Violence is for mugs. War is for mugs.
quote by Mark Roberts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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History
The Roman threw us a road, a road,
And sighed and strolled away:
The Saxon gave us a raid, a raid,
A raid that came to stay;
The Dane went west, but the Dane confessed
That he went a bit too far;
And we all became, by another name,
The Imperial race we are.
The Imperial race, the inscrutable race,
The invincible race we are.
Though Sussex hills are bare, are bare,
And Sussex weald is wide,
From Chichester to Chester
Men saw the Norman ride;
He threw his sword in the air and sang
To a sort of a light guitar;
It was all the same, for we all became
The identical nobs we are.
The identical nobs, individual nobs,
Unmistakable nobs we are.
The people lived on the land, the land,
They pottered about and prayed;
They built a cathedral here and there
Or went on a small crusade:
Till the bones of Becket were bundled out
For the fun of a fat White Czar,
And we all became, in spoil and flame,
The intelligent lot we are.
The intelligent lot, the intuitive lot,
The infallible lot we are.
O Warwick woods are green, are green,
But Warwick trees can fall:
And Birmingham grew so big, so big,
And Stratford stayed so small.
Till the hooter howled to the morning lark
That sang to the morning star:
And we all became, in freedom's name,
The fortunate chaps we are.
The fortunate chaps, felicitous chaps,
The fairy-like chaps we are.
The people, they left the land, the land,
But they went on working hard:
And the village green that had got mislaid
Turned up in the squire's back-yard:
But twenty men of us all got work
On a bit of his motor car;
And we all became, with the world's acclaim,
The marvellous mugs we are:
The marvellous mugs, miraculous mugs,
The mystical mugs we are.
poem by G.K. Chesterton from Songs of Education
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Every man, through fear, mugs his aspirations a dozen times a day.
quote by Brendan Francis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nobody thinks in terms of human beings. Governments don't, why should we? They talk about people and the proletariat; I talk about the suckers and the mugs. It's the same thing.
quote by Graham Greene
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Man with Three Wives...
you ask,
how can did he manage to
have three wives?
well, he always buys things
in three sets:
three kilos of sugar
three bags of rice
three pieces of fish
three pinches of salt
three sachets of native coffee
three coffee mugs
three dresses with same design
and so everyone is happy
ever after.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Give Into Hate
Violence surrounds me
Violence in society
Violence in our eyes
Violence in their cries
Violence it's our fate?
Violence, it's too late?
Violence, no escape?
Violence, give into hate?
Is it human nature to act like animals?
We're all guilty, we're all criminals
Selfish species headed for a self destruction
Violent product of moral corruption
Violence for love
Violence because of hate
Violence, revolution
Violence of the state
Violence, you will find
Violence, it grips your mind
Violence, it's too late?
Violence, give into hate
song performed by by Unseen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Sneezed Trice! !
I sneezed trice! !
Because, i saw your nakedness;
And like the muse of love in the land of joy,
But, i need to understand the status of your moves.
Living on drugs!
Sleeping on rugs,
Destroying the mugs;
For, you've lost your memory,
But, i sneezed trice because i saw your nakedness.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To The Fourth Year Class Preparing For The Major Exams
we are all dead
tired and we are trying to
cope up with each
page and fine prints
of political law
so taxing to the eyes
and so damaging
to our brains,
my dear
class, let us take a
break, we go to
the pizza parlor
order some mugs
of beer and choose
those giant Domino pizzas
with mushrooms,
large tomatoes,
and lots of
shredded mozarella cheese
good luck this sunday.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Me and Paddy Martin
At Yoker High, I caught the train and went to Craigendoran,
I loved to fish there off the beach but it was always pouring
We used to get there at low tide, to search for rags and lugs,
But cos we hadn’t checked the tides, we’d end up looking mugs.
Rods in hand, no bait to fish and soaked right to the skin,
It was up the chippy for a heat and get some food within.
We were hopeless at this game and never caught a salmon
So we’d head home, cold and wet and end up having gammon.
poem by Paul Colvin
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Weep For The Past
When I would go running to father for hugs
and admiring Nan's collection of teacups and mugs,
When I would pick daisies from the lush garden grass
and go with my mother to morning Sunday mass,
When I stored collections of shiny coloured stones
and the dog collected and buried his long juicy bones,
When brother would kick his football all day
and I would sit happily in the garden to play,
When I would paint pictures of my childhood and me
and now I weep back to where I loved to once be.
poem by Pensive Phoenix
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Caves
It was a cold morning for Mars
and he couldn't get through to Venus
who was in the kitchen
loading the dishwasher.
He'd retreated into his cave,
put her in an appropriate box
and was chewing over the
football results of yesterday.
East Ham nil, Redbridge 1
Chelsea 2, Watford 1
She came in, just then
to collect empty mugs.
Just walked into his cave
while he was taking time out.
No by your leave or
manners.
As she bent down
he clocked her bottom,
checked it out thoroughly
and had second thoughts.
Perhaps sulking was just too,
extreme
for the crime of
shrinking his boxer shorts.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Do the British take their brollies?
Do the British take their brollies
On their Las Palmaris hollies?
Do they drink their Earl Grey tea
With two sugar lumps or three?
And whilst sitting besides the sea
Have they enough vinegary chips
Girls with oval red tomato hips
Too saucy for just a kiss
On the lips in hopes she'll reminisce...
Do the British spend all their pennies?
And take their Pooh bear Winnie's
And why do they buy mugs and plates?
To show back home their mates
And brag about a bartered price
And return not just once nor twice
But thrice was it really that nice.
poem by Mark Heathcote
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dream of fog and mist (if you can)
If you can…
Dream of beaches
Dream of fog
that slides ashore
And If you can…
Learn what it teaches
Before the fog returns
To the sea once more
Dream of yardarms…
Of dripping rigging
Of treasure chests
Just ripe for digging
Dream of islands
With crystal sand
With coral reefs
And mountains grand
Dream of fog and mist
Mugs of rum…
Of frigate birds…
Of hawsers thrum
Of cool sea breezes
From exotic land
In sleep…dream deep…
Dream of beaches…
…If you can…
poem by David Whalen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tavern
I'll keep a little tavern
Below the high hill's crest,
Wherein all grey-eyed people
May set them down and rest.
There shall be plates a-plenty,
And mugs to melt the chill
Of all the grey-eyed people
Who happen up the hill.
There sound will sleep the traveller,
And dream his journey's end,
But I will rouse at midnight
The falling fire to tend.
Aye, 'tis a curious fancy—
But all the good I know
Was taught me out of two grey eyes
A long time ago.
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Violence means violence
Violence means violence and that
Has a dangerous precedence.
Violence can not counter violence
Without the equipment of non-violence
That has a appearance in the
inner heart of soulfence.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Big Issue Vendor
It's funny how I kinda miss you
Standing on the corner selling The Big Issue,
Always a smile to earn some cash
Or a sorry-my-darling-but-I've-got-to-dash!
People ignoring you, some taking pity,
You're a part of the furniture in a modern city:
'Don't you think six children is rather a lot? '
'What kind of job has your partner got? '
Some people say it's money for drugs,
They give you nothing 'cos they're not 'mugs'.
So what has happened? Where have you gone?
Don't tell me, love, it really was a con! !
Perhaps you've moved to pastures new,
Found something much better that you can do,
If that's the case then I wish you well,
You've found an exit from your corner of hell,
People may blame you, the way people do,
But I'm saying nothing 'cos I haven't a clue!
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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White City
Here a tower shinning bright
Once stood gleaming in the night
Where now theres just the rubble
In the hole here the paddies and the frogs
Came to gamble on the dogs
Came to gamble on the dogs not long ago
Oh the torn up ticket stubs
From a hundred thousand mugs
Now washed away with dead dreams in the rain
And the car-parks going up
And theyre pulling down the pubs
And its just another bloody rainy day
Oh sweet city of my dreams
Of speed and skill and schemes
Like atlantis you just disappeared from view
And the hare upon the wire
Has been burnt upon your pyre
Like the black dog that once raced
Out from trap two
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Symptoms Of A Loser
blurring visions
that see tired tigers
retreating inside a cave
away from humanity,
cracking bones
shouting for repair,
falling hair
lots of locks on the
pillow that early morning
when there is no feeling
of waking up,
a mouth that is shut
munching words
and swallowing pride,
a heart that no longer
weeps,
hands that reside
inside the pocket,
feet that refuse to
take another mile
of tolerance,
poems growing
like molds on
left-over bread
a cockroach proclaiming
victory over
unwashed coffee mugs.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Masterman Sonata
The world was made for us
And we belong in this world
But this world is very violente today
And to tell you the truth I don't even know if the violence in this world will End
But I have the feeling that we will never be able to live in a world without Violence because the only thing we know is violence
And we never learned anything else than violence
But I believe some enjoy the violence and they welcome the violence Into their lives
poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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she's Called Latonya In Oxford Circus
Cut-glass cheeks, nazel brown eyes
Ample pouts, shivering shouts
Frivolous fish-nets bidding goodbyes
Some blonde cop hugs
As if all of us are but thugs
Some munches nibbling chicken fries
Awaiting coffee mugs
Some planets......never love
Some players.......never match
Some spectators at watch
That some credit never crunches
With the debit in clutch
Some trying to wash the linen
As if have never seen a raven
Here.....nobody knows her abacus
Come Spartacus or Selukas
Here......no-one knows her parapharnelias
Come Cornelius to Copernicus
But she appeared......
And disappeared
A well with her apparatus
An American said
She is called Latonya in Oxford Circus.
The Skinflint
The skinflint saved his policies,
The skinflint saved his plugs,
The skinflint saved his first house keys,
The skinflint saved his mugs...
The skinflint saved his chewing gum,
The skinflint saved his rope,
The skinflint saved his small toy drum,
The skinflint saved his soap...
The skinflint saved his worn-out shoes,
The skinflint saved his clothes,
The skinflint saved his tubes of glues,
The skinflint saved his bows...
The skinflint saved his dated files,
The skinflint saved his drapes,
The skinflint saved his airline miles,
The skinflint saved his tapes...
The skinflint saved, yes, on the whole...
The skinflint saved so well?
The skinflint never saved his soul!
So God sent him to Hell...
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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