what theme would say
key to the theme
key to the dream
key to the imagery
poem by Terence George Craddock
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But the development of human society does not go straight forward; and the epic process will therefore be a recurring process, the series a recurring series - though not in exact repetition.
quote by Lascelles Abercrombie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Freedom's Theme
What is the theme of freedom?
Life,
Love,
Happiness,
Contentment.
Is this so?
Can freedom be these,
Our best,
The good things in life?
Or is freedom more?
Is freedom the blood with which it is bought?
Is freedom the evils which our men have suffered
To bring it to us?
Freedom's theme,
Sung through the ages,
Is sacrifice,
And pain,
For happiness dearly bought.
Freedom's theme
Is a hymn of praise
To the God who smiled on us,
And gave us America.
Freedom's theme
Is life, earned by death.
It is love, in power,
Spurned by the hate of the centuries.
It is contentment, with the shouts of thanksgiving,
For all God has blessed us with.
Freedom's theme-
Praise, joy, love,
Should be the song on our tongues always:
Thanksgiving to God for this privilege,
Dearly bought.
poem by James Grengs
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Pick a theme and work it to exhaustion... the subject must be something you truly love or truly hate.
quote by Dorothea Lange
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Work To Work
Happy too
Work...
Un happy too
work...
Love too
Woork...
With out love too
Work...
Silentely work...
Tenson to work...
Peace too work...
Diperession to work...
Work with work...
Any time do any
Work...
Work is give for
Human...
Relax and releave...
Sad too work...
Woory too work...
Work too work...
Work is wondrfully
Changed your and your's life
Each every day
Don't take un wanted rest
With your's lazey...
Lazy making
Sad... dipression...
Tenson...
Useless thinking...
So...
Work is wonder fully
Chnage to change for your's...
Mind and thinking and your's life...
Woo
Work to work with you
And other's...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Four Letter 'Work' Song
Work me up, work me out, work me flip side down.
Work me here, work me there, work me with renown.
Work me hot, work me greedy,
work me through and through.
Work me to the very marrow,
work me just like I'd work you.
Work me proud, work me late,
work me do not hesitate.
Won't you let me work for you?
Work me til I'm black and blue.
Work me steady, work me needy, work me to a lather.
Work me til my backbone breaks, and the buzzards gather.
Work me in, work me under, work me til I bleed,
Work me over red hot coals, work me like a boss in need.
Work me nasty, work me silly, work me through the clover.
Up down, 'n' in between, into a slipknot sweet Jehovah.
Work me, work me, go ahead.
Work me, work me, til I'm dead.
Buddy Bee Anthony
poem by Buddy Bee Anthony
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Henry James At The Pacific
-- Coronado Beach, California, March, 1905
In a hotel room by the sea, the Master
Sits brooding on the continent he has crossed.
Not that he foresees immediate disaster,
Only a sort of freshness being lost --
Or should he go on calling it Innocence?
The sad-faced monsters of the plains are gone;
Wall Street controls the wilderness. There's an immense
Novel in all this waiting to be done.
But not, not -- sadly enough -- by him. His
talents,
Such as they may be, want a different theme,
Rather more civilized than this, on balance.
For him now always the recurring dream
Is just the mild, dear light of Lamb House falling
Beautifully down the pages of his calling.
poem by Donald Justice
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Recurring Pain
If it wasn't for Adam and Eve,
None of us would suffer...
From cabin fever.
If it wasn't for the birds and bees,
None of us would say...
A thing about that either.
But there are those,
Who think this all is something to change.
As if it can be re-arranged.
And there are those,
Who think that sex is just a game.
To be played always the same.
If it wasn't for Adam and Eve,
None of us would suffer...
From cabin fever.
If it wasn't for the birds and bees,
None of us would say...
A thing about that either.
But there are those,
Who think this all is something to change.
To arrange in the brain.
And there are those,
Who think that sex is just a game.
To be always played the same.
And there are those,
Who think this all is something to change.
As if it can be re-arranged.
And there are those,
Who think that sex is just a game.
To be always played the same.
And there are those,
Who think this all is something to change.
As if it can be re-arranged...
To change something that's in the brain.
And there are those,
Who think that sex is just a game.
To be always played the same.
Like a draining campaign.
And there are those,
Who think this all is something to change.
As if it can be re-arranged...
To change something that's in the brain.
And there are those,
Who think that sex is just a game.
To be always played the same.
Like a draining campaign,
That gets boring from the strain.
As if it can be re-arranged...
To change something that's in the brain.
A brain that seems to be insane!
And a wish to gift others with,
Recurring pain!
Oops!
Ouch.
It's a recurring pain.
And hard to boot!
Ouch.
This recurring pain.
When it is booted!
Oops!
A recurring pain.
And hard to boot it too.
Recurring pain.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Death and Life
when we die we would be
shoved out of this body into
another plane, something else
it can be quite frightening
the hands of of nature
that work between the known, unknown
but then so what? we never are our own thing
nature never means us to be in control of ourselves
we are always somebody else's
father, mother, the Divine
in between the known, unknown
belief and make belief we plod on
to put sanity into place,
a recurring drama, a sea of waves
sweeping over us, never waking us up
second version
when we die we would be
shoved out of this body into
another plane, something else
it can be quite frightening
the hands of of nature
that work between the known, unknown
but then so what? we never are our own thing
nature never means us to be in control of ourselves
we are always somebody else's
father, mother, the Divine
in between the known, unknown
between belief and make belief
we plod on to put sanity into place
the ants building nests under the rain
a recurring drama, a sea of waves
sweeping over us never waking us up
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Lovingly Do The Work
Work is
Life...
Life is work...
Any work is not
Wrong...
Without work is
Worng...
Human every budy works
Wny way too work...s
Work is making you...
Work is given good life
For you...and your's...
So...
Understand too work
Earn money too work...
Live life with your work...
Love too work...
Learn to do the work...
Lovingely do the work...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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O Me! O Life!
O ME! O life!... of the questions of these recurring;
Of the endless trains of the faithless--of cities fill'd with the
foolish;
Of myself forever reproaching myself, (for who more foolish than I,
and who more faithless?)
Of eyes that vainly crave the light--of the objects mean--of the
struggle ever renew'd;
Of the poor results of all--of the plodding and sordid crowds I see
around me;
Of the empty and useless years of the rest--with the rest me
intertwined;
The question, O me! so sad, recurring--What good amid these, O me, O
life?
Answer.
That you are here--that life exists, and identity;
That the powerful play goes on, and you will contribute a verse.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Payment
A tortuous path of neurons arced a call: ‘Awake! ’
I did; in rising, peering, stretching, bearing,
Pained anticipation saw it all:
Foretold, another filthy day.
I drew the drape: diluvian lay the ground
Beneath a lazy leaden cloud – apissing out
The puddles; irksome on the roof –
The drumming drops of bitter glee
Were hounding out a hapless me –
Reinforcing doubt that I am sound.
I left the house
to go to work
to earn a crust
without a perk
then on to bust
another straining vessel.
Trudging on thro’ mud and clay, I pondered:
‘Why a drought of happy times?
Auspicious climes were
Old and fusty books
Atop a dusty shelf
Inside a morgue-of-a-room,
Somewhere in a long-forgotten library
Down a lane without a way.’
I thought again: ‘And still I pay.’
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
O how I
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
work work work work work work work work
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Work, Sleep, Work, Sleep, Work
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work:
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work, sleep, work, sleep,
Work.
Oh free me please with gentle ease
From work, sleep, work, sleep, work!
This odium, pounding tedium
Of my work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
Just whisk me off to lands afar
From work, sleep, work, sleep, work -
That grinding train of rhythmic pain
Called ‘Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.’
Poor neural circuits fizzle and pop
In work, sleep, work, sleep, work,
In trying to make some sense of all this
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
But Hark! I see a golden gleam -
A saving spirit of hope:
‘You’re fired! ’ He screams. What news to bear,
This wondrous hangman’s rope!
So now I’m free, released from all this
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work -
Eternal peace and rest for me, no
Work, sleep, work, sleep, work.
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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You have work and you love it...
Charming mornings? Not any more.
Waking up to a day, lazy and bore!
Di, you spoilt your lil bro, but no complaints
Coz
You have got work, and you love it!
The phone blinks no more,
Browsing as insane, nothing in store,
Anxious but happy
If
You have got work, and you love it!
No more games to play,
No greetings to hear and say,
Jittery, but getting along well,
When
You have got work, and you love it!
Unsettling routine,
Nothing like, how it should have been,
Questions crossing my mind
Why
You have got work, and you love it!
Excitement is all gone,
The day just creeps on,
Job looks mammoth and unending,
But
You have got work and you love it!
Meal times go un-noticed
All of a sudden, look what you did,
Unique are your ways, I wonder,
How
You have got work and you love it!
At times, life makes you helpless,
Greed grows, and more is less,
So I'll make sure I get used to this
Now
You have got work and you love it!
While this happens, something struck my mind,
Whatsoever, you are girl of a kind,
This is what I want you to do,
Good, that
You have got work and you love it!
poem by Bimal Koul
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Recurring Dream
Within myself
There are a million things
Spilling over
Falling out into a silent stream
Feel the warm wind touch me
Hear the waters crashing
See my windows wiping clean
It's my recurring dream
Within myself
A secret world returns
Over and over
Where the white flame of desire burns
Feel the warm wind touch me
Hear the waters crashing
See my windows wiping clean
It's my recurring dream
Within myself
There are a million things
Feel the warm wind touch me
Hear the waters crashing
See my windows wiping clean
It's my recurring dream
song performed by by Crowded House
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The aging of the U.S. population is a theme that we believe strongly in and the health care sector is really right in the bulls eye of this particular theme.
quote by John Zimmerman
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Love Your Work
just love your work
and tell you what
the work does
it all for you
just sit there
do not even think
or lift a finger
your work hands
everything to you
in finished forms
perfectly perfect
love your work
and everything is done
without noticing
the existence of time
love your work
the table comes to you
all set and all you have
to do is simply sit,
eat and relax and
wait
kewl.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Here is how I work: when I think that a film needs to have a principal theme, I search for a melody.
quote by Michel Legrand
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If there's an enduring theme in my work, it's probably the effects of class on American life.
quote by Richard Russo
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