There is - you know, there's receipts for rented cars and license plates and guns and hand prints and palm prints and fingerprints. You know, I want to wait until I'm in a court.
quote by Patty Hearst
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Foot Prints
Foot Prints
a man and a woman
shoulder to shoulder
hand in hand
walk on the winter beach
his foot prints being left behind him
her foot prints following her
poem by Suchoon Mo_
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Sonnet: None Can Cheat the Lord
Despite all care with which we do the crime,
And try avoiding detection on earth,
Despite destroying evidence that’s prime,
We leave behind some prints that are quite worth!
Foot-prints or fingerprints, we may not leave!
Some insects too can give away the crime;
Your DNA can’t help you to deceive;
Present in hair or blood-cells or in slime.
If man can be a forensic expert,
Who can then dupe the omnipotent God?
He knows our every thought and acts by heart;
No one dare check the Creator and Lord.
Yet, man thinks that he can do foolproof things!
He cannot fly birdlike with real wings,
6-9-2002 by Dr John Celes
poem by John Celes
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I'm pretty selective. I generally edit the contact sheets and then do work prints. Because I have my own lab and printers, I can afford the luxury of going through the contact sheets for black-and-white, making up work prints, seeing them big, and honing them down.
quote by Herb Ritts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Memories and Marks
Foot prints in the sand
Tell their story
Side by side they stood
Right at sunset
As the sun was shining it's last rays
As the silver moon overtook
They kissed
Everything was perfect
Love was everywhere
Happy as could be
They walked
Leaving behind foot prints
A tangible mark
Eventually washed away
By waves of blue
But the memory remains
poem by Autumn Winds
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Tests
Tests growl at summer as dawn approaches,
Volleyball practises many talents of slaves,
We are trails of stepping shoe-prints, soldier’s prints,
The stew of food goes down the throat that is a sheet.
Many in the woods called spying sessions,
Sailing the very forest with tigers growling,
Sisters of dragons were crawling and they died.
My sea sparks strawberries written by fruit,
The riddle of a walk is through the forest.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Poet's Fingerprints
Poems are like fingerprints to the poet,
Many may try to copy you
It is perfectly alright...
Others may try to steal your works
Or simply twist them around
And present them as their own,
Post them to world to see
However, once they go home
They must deal with their conscience
Since they know for sure
They have stolen somebody's else works...
Originality says it all
It is being unique in this world,
Therefore, if you can recognize the prints
It would be easy to know the poet...
And tell the difference
Between the real one from the fake...
Reputation is at stake
Only time can tell....
Read carefully and you will see
Make no mistake...
©All Rights Reserved-2009
poem by Romeo Della Valle
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Uncleaned Sink
She loved Bach and listened
To him whenever she had the
Chance and while sitting listening
She gazed at her Picasso prints
And sipped the cola she mixed
With vodka and remembered
Ricans trying to make it with her
But she not interested in that
Side of being with him not wanting
To see the all too human side not
Wishing to see that aspect which
Made him all so much like everybody
Else just wanted that part of him
Which sat and listened to Bach and
Gazed at the Picasso prints sipping
Vodka and cola which she hoped made
Him think of higher things than sex
Drugs or the uncleaned bathroom sink.
poem by Terry Collett
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Cats on the Prowl
Another vivacious misty morn'
As I stumble over a childs' bike
I witness paw prints upon my convertable top
The pattern surprised me, as they roamed to and fro
Not again, as I chuckled secretly
Which one I could not tell
Just one more cat spell
On the rag top of my car
Even on the bumper
Prints galore
Evidently they have no clue, this upsets me
Just relaxin, being king or queen for a brief moment
Perhaps hoping and scoping
For a field mouse
Scurrying around the flower beds of my house
For we constantly are given gifts, from these prowling feline
Nearly every wakeup, as we exit the front door
Fine feathered friends, chipmunks and moles
Appear before our awakening eyes
We're saddened, for a brief second, as a life is taken
While the cats purr loudly
In their demise
poem by Matt Mondschein
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To Wait For Time
Footprints and fingerprints,
Be up and doing to respect my muse;
And learn to wait for time.
The evening lamps are lighted and,
To dance upon the narrow walls;
But the heaven is like earth without sin.
Footprints and fingerprints,
Let us visit the biggest cemetery in the world;
And of moulded ships in bottles and shells,
But let us learn to labour and to wait for time.
Of plant related species and art lovers,
The moon has a golden ring on!
And all my fears are laid aside,
But her eyes are as the fairy-fax.
Though often depressed and lonely,
Her checks are like the dawn of the day;
And like a look at the open door.
Footprints and fingerprints,
To wait for time and to muse up with your love;
And like love under the spreading chestnut-tree.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Fingerprints
I touched you once too often
Now I don't know who I am
My fingerprints were missing
When I wiped away the jam.
Yes I called my fingerprints all night
But they don't seem to care
The last time that I saw them
They were leafing through your hair.
Fingerprints
song performed by by Leonard Cohen from Death Of A Ladies' Man
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just Three Days
Ah life
For what are all these fights
While we live for few whiles
What for are our fights
We are like butterflies
Our existence is just for Whiles We are strangers passengers across roads of life
What for broken hearts
How long lasts our lives
Why lovers become strangers
Why all these wars
If Life lasts just whiles
For love we die thousands times
And yet we spend lifetime trying to find
A shelter to survive
And our lives flies just in whiles
Nothing is eternal in this world
Just the prints of our feet
The Provence of our deeds eternally survives
We are just innocent butterflies
Who's life lasts just while
Three days lastour lives than we pass
When or how no one of us ever knows
Just the prints of our steps stay there
Even when we are gone.
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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In The Palm Of Your Hand
In the palm of your hand
you hold my heart.
Cradle it gently, my love
so it will never fall apart.
In the palm of your hand
you hold my love.
Carress it tenderly forever
and always place it above
everything that you touch.
Hold my hand
in the palm of your hand
so that I may always feel
that the sifting grains of sand
in the hourglass of time
will never be able to steal
these precious moments away.
Let them be able to stay
always in the palm of your hand.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Seven - forty Seven-ed Ponds
Incidental footprints of your journey
Mirrored olives, blues and strings of white
So many caught in busied travel delight
Olive-d peace in reflection-ed stills
Perfect illusions highlighted - capture
Your wanderings digitized ripples
Pastoral beauty applied to canvas
Floating above, sipping spirits refreshment
Cotton candied lateral landscapes flow
Contrails significant in their passing
Destinations unique for silver
Winged tube’s residential occupants
Mornings early shore prints reveal hoof prints
Over near the cattails a young deer drinks
In your journey… quenching a long nights thirst
(Mountaintop Pond, Tennessee
October 27,2006)
poem by Debora Short
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~.~ Seven Forty Seven-ed Ponds
Incidental footprints of your journey
Mirrored olives, blues and strings of white
So many caught in busied travel delight
Olive-d peace in reflection-ed stills
Perfect illusions highlighted - capture
Your wanderings digitized ripples
Pastoral beauty applied to canvas
Floating above, sipping spirits refreshment
Cotton candied lateral landscapes flow
Contrails significant in their passing
Destinations unique for silver
Winged tube’s residential occupants
Mornings early shore prints reveal hoof prints
Over near the cattails a young deer drinks
In your journey… quenching a long nights thirst
(Mountaintop Pond, Tennessee
October 27,2006)
poem by Debora Short
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Unjust Inactions
When I was young and frolic
I was full of good many ideals
wishing to marry an handicapped girl
I apprised my parents, of such a proposal
Still, I remember that girl's rich face
innocently showing her afflicted legs
very hopefully, she awaited this connection to mature
but, my parents were old-fashioned; posted their rejection
I was just a tender man
submissive, polite, timid and a non-fighter
though it irked me to my inner most core
I had no guts nor vision for a war of nerves
as wished, by parents, I then married
Into a family with all rituals and falsehood
I am now 40 - do am I happy?
by twisting my life-line, what my parents have achieved!
I am ashamed to look back at my own foot-prints
where I miserably failed to give shape to those viable blue-prints
though outwardly, I look to be alright and fine
could anyone dive deep into my mind's bleeding down-lane?
poem by Santhana Louis
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Surprise in Japan - Our Rattling Plates
earthquake
teutonic plates rattle
our plates
earthquake
rattling our nerves
the plates on the shelf
softly rattling
to an earthquake
our plates on the shelf
ratting plates
our seismic
detector
rattling plates
oh it is the earthquake
bothering us again
Ring of Fire
every now and then
our plates rattle
rattling plates
a belief in fate keeps
my heart calm
rattling plates
i put my life in
the hands of god
Japan is on one of the most siesmic proned region of the world called ring of fire. In our apartment, every now and then, the plates we stack one over the other on the shelf would rattle. When the earthquake was
strong enough, they would jump off the shelf. It was a surprise to me at first when I heard our plates rattled every now and then especially at night.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Prints On The Soul
Life prints
Words on the soul
So we can share them
With the world
poem by David Kush
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He who devours his neighbour's fowl, its foot prints will give him away.
seeing foot-prints on snow
a teenager turned towards God
becoming a saint
quote by by John Celes
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A Poet’s Life (Fun Poem 13)
A poet’s life is an awkward one,
he sits with pen and paper in hand,
writes down what comes into his head,
prints it up, reads it through,
only to find that someone
can’t understand
a blinkin’ word he’s written.
The most frustrating part
is that he understands it perfectly well,
so now he has to explain and tell
what the whole thing is about.
At times, a poet’s life
just wants to make you scream and shout.
So you take pen in hand again,
hoping what you write this time
they will understand.
(7 May 2007)
poem by David Harris
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