Sometimes the beauty of the world is so overwhelming, I just want to throw back my head and gargle. Just gargle and gargle, and I don't care who hears me, because I am beautiful.
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Some people drink from the fountain of knowledge, others just gargle.
quote by Robert Anthony
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Frog never gargle him troat till him tas'e fresh water.
As I Brush My Teeth
it is not the sensitive teeth
it is the sensitivity of the soul
listening to the rhythmic brushing
the sound of too much repetition
the cycles of up and down
the softness of the gum
the whitening of the dentin
the gargle and the flushing
inside the indifference of the
faucet catching all that you give
the bathroom that
persists in its inanimate
presence.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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There's loads of things you can do to make things easy for your throat, you can drink a bit of lemon and hot water couple of spoons of honey, you can gargle with port, I've done it a couple of times myself - but don't swallow it!
quote by Cliff Richard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gargoyles
Pet gargoyles grunt and snore and cough,
But sadly you can't turn them off!
The belch and wheeze and sneeze and spit,
I cannot bear the thought of it!
They slurp and burp, they howl and growl,
They moan and groan; they smell so foul!
Gargoyles gargle, and pass lots of gas,
Their gas it smells like sassafras!
If you get a gargoyle have no fear...
From their FARTS you can make root-beer!
poem by ToddMichael St. Pierre
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Does Anyone Wish to Gargle With Mint
Well...
Now that we all are here,
And seem to have eaten...
Reluctantly,
A bit of unsweetened crow.
Let us keep in mind,
We still have heights to climb.
And although it is known,
We all have eaten a bit of crow...
Let's not stop,
Removing other stumbling blocks.
Too much is still there,
To keep out awareness expanding.
Well...
Now that we all are here,
And seem to have eaten...
Reluctantly,
A bit of unsweetened crow.
Does anyone wish to gargle with...
Mint or lime flavored mouthwash?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Reverse Psychology
Never could I get,
With you...
Too exhausted.
And I keep my breath,
Minted fresh.
As we caress.
And find ourselves,
Awakening from a night...
Of peaceful rest.
Although for me,
Those times may come...
Infrequently.
You see...
Nothing between us,
Will I ever let upset.
Or will I eat,
Without carefully brushing,
All my teeth.
That's how close,
I want us to be!
And I pray and hope,
Those days will come,
More frequently.
'And I do get...
Your reverse psychology.'
Honey...
What are you talking about?
'Honeeeee...
What are you talking about?
I can take a hint.
I will gargle AND brush my teeth!
How's that? '
Well...
Hurry up.
Before I fall to sleep!
'All you had to say,
Was that my breath smells bad! '
Does it?
I didn't notice.
'And remove all of those mints from the bed,
Before I get back.'
WHY are you so sensitive?
Geeeessshhh.
'Shut,
Up!
Do not say another thing.
Poetically or not.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Walking Ahead.....
early mind so fresh, telling
new ideas
with new, way of how to
win a living
sweet fresh of saliva; fresh
smell, true
deodorant of an early
morning fumes,
a style that
need not a gargle
with eyes half awake, the
heart that makes
a break, and
the body wet, take a
little burp for a little dandy
step by steps move
your feet
ahead, forward
with hands in fit, distance
squeeze and jump for
sweat
looks what you see
your
path make its way
i'am moving
on ahead of you
poem by Antonio Liao
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Dancing To The Tune Of Life
the dance of life pulsates
like blood rushing inside our hearts
turning left turning right
we rotate we vibrate
we collide we slide
we tumble we gargle
we dangle we tangle
it does not matter what steps to take
forward or backward
we dance the dance of life to the tune of life
what matters most is we just do it
such a short moment
not meant to be wasted
let us dance before the next moment comes
soon the dance is over
we rest if we must but we can always say
we danced to the tune of life
we were so happy
we did not have the words of regrets
we reach the edge and then we fall
we are gone and then forgotten
we do not have to tell them
we were once here and we did our best
that this place was never ours
we had the best of times
we wrote the best lines
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Stuttering
shutters when you exercise the word
close open close open
they stutter and begin to make a panid
of its blinds. What are you doing, asks
the window? I am winnowing. I am peeping
to the slits of the rainbow. The colors dance
like a wild flower under a heavy rain,
drunk, and groggy to the syrup of
saps of this tree and that. Shrubs and
blurbs, gather and gargle. Heavy stuff.
I vomit you and you rise from the
slime of my breath. You face me and
things come back again like a welcome.
So it is you. You love me. You love me
again and again. Here you are. Here
i am. I am carpentering for words, from
some pieces of puzzles. That crap. Why
stutter like an autistic savant? All you have
to do is hold my hand. The world becomes
a safe bridge deck. Two strangers their
arms on hold, looking at the pier. Waiting
for names of their incoming solace.
i know you well. You stutter when you fall in love again.
The boat blown by the wind. The moon sinks deep down under.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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05-09**SYMPTOMS of Being a Poet
What does one do
If one finds oneself
Suffering the symptoms
Of being a poet?
Try to gargle aloud
Uttering gargling sounds
It may cleanse the contagion
Before it enters your system
That's all you can do
Once the rest of the symptons start
You feel it in your head
It pounds in your herart
Your forehead feels warm
You cannot sit still
Words start coming out
Pages and pages you fill
It's like a fever
Compelling you to write
It does not come out easy
There still is a big fight
It's like a civil war
Words want out right away
Some content is stuck while
The brain argues for its way
Then writer's block hits
It's like serious constipation
On top of feeling ill
You can't go
You sit for a long time
Nothing happens
No need for paper
You have only pain
Accompanied by the urge
To let loose
The more you concentrate
Nothing happens
So you give up
Stand up and walk away
Take a long walk outdoors
Deep into Frost's snowy woods
Suddenly the urge
It's all there at once
And it catches you
With no paper.
poem by Tom J. Mariani
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I Cry No River
they love me
for being
a river,
they like
the sway of
my flow
the way i surge
and run and
rage
and move against
rocks
and sticks and
timber and
even carry
rhinos and
crocks
on my back
mind you
they love the way
i gargle
the way a toothpick
satisfies
a discriminating
matron
after dinner
at most
they cheer me
for my
travels of
least resistance
as i curl
from one sleeping
mountain to
another
as i ignore
cliffs
and holes
and sharp
bamboos
and some
pythons
they all praise
me for being a
river
and fear me for
every little
uprising
sometimes
because i can
be also
cruel
when provoked
like fallen
grace
i get awarded
as the most promising river
the committee
gave me the
Highest Achievement Award
for a river
i get the trophies
and the cash prizes
and the numerous
plaques
(i feel
the inside
roughness of
the other
plaque between
my teeth and
gum)
i am not
really happy if
only
they
ask me
but they didn't
who wants to be a river?
yes, who really wants to be a mere river?
nobody
but love me for this
i never cried
a river
i cry no
river no more
(never for once
if i
correctly still
remember)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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thank God that you are still alive....
speak to yourself
offer a toast to loneliness
dance with your shadows
let the moon
cast the light
open your windows
let the air and wind be
your guests
write if you will
do not mind grammar and style
or what language to use
whirl, rotate,
collide with what life is giving
grab, toss, stamp,
shake and tremble on the floor
jump if you can
run around, rest, mimic the murmurs of
those wind chimes
be drunk to the happy moments that
life is still giving you
be human
(if you could, try being
god yourself)
laugh, gargle, swallow,
spit, lick, or be tongue-tied
have those slip of the tongues
tickle and heckle
chew some more, swallow again,
do whatever you want,
thank your God
because today
you are still alive.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Wanderlust
Looks like I pulled a fast one
Looks like I went to town
Looks like the world revolves around me
Looks like it's falling down.
I thought I'd kicked the traces
I thought the wheels would spin
I thought I'd jumped the fence and bolted
Looks like I'm back again
I got my signals crossed.
It's overwhelming because
I'm all alone and I can't get back
Get back with my wanderlust.
I had to grab a suitcase
I had to change my clothes
I had to run the shower hot
until the water froze
I brushed against confusion
I wanted time to grow
I want the sticks and stones not to throw me
get back to what I know
I got my signals crossed.
It's overwhelming because
I'm all alone and I can't get back
Get back with my wanderlust.
I'm searching for a greatness
I smear it on my face
I want to bathe in grape must
swim the length of the milky way
I want it to be brilliant
I want it to be sweet
I want to kiss the astronauts
when they salute to me me me me
I got my signals crossed.
It's overwhelming because
I'm all alone and I can't get back
Get back with my wanderlust.
I got my signals crossed.
It's overwhelming because
I'm all alone and I can't get back
Get back with my wanderlust.
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Zap Zapped
I fell in love with her that night in dark,
you see, twas my turn as a wolf to bark;
then she asked me to become a rooster,
a cool chicken cot was a morale booster.
July 9th it was, national day of chicken;
we both were of Zeus lightning, stricken;
and after that, darling, I had to disband,
since the zappy flash hit my tall manned.
Well, I promised to be back and contrib,
from my joy and happiness I fired a squib,
under her window to sing for roister-ous,
was my style to flirt a gal, and boisterous.
(Hmmm... Was that window yours or not?
I invoke thee, to externalize in my yacht;
when you aesthetically posted an affable;
like a gnu I had to moo, and kinda gargle ;)
Then I read a poem by an Easter chick,
on insubordinate free verse, thorny meek,
the story was fictitious but the gal real;
to my vociferous aria, she had to squeal.
Proudly I climbed a podium to stand alone,
My aporia was Gordian and my trombone,
clamorous played by itself in ways blatant
as poppies danced, with water lilies natant.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Beautiful One
Oh beautiful one, adorned with spell
To ravage my world as might a sweet angel.
Oh beautiful thing, so much at ease:
Allure of caressing breeze in touch gentle.
Oh beautiful creature, sail me do,
As floating on seas of halcyon blue tincture.
You beautiful being, gracing charm
And features that render feel of deep texture.
Your beautiful poise in glide supreme,
Gives such like a vista honed as from heaven.
That beautiful art of face ornate,
Not ever to understate or be riven.
Your beautiful flame of pulchritude
Doth dizzy me high, so I conclude always
You beautiful girl forever be
My shining Janette; my guide; my stairway.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
All rights reserved
beauty beauty beauty beauty beauty beauty
beauty beauty beauty beauty beauty beauty
beauty beauty beauty beauty beauty beauty
beauty beauty beauty beauty beauty beauty beauty
beauty beauty beauty beauty beauty beauty beauty
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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To Mr. Henry Lawes, Who Had Then Newly Set a Song of Mine
Verse makes heroic virtue live;
But you can life to verses give.
As, when in open air we blow,
The breath, though strained, sounds flat and low;
But if a trumpet take the blast,
It lifts it high, and makes it last:
So in your airs and our numbers dressed,
Make a shrill sally from the breast
Of nymphs, who, singing what we penned,
Our passions to themselves commend;
While love, victorious with thy art,
Governs at once their voice and heart.
You, by the help of tune and time,
Can make that song which was but rhyme.
Noy pleading, no man doubts the cause;
Or questions verses set by Lawes.
As a Church window, thick with paint,
Lets in a light but dim and faint,
So others, with division, hide
The light of sense, the poet's pride;
But you alone may truly boast
That not a syllable is lost:
The writer's and the setter's skill
At once the ravished ears do fill.
Let those which only warble long,
And gargle in their throats a song,
Content themselves with
ut, re, mi
:
Let words, and sense, be set by thee.
poem by Edmund Waller
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The Mendacity Of Hype
Blowing in from under Daley's shadow, Cook
county, liberally
sponsored by green gas-
bags & misery's boldest broker, he
can, thru
comely pauses &
flowery syllables, swooning
rhythms, comfortable
cadence & that mellifluous gargle- 'just
because you have an individual right doesn't mean the
state or federal
Government cannot constrain that right'- yes
he can- having secured a mortgage from
Rezco as unsung Chicagoland seniors sweltered &
rotted from neglect in
summer haze- yes he
can- w/ the
policy experience & Chicago wind to
cleanse our crusty pallet of rotting apples, bitter
yams, the unpleasant after-
taste of History, from a single acorn sprout nuts enough to
engulf Mr. Lincoln's words & Mr. DuSable's legacy under
Daley's expanding
pall, leave only
change in our pockets, co-
opt hope, extend
voting rights to the graveyard & subsidize that
dose of Soma prescribed to
liberate
all Yanks of
that onerous yoke
of
sovereignty.
poem by Cretan Maineiac
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How beautiful is
How beautiful is the Belief, when we belief in the God
How beautiful are the Creatures, when we belief in the Creator
How beautiful is the Motherhood, when we belief in the Sacrifices
How beautiful is the Fatherhood, when we belief in the Battles
How beautiful is the Childhood, when we belief in the Innocence
How beautiful is the Dream, when we belief in the Ambition
How beautiful is the Contentment, when we belief in the Simplicity
How beautiful is the Life, when we belief in the dead
How beautiful is the Love, when we belief in the Care
How beautiful is the Happiness, when we belief in the Sadness
How beautiful is the Relationships, when we belief in the Tender
How beautiful is the Fruit, when we belief in the Farming
How beautiful is the Confidence, when we belief in Our self
How beautiful is the Beauty, when we belief in Our eyes
How beautiful is the World, when we belief in Peace
How beautiful is the Friendship, when we belief in Brotherhood
How beautiful is the Marriage, when we belief in Sharing
How beautiful is the World, when we belief in the Peace
poem by Mohammed AlBalushi
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Pitchers of dark ale
It was evident our coordinates entered
in parallax with old dimensions affected;
hence the captain's voice unexpected,
started to sing Verdi, bass and stentor.
The destination was a port of allegiance
so, we responded to the notion veering;
Saint Nicolas was on the rudder steering,
with the ship cunning to void attendance.
Quoiled up round was our blurred scope,
in open seas we egressed, ropes to hale,
drunk by overflown pitchers of dark ale,
communicating in a woozy speech trope.
With minds numb we composed lyrics,
our hoarse voices singing to ocean naiads;
where else, sea nymphs, heard bards,
on bass gargle nonsense of sot freaks?
The ship was going happy like a cradle,
seesawing on waves with deleted worry;
how else could we address to a blurry,
a dull horizon above tricky depths hadal?
We sang and sang in blear mist forever,
ten eons passed since we began drinking,
dark ale was thirstily in mouths sinking,
Sirens were laughing with time to sever.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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