But 17 years ago, I arrived at CNN with a suitcase, with my bicycle, and with about 100 dollars.
quote by Christiane Amanpour
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My White Bicycle
My white bicycle, my white bicycle
Riding all around the street
Four oclock and theyre all asleep
Im not tired and its so late
Moving fast everything looks great.
My white bicycle, my white bicycle
See that man, hes all alone
Looks so happy but hes far from home
Ring my bell, smile at him
Better kick over his garbage bin
My white bicycle, my white bicycle
The rain comes down but I dont care
The wind is blowing in my hair
Seagulls flying in the air
My white bicycle
Lead:
Policeman shouts but I dont see him
Theyre one thing I dont believe in
Find some judge, but its not leavin
Lift both hands, his head in disgrace
Shines no light upon my face
Through the darkness, we still speed
My white bicycle and me
My white bicycle, my white bicycle
(burgess/west)
Getaway music
Copyright 1975 nazareth (dunfermline) ltd
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If I'm going away for longer than a week I take a suitcase and check it in but I'm good at packing light and quick - years of modelling, travelling and living out of a suitcase has trained me well.
quote by Lisa Snowdon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Bicycle Poem
do not worry how the bicycle looks
ride it.
do not think how the wheel and its
spokes work
do not attempt to understand its structure
ride it.
do not think how the other people looks at
you with your bicycle
just ride it.
when you are riding it already
just feel the joy of the air that meets your face
the speed by which it takes you
to another destination
just ride it, disembark when you get there
you do not even have to own it and keep it for the rest of your life
when you get old
remember that bicycle that once gave you all the joys of riding
before you die
give it to the young
they shall have their own joys too
riding it
and perhaps they will write a poem about you
or if not
about the bicycle at least
who knows?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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democracy in the Philippine islands
there is this little boy
who is practicing to ride a big bike
his feet are short
and so are his hands
and always
in this predicament
does he fall and tumble
the years passed
and it is the same boy again
practicing to ride his
big bicycle
sometimes i am just curious
what is this boy
eating and drinking
since his feet are still short
and his hands are still small
he never had the guts
riding his bicycle to the full
it is the same situation all over again
he falls and bleeds
and cries that the bicycle is always too big for his
short feet and small hands
he falls and he tumbles
he bleeds and he fails
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The bicycle, the bicycle surely, should always be the vehicle of novelists and poets.
quote by Christopher Morley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Red BMX Bicycle
There was a small boy
In the countryside
Who had a small red BMX bicycle
Kept in the store besides the herbicides
Every evening like a cycle
He would ride down the dusty road
The sun a yellow ball
on the west side
Glittering under the sun`s rays
Was that small
RED BMX BICYCLE
There was a smaller boy
In the countryside
Who had nothing…
Totally nothing
He was a friend to the small boy
Every evening like a cycle
He would wait by the dusty road
To have a chance
On the small red BMX bicycle
His face would be all smiles
Even after falling off that
RED BMX BICYCLE
One day at dusk
The smaller boy
Stood next to the small boy
And asked
“When you grow up, would you give me this bike? ”
The small boy without thinking
Said YES..
There was a smaller boy
In the countryside
One night
He had a bad stomach ache
His mum wiping the tiny streams of tears
That fell from his small face
That was pale…
Due to dust from the dusty road
As he played with his the small boy
And rode on that
RED BMX BICYCLE
There was a small boy
In the countryside…
Now HE is all grown
And in the university
Far away in the city
That RED BMX BICYCLE
Now long gone
Given to some relative, I guess
If I could go back
To those days…
Those days with beautiful sunsets
Back in the countryside
Waiting for my chance
On my red BMX bicycle
Watching that smaller boy fall off
I would give him…
I would hand him that bicycle
And never expect it back
And watch him ride
Towards the beautiful sunset
On my red BMX bicycle
But if I can go back
All will be in vain
Because on that night…in the dark
He struggled with pain
His small heart couldn`t keep on
Outside there was rain
The gods possibly wanted to cleanse
All the evil that night
That took him away
Now I reminisce
As I keep moving on
About that smaller boy
And our small
RED BMX BICYCLE…
poem by Paul Oguda
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The journey of life is like a man riding a bicycle. We know he got on the bicycle and started to move. We know that at some point he will stop and get off. We know that if he stops moving and does not get off he will fall off.
quote by William Golding
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The worst gift that I ever gave a girl was a suitcase for Christmas. As in, 'I can't think of anything to give you, but here's a new suitcase.' Afterward, I was like, 'What were you thinking, idiot?'
quote by Jensen Ackles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wealth, in terms of dollars and so forth, could be counted up, because dollars were finite. It doesn't make any difference how many dollars you have-at a certain point you only have dollars. You start with finite, you end with finite.
quote by Michael Nesmith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I was pretty much prepared because I was already playing in extremely good ways when I arrived from Europe because I played jazz four or five years before I arrived here.
quote by Miroslav Vitous
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Carnival
Low club light
Lips sealed tight
Expose fade away
Observer write it all down
For me
No soundtrack
No fightback
Noise annoys
Dark subject
All the underworld
Making plans for us
We are open wide
Need someone to stand up
Up up
Lovers
Shelter in their suitcase
Waiters
Shelter in their suitcase
Stangers
Shelter in their suitcase
Sailor talk to soldier
Sailor
Low club light
Lips sealed tight
Expose fade away
Observer write it all down
For me
Ill try
Ill spy
I would not buy
A car from you
They make uniforms
Something to call style
We need to stand up
We are open wide-ide-ide
Lovers
Shelter in their suitcase
Waiters
Shelter in their suitcase
Strangers
Shelter in their suitcase
Soldier talk to sailer
Soldier
All the underworld
Making plans for us
We are open wide
Need someone to stand up
Up up
Lovers
Shelter in their suitcase
Waiters
Shelter in their suitcase
Strangers
Shelter in their suitcase
Soldier talk to sailer
Soldier
Lyrics : j kerr music : simple minds (c) emi publishing ltd reproduced without permission
song performed by by Simple Minds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If I can bicycle, I bicycle.
quote by David Attenborough
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Man In A Suitcase
Id invite you back to my place
Its only mine because it holds my suitcase
It looks home to me alright
But its a hundred miles from yesterday night
Must I be the man in a suitcase
Is it me, the man with the strangers face
Another key for my collection
For security I race for my connection
Bird in a flying cage youll never get to know me well
The worlds my oyster a hotel rooms a prison cell
Must I be the man in a suitcase
Is it me, the man with the strangers face
Id invite you back to my place
Its only mine because it hold my suitcase
It looks like home to me alright
But its a hundred miles from yesterday night
song performed by by Police
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What That Little Boy Was Praying For
Evening
Sun is almost set
Its weak beams still
Making road side sand grains glitter
I was on a walk to a temple nearby
A scratching brake of a bicycle
Made me look up
A boy of not even ten years the bicycle rider
Stopped his bicycle
In front of the temple entrance
Not getting down form it
Closed his eyes, clasped his palms
Started a prayer
He was in that posture
For much longer than
What a passerby normally does
Turning curious I continued to watch him
Forgetting for a while my purpose of this walk
Since the boy was in the middle
Of that narrow lane
A car stopped behind him
A bike passed by him
Sounding a shrill horn
A street dog barked at the bike
Car also gave a horn
Nothing left in the boy any sign of disturbance
It would have been a full minute
Before the boy woke up to realities
And started his ride
Without even glancing those
Who were watching him
I left the scene and entered the temple
What that little boy was praying for
poem by Bashyam Narayanan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The tempo is the suitcase. If the suitcase is too small, everything is completely wrinkled. If the tempo is too fast, everything becomes so scrambled you can't understand it.
quote by Daniel Barenboim
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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$5 a Barrel of What?
Oil?
Now sold at what?
Five dollars a barrel?
This is an immediate sign,
That something is not going too well.
Has anyone communicated this,
To those who chose this direction?
And they seem to be okay with this decision?
There just will be more greed.
With those who once had it made in the shade...
To stand with others who demand to feed their needs.
And you all know how improbable that is going to be?
Who is going to touch us anyway?
All Mercedes will be curbed.
And Bentleys will be driven by those deserving.
Well...
Why the gloomy faces?
Pass the caviar!
'Your Highness?
That was one hundred and five US dollars.'
My god...
Soon we will build heaven on Earth.
Right here in the desert!
When you have no clue of who those are
You choose to fight...
Do not ever pick the ones
To try to trick on their own land!
You only delay
Displaying yourself the fool.
Enough of this rubbish!
Where is the imported champagne?
And raise that to $115 per barrel.
It belongs to us.
They made this 'their' need.
Do as you please!
Have the lox and bagels arrived?
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Boxing Day Blues
My dad got on his bicycle to ride to Spondon village,
to say Happy Christmas to his dear old mum.
He rode across the fields and by the River Derwent,
it was a frosty morning, but bright in the sun.
He left the riverside and climbed up by the bridge
onto the carriageway and along the cycle path.
At the railway crossing he cut off down the lane,
by the scrap dealers and an old tin bath.
Across the level crossing by the side of the station
over the canal bridge and pass the Moon Hotel.
Onward towards Lodge Lane and his next turn right
where he hit the pavement and very nearly fell.
Number two Willowcroft Road was his destination,
he wasn’t expected, so his mum would be surprised.
Catching his breath for a second at the open back door,
his mother said, “Well, you’re a sight for sore eyes.”
“Happy Christmas mum, ” he said as he kissed her cheek.
“Happy Christmas George, I’ll make a fresh pot of tea.”
As they sat chatting, his brothers came through the door,
“Happy Christmas George, ” said Frank, Jim and Alfie.
“George, have you got time to come for a drink?
We’re going for a bevy down the Moon.
We’ll also have a laugh and a few hands of cards,
and generally enjoy the afternoon.”
He said he had and kissed his mum goodbye,
and off they walked down to the Moon.
They were pleased and happy to be together again
and arrived at the pub exactly at noon.
Now my dad was by no means a drinking man
and one Milk Stout was all he would drink,
but when The Moon closed that afternoon,
he had more than one too many I think.
Happily, he said goodbye to his brothers,
as he mounted his bicycle to ride home.
His balance was decidedly questionable
and more so when he rode over a stone.
As he cycled his stomach began churning
and his head began to spin inside.
By the riverside he fell off his bicycle
and vomited on the grass where he lied.
He managed to straighten the seat and handlebars,
and remounted his bicycle once again,
but twice more he fell off his two wheeled steed
before his front wheel got stuck in a drain.
For safety sake he pushed his bicycle along Taylor Street
and down the entry by the side of the house.
With the utmost care he placed his bicycle in the shed
whilst trying to be as quiet as a mouse.
But this mouse was unusually incredibly noisy,
as mum opened and looked out of the door.
“George, have you been drinking with your brothers? ”
“Yes dear, but I’m not going to any more.”
He then said that he didn’t want his dinner,
and fell asleep whilst watching TV.
When he awoke from his snoring slumber
he realised he hadn’t got his false teeth.
He asked my mum if she had seen them,
and she told him that she had not.
Maybe he had put them in his pocket,
or put them somewhere he’d forgot.
A horrible sense of panic came over him,
maybe they came out when he was sick?
He decided to check, so mounted his bicycle
after giving it a hefty kick.
When he arrived where he had vomited,
the sick has soaked into the ground,
and there lying on the grass were his teeth
smiling, as though glad to be found.
poem by Orlando Belo
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I Was There
In this world when you first arrived
I was there at your mothers side,
Holding her hand, I was filled with pride,
I was there when you first arrived.
It was I alone who rubbed your hair
It was I who counted your fingers and toes,
And I was I who proudly held you first
And it was I alone who rubbed your nose.
When you first arrived in this world
It was I, who was thinking is it a boy or a girl
But then to myself, I really didn't care,
As long as you arrived, to answer my prayer.
I was there with you every step of the way
I watched your birth, and your coming of age
And what I say now, I say with both a vigor and pride,
That I was there, when you first arrived.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Hell Gets You Nowhere
Stood by the roadside late at night
Hell came along and offered me a ride
I thought about it the I said no
I asked my suitcase and my suitcase said lets go
And the bass said
Hell gets you nowhere
That I swear
Went to church sunday without my mum
Laughed about my neighbour who sat on my chewinggum
He said the lord would punish me
And hells the right place for me to be
song performed by by Fury In The Slaughterhouse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Another Suitcase In Another Hall
Eva: I don't expect my love affairs to last for long
Never fool myself that my dreams will come true
Being used to trouble I anticipate it
But all the same I hate it
Wouldn't you
So what happens now (another suitcase in another hall)
So what happens now (take your picture off another wall)
Where am I going to (you'll get by you always have before)
Where am I going to
Time and time again I've said that I don't care
That I'm immune to gloom that I'm hard through and through
But everytime it matters all my words desert me
So anyone can hurt me
And they do
So what happens now (another suitcase in another hall)
So what happens now (take your picture off another wall)
Where am I going to (you'll get by you always have before)
Where am I going to
Call in three months time and I'll be fine I know
Well maybe not that fine but I'll survive anyhow
I won't recall the names and places of each sad occasion
But that's no consolation
Here and now
So what happens now (another suitcase in another hall)
So what happens now (take your picture off another wall)
Where am I going to (you'll get by you always have before)
Where am I going to
Photographer: Don't ask anymore
song performed by by Madonna from Evita Soundtrack (Part 1)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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