Skill is the unified force of experience, intellect and passion in their operation.
quote by John Ruskin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unified
It could be so nice but the world is not ready, yeah
It could be so nice but the world is not ready yo
Weather youre a black man
Or youre a white man
Or your from england or from japan
Or youre from chili or youre and american
Youre from the middle east or youre and african
Well it could be so nice but the world is not ready, yeah
It could be so nice but the world is not ready yo
Now come on everyone on this place come together
Wouldnt it be nice if we could all live together forever
Finding our peach in unity
Destroying the noting of foolish vanities
Pull to rise
Lift the blinds
The funky dope is here in 1999
And were praising so were raising out of this oblivion
And on and on and on and on and on and on and on and on
You cant stop this with your mind tricks
Like neo in the matrix Im chosen
Uplift with the gift
Like gandolf the wizard
I conjure a blizzard of magic to ride it high
Unified unified unified
Unified unified unified
It could be so nice but the world is not ready, yeah
It could be so nice but the world is not ready yo
They dont want it in their government
They dont want it with their politricks
They dont want it with their brainwash
They dont want it with their money fix
Unified unified unified
Unified unified unified
I want it want it want it want it
It could be so nice but the world is not ready, yeah
It could be so nice but the world is not ready yo
song performed by by G. Love & Special Sauce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bio-Force
The biomass is made up of sheaths:
Skin, muscles, nerves, blood, bone, morrow.
The bio-energy consists of layers:
Senses, mind, intellect, conscious,
Subconscious and unconscious.
The biomass and the bio-energy
Are under the operation of bio-force,
Which is a string linking all organisms.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Plastic Passion
Plastic passion is a hard to handle
Plastic passion is a sold out scandal
Oh it's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
Plastic passion is the ladies lover
Plastic passion is the marble mother
Oh it's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
Plastic passion is a diamond delight
Plastic passion is the nadir of night
Oh it's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
Plastic passion is a hycoscine heart
Plastic passion is a transparent tart
Oh it's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
Plastic passion is a gold guarantee
The plastic passion is murdering me
Oh it's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
It's a plastic passion
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Passion is a criminal
The whole Commission Of Romance
is a stitch-up joint operation by
Senior members of The Love Police
Who have ganged up to make sure
This our romance does not proceed
Lift your head and see who has come in
Thus old Passion is their star witness
Passion cannot be trusted my lady
Passion is a criminal and the full
might of the law must be unleashed to
Bring steamy wild Passion under control
Such mild measures like priestly
Intervention vis-a-vis their surveillance
Are bound to bounce back and fail
They are not enough to catch Passion
And convict him and give him his just
Earned and deserved life sentence and
Of greater importance is to arrest
him and without the lengthy to and fro
Frothy fruitless arguments of the jurists
We must hence and apprehend Passion
And set him adrift in the sea to find
His one way to the Dreamland of Love Land
And banish him there among the new lovers
And only thus will the new passion
Settle in our hearts and true love will
Come to us in the absence of the old flame
poem by Ngaka Motaung
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I Don't Want to Hear Another Word
I don’t want to hear another word!
Don’t even express to me another thought.
I don’t need something else to believe.
I am filled to the brim with philosophies.
I prefer to remain ignorant.
I am finally seeing that I can choose to say no,
To more information about the Infinite.
You have defined Him for me since I was a child.
And I let you.
I thought I had to.
But you cannot possibly know what He is to me.
No lines can be drawn.
He is not in any vocabulary.
Passion is something you feel.
It is something you are.
It is not in Webster’s dictionary,
Somewhere between “operate” and “star”.
God is my passion.
He is passion for me.
I am passion for Him.
He is the ocean rising up like a wave around me.
Suddenly I am lifted up off of my feet,
As His passion breaks over my head.
I am drowning in the experience of passion.
You cannot tell me how this is supposed to feel.
As this wave assaults my senses and,
Water pours into all my orifices.
You have the nerve to try and tell me what the rules are?
What the truth is?
How reality really is?
You there, standing on the shore,
Are going to tell me how I am to drown?
If you were in this ocean with me,
You and I would be one.
Not because we believe the same things,
Or are even aware of each other.
When orgasm reaches its crescendo,
We are so utterly alone,
Yet more one with
God than we have ever known.
We would be one in that we both,
Peaked with God and felt His heartbeat close to ours.
Passion is not a belief, a conviction, a truth.
Passion is an experience of Divine Love,
That changes you from the inside out.
You cannot tell someone about it.
You can only hope to survive it.
Or maybe not.
poem by Connie Crane
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Strada's Nightingale
The shepherd touch'd his reed; sweet Philomel
Essay'd, and oft essay'd to catch the strain,
And treasuring, as on her ear they fell,
The numbers, echo’d note for note again.
The peevish youth, who ne'er had foundbefore
A rival of his skill, indignant heard,
And soon (for various was his tuneful store)
In loftier tones defied the simple bird.
She dared the task, and, rising as he rose,
With all the force that passion gives inspired,
Return’d the sounds awhile, but in the close
Exhausted fell, and at his feet expired.
Thus strength, not skill prevail'd. O fatal strife,
By thee, poor songstress, playfully begun;
And, O sad victory, which cost thy life,
And he may wish that he had never won!
poem by William Cowper
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Alas! What Boots The Long Laborious Quest
ALAS! what boots the long laborious quest
Of moral prudence, sought through good and ill;
Or pains abstruse-to elevate the will,
And lead us on to that transcendent rest
Where every passion shall the sway attest
Of Reason, seated on her sovereign hill;
What is it but a vain and curious skill,
If sapient Germany must lie deprest,
Beneath the brutal sword?-Her haughty Schools
Shall blush; and may not we with sorrow say-
A few strong instincts and a few plain rules,
Among the herdsmen of the Alps, have wrought
More for mankind at this unhappy day
Then all the pride of intellect and thought?
poem by William Wordsworth
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The Septic Tank
Receipt, Reaction and Response
Are the phenomena of life.
Receipt of stimuli from the environs;
Reaction in the mind and intellect;
Response produced from stimuli.
Mind is accumulation of experience;
Intellect is accumulation of knowledge.
Mind and intellect form a unit,
Where input is churned and output is made.
Good water comes out as dirty water
When the unit is a washing machine.
Dirty water comes as good water
When the unit is a septic tank.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Where Is My Passion
Where is my passion
Far too much pain
Where is my passion
Must I love in vain?
Where is my passion
I need must know
Where is my passion
I want so much to grow
Where is my passion
Lost in your lips
Where is my passion
I feel for your kiss
Where is my passion
Lost in your eyes
Where is my passion
Release me to fly
Where is my passion
There in your hands
Where is my passion
Touch me…expand
Where is my passion
Please…be a man
poem by Fleurette Elaine Harris
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Though force can protect in emergency, only justice, fairness, consideration and co-operation can finally lead men to the dawn of eternal peace.
quote by Dwight D. Eisenhower
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There was expectations that the fights there, the operation there might be extended for several months, even for several years. But within a few weeks it ended, because obviously the Taliban wasn't a real force.
quote by Bulent Ecevit
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Top Ten Reasons I Would Make a Lousy Poetry Critic
(Letterman style countdown)
Number Ten: Because I probably lack the skill to determine where another’s failings lie
Number Nine: Because I doubt that anyone else really has such infallible skill
Number Eight: Because I lack the desire to render negative opinions of another’s work
Number Seven: Because I question the true motives of any one who readily renders scathing critiques
Number Six: Because I believe in positive reinforcement rather than accentuating negatives
Number Five: Because I don’t wish to have any hand in discouraging or killing the dreams of other poets
Number Four: Because I believe that what people write is far more important than the skill they show in doing it.
Number Three: Because the majority of poetry derives from a warm heart and most criticism originates from cold indifferent intellect
Number Two: Because I know what it feels like to be on the other end of the equation
And the Number One reason I would make a lousy poetry critic:
Because, poetically speaking, I live in a glass house.
poem by Mary Havran
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The force of passion is balanced by the force of interest.
quote by Jose Marti
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Traveling is the only passion that doesn't need to feel shy in front of intellect.
quote by Lennart Meri
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: Cooperation
Co-operation is the sap of life,
Without which nothing can be realized;
Nor harmony be really devised
Amidst children/ citizens/husband/ wife.
No department can flourish without it;
No army however strong wins the war;
No earthly telescopes can reach a star,
Sans co-operation, a good habit.
Co-operation brings success in life,
In one’s family or in his work-spot;
And decides progress or a nation’s lot,
Solving, modifying, postponing strife.
One can succeed if spouse co-operates;
Man succeeds whenever God operates!
poem by John Celes
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Artistic Gifts Fade Unused
teen latent tendencies
scattered unfocused
might briefly flame
then splutter pass away
artists rage in passion
or barely simmer produce
skill technique are tools
inspiration imagination
pale neutralized inert
compulsive irresistible urges
force cursed driven artists
to produce mind symphonies
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The things I love with a passion
I rock and roll with passion
I talk out my soul with a passion
I eat good food with passion
I defeat bad mood with a passion
I sleep well with passion
I weep hell with a passion
I dream endlessly with passion
I gleam ceaselessly with a passion
I aim for money with passion
I do the same for honey with a passion
I listen carefully with passion
I glisten dutifully with a passion
I search for fame with passion
I research to blame with a passion
I walk everyday with passion
I talk and play with a passion
I embrace life with passion
I face nightlife with a passion
I laugh out with passion
I chaffe about with a passion
I cook with others with passion
I look at mothers with a passion
I touch gently with passion
I clutch tightly with a passion
I work hard with a passion
I rock mad with a passion
I gear up goals with passion
I stir up roles with a passion
I make friends with passion
I take weekends with a passion
I love kissing with passion
I love teasing with a passion
I make love with passion
I take from above with a passion
If push comes to shove
Label me old fashioned
For these are things I caption
In life with all my passion
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Every dogma, every philosophic or theological creed, was at its inception a statement in terms of the intellect of a certain inner experience.
quote by Felix Adler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Like anything, you don't force kids to cook. It just becomes part of life - have them be around it, keep them informed - talk about it. I try to relay my passion for it in these ways. The second you try to force anything on your own kid, they rebel.
quote by Todd English
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Eyes Lassos, Too, Are Strained…
The sinful night melts in the sky,
Force bears a deep passion,
Juice is got by squeezing grapes;
Such fall causes ascension.
Then the juice turns into wine,
Into the wine – the source of passion,
And in the end, that very force
Creates love and affection.
Later, hunted by that intrigue,
The willful heirs are brought to birth,
And eyes lassos, too, are strained…
They, too, stand firmly on the earth…
24.12.2OO2.
Translated from Georgian
poem by Janri Gogeshvili
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