Aim for the chopping block. If you aim for the wood, you will have nothing. Aim past the wood, aim through the wood; aim for the chopping block.
quote by Annie Dillard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Oranges Testimonial
Mr. John Flansburgh: "Hey, this is John of They Might Be Giants. You might know me better as one of the guys from They Might Be Giants. You know, chemistry is like a relationship and that's why when you're looking for web design, go to the best: The Chopping Block. You might not know it, but over 50% of web designers are sleepy and cranky. The Chopping Block, through farm living and an active internship recruiting policy have over 10 million employees ready to serve your corporate whatever they call it. Orange powered and web-fueled, The Chopping Block... e-solutions to e-verybody."
Oranges
Oranges
Oranges and graphic design
The Chopping Block spends their time
Growing oranges, picking oranges
Then working on graphic design
The Chopping Block works all the time
All the time
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Through The Wood
THROUGH the wood, the green wood, the wet wood, the light wood,
Love and I went maying a thousand lives ago;
Shafts of golden sunlight had made a golden bright wood
In my heart reflected, because I loved you so.
Through the wood, the chill wood, the brown wood, the bare wood,
I alone went lonely no later than last year,
What had thinned the branches, and wrecked my dear and fair wood,
Killed the pale wild roses and left the rose-thorns sere?
Through the wood, the dead wood, the sad wood, the lone wood,
Winds of winter shiver through lichens old and grey,
You ride past forgetting the wood that was our own wood
All our own--and withered as ever a flower of May.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Oranges
Oranges
Oranges
Oranges and graphic design
The Chopping Block spends their time
Growing oranges
Oranges
Then working on graphic design
The Chopping Block works all the time
They work the day shift
They work the night shift
They work the graveyard shift
Oranges
Oranges
Oranges and graphic design
The Chopping Block spends their time
Growing oranges
Picking oranges
Then working on graphic design
The Chopping Block works all the time
All the time
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Applauding A Boo
Vegetables on the chopping board
Inaugurate a television recital..
I chop chop
Recital going on
The lady joins me harmoniously
Chopping, chopping, chopping
Chopping the brinjal, raga
Potato, tala, onion, lyric
Her vocal chords strain to wriggle
The accompaniments, onion shed laughing tears
Dissonant, discordant, cacophony
Screaches to countless decibels
I'm chopping lady's finger
My finger weeps red
poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I went through a wood-chopping phase when I was nine or 10.
quote by Jennifer Lawrence
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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People love chopping wood. In this activity one immediately sees results.
quote by Albert Einstein
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sea-Saw (more writing fun)
If I saw a wood boat afloat
Upon the sea,
Would what I see possibly be
The wood I cut from a tree?
For when I saw a tree
I would like to think I see,
What the wood I saw
Could be.
If all I saw in wood from a tree
Was all I saw that there was to see,
Would what I did saw
Be the wood that I now see?
And if the wood I once did saw
Was indeed made into that ship on the sea,
Would it even be possible to know that here what I see
Is the wood once sawed by me?
All I here would dare to share is:
I see what I saw, and I saw what I see,
And therefore the wood I do saw could one day be
The boat I may see, afloat upon the sea.
See?
poem by Smoky Hoss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Once upon a time there was a piece of wood. It was not an expensive piece of wood. Far from it. Just a common block of firewood, one of those thick, solid logs that are put on the fire in winter to make cold rooms cozy and warm.
quote by Carlo Collodi
Submitted by Simona Enache
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Alumni Hall
surrounded by old wood
you breathe wood
and you feel the wood
breathing you too
all around you
in deep sleep
the past comes still dreaming of you
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I learned how little in the way of material goods we really need, and how beautiful a simple life can be. In Romania people work with their hands every day, and you'll see an 80-year-old woman still chopping wood because she's been looking after herself all her life, and she still has the strength to do it.
quote by Renee Zellweger
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Road Block
Yeah!, all right!
Oh, ain't no problem
Carry no heavy load
Lord, no!
Why can't i love you, baby ?
You try to block my road.
You try to block my road. hey!
Oh, better off to hand you
Everything i own, ha ha ha ha!
Strange to see you waiting for me,
You try to block my road, yeah yeah,
Try to block my road
Hey, hey, hey, hey.
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block daddy daddy daddy
Road block
Road block
Alright on the road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Yeah! road block
Road block, alright, alright, alright!
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Whoa road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Road block
Yeah!
Try to block my road, daddy daddy daddy
I said now every time i turn around
Why, try to block my road
Why did you try to hurt me try to block my road
I said all i ever wanted to do was try to block my road
N-now all i ever wanted to do was to love you try to block my road
Tell me, tell me, tell me try to block my road
Tell me, tell me, tell me now try to block my road
Waaah try to block my road
Waaah try to block my road
Try to block my road.
Ha ha!
Oh, ain't no problem
Carry no heavy load
Oh no, no!
Why can't i love you, baby ?
You try to block my road.
Hey hey, try to block my road,
Now now, try to block my road
Right, right, honey right now!
song performed by by Janis Joplin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Can't Get a Night of Peaceful Sleep
Isn't it much easier,
To sit back and critique?
Than it is,
To have your neck on the chopping block...
And your name going defenseless,
On the streets?
To be tossed about,
Like hair dropping out.
From an ill fitted weave.
And flying through the air,
With the greatest of ease.
Without anyone to retrieve it,
In the free flowing breeze.
Isn't it fun to enjoy with everyone...
Picking on people behind their backs.
And when in public they are seen...
You snub them when they speak.
Knowing there is no reason,
For you to be that mean.
And when adverse reactions,
Come to confront you.
Isn't it wonderful to know,
Those who choose to do it...
Were friends you knew who screwed you too.
In ways you reminisce...
You made a choice to do this.
But now a forgiveness wished,
That your feelings could be spared.
But no one is there,
To show a caring that is shared.
Isn't it much easier,
To sit back and critique?
Than it is,
To have your neck on the chopping block...
And your name going defenseless,
On the streets?
And no one is concerned,
Your lessons have been learned.
Leaving you to toss and turn...
From nights spent trying to get some sleep!
Haunted by those memories,
Of how you hurt innocent people so deep.
And you're left alone to moan.
To do your boo hooing on your own.
With an empathy felt,
That attracts no help...
To come soon to relieve.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Knock On Wood
I dont want to lose the good thing that Ive got
If I do, I will surely, I will lose a lot
For your love is better than any love other Ive know
Its like thunder, lightning
The way you love me is frightening
I better knock on wood
Baby
I got superstitious about you, but I cant take change
You got me spinning, baby, spinning in a trance
But your love is better than any other love Ive known
Its like thunder, lightning
The way you love me is frightening
You better knock on wood
Its no secret, but that woman fills my lovin cup
She sees, so ready, that I get enough
And her love is better than any other love Ive known
Its like thunder
Its like lightning
The way you love me is frightening
I better knock on wood
Baby
Better, yes, better
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) yes, I better
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) oh, knock on wood
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) you know I would, would
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) its no secret
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) no, oh, better
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) hangin above me
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) I cant leave her
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) oh no, baby
Knock on wood, woo!
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Block It Out
All the hurt inside me
I just block it out
All those tears i need to cry
I just block them out
All those memories of past years
That would still make me cry
I never said goodbye
I'm scared that if i let them out
They'll never stop
I've got a reputation of being happy
Always on top
I can't let them down
Let them see me frown
I just block it out
I just block it out
poem by Lucy Vernezze
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The block of wood should not dictate to the carver.
Who is a piece of stick in youth will be a block of wood in old age.
Museum Of Idiots
They built this whole neighborhood out of wood, out of wood.
I guess I'll still be around when they burn, burn it down.
I will be standing around when they burn it down.
Here in the Museum of Idiots.
Honey, I'm there when you need me, please believe me, please believe me.
I'll still be right where you left me, if you manage to forget me.
Where we met is where you may forget.
Here in the Museum of Idiots.
If you and I had any brains, we wouldn't be in this place.
Chop me up into pieces if it pleases, if it pleases.
And when the chopping is through, every piece will say, "I love you."
Every piece of me will say "I love you."
Here in the Museum of Idiots.
Every piece of me will say "I love you, you you"
Here in the Museum of Idiots.
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pinnochio
Geppetto took a block of wood
With knife in hand he tried
To carve his path to fatherhood
With a son wood could provide
He carved and carved all day and night
Working beaver-ishly
He soon would see the end in sight
Carving fever-ishly
He was rewarded with a son
Who was, of course, just wood
But with this son, he felt as one
It made him feel so good
To give him life he pulled some strings
And gave his son a name
Pinnochio would Geppetto bring
Some joy and even fame
But somehow all awry went things
Pinnochio found one day
He didn't seem to need those strings
They just got in his way
This new found freedom brought a cloud
Life wasn't quite so rosy
When spouting lies, he was endowed
With a nose that was too nosey
So, in the end, this wooden boy
Stopped lying through his nose
And once again became a toy
Wearing strings and puppet clothes
poem by Stanley Cooper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In The Shade Of The Green Wood
In the shade of the green wood
The holly does grow,
While in soft rays of sunlight
The wild roses glow,
And I smell their sweet perfume
That gently floats by,
Past trees strong and mighty
That reach to the sky,
The pathway of gold autumn
Leaves still remain,
As I walk through the green wood again.
In the shade of the green wood
This bright sunny morn,
That's so cool in the shadows
A new day is born,
All the birds in the treetops
Are singing for me,
Sweet songs of the summer
Which fill me with glee,
And know from its beauty
I never shall part,
For the green wood does live in my heart.
In the shade of the green wood
A soft gentle breeze,
Now caresses the branches
And whispers through trees,
A sound reassuring
Shall carry me to,
All the scenes that exist
In each marvellous view,
It's here that my spirit
Shall always now stay,
And the green wood is guiding my way.
poem by Andrew Blakemore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Two Tramps in Mud Time
Out of the mud two strangers came
And caught me splitting wood in the yard,
And one of them put me off my aim
By hailing cheerily "Hit them hard!"
I knew pretty well why he had dropped behind
And let the other go on a way.
I knew pretty well what he had in mind:
He wanted to take my job for pay.
Good blocks of oak it was I split,
As large around as the chopping block;
And every piece I squarely hit
Fell splinterless as a cloven rock.
The blows that a life of self-control
Spares to strike for the common good,
That day, giving a loose my soul,
I spent on the unimportant wood.
The sun was warm but the wind was chill.
You know how it is with an April day
When the sun is out and the wind is still,
You're one month on in the middle of May.
But if you so much as dare to speak,
A cloud comes over the sunlit arch,
A wind comes off a frozen peak,
And you're two months back in the middle of March.
A bluebird comes tenderly up to alight
And turns to the wind to unruffle a plume,
His song so pitched as not to excite
A single flower as yet to bloom.
It is snowing a flake; and he half knew
Winter was only playing possum.
Except in color he isn't blue,
But he wouldn't advise a thing to blossom.
The water for which we may have to look
In summertime with a witching wand,
In every wheelrut's now a brook,
In every print of a hoof a pond.
Be glad of water, but don't forget
The lurking frost in the earth beneath
That will steal forth after the sun is set
And show on the water its crystal teeth.
The time when most I loved my task
The two must make me love it more
By coming with what they came to ask.
You'd think I never had felt before
The weight of an ax-head poised aloft,
The grip of earth on outspread feet,
The life of muscles rocking soft
And smooth and moist in vernal heat.
Out of the wood two hulking tramps
(From sleeping God knows where last night,
But not long since in the lumber camps).
They thought all chopping was theirs of right.
Men of the woods and lumberjacks,
They judged me by their appropriate tool.
Except as a fellow handled an ax
They had no way of knowing a fool.
Nothing on either side was said.
They knew they had but to stay their stay
And all their logic would fill my head:
As that I had no right to play
With what was another man's work for gain.
My right might be love but theirs was need.
And where the two exist in twain
Theirs was the better right--agreed.
But yield who will to their separation,
My object in living is to unite
My avocation and my vocation
As my two eyes make one in sight.
Only where love and need are one,
And the work is play for mortal stakes,
Is the deed ever really done
For Heaven and the future's sakes.
poem by Robert Frost
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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