En.Citatepedia^®.ro

They kept me in short pants as long as they could, until they were shaving the hair on my legs because it was beginning to photograph.

quote by Jackie Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The lofty legs are the beauty.

Short legs and short waist are the ducks.
Long legs and short waists are the geese.
Short legs and long waists are the penguins.
Lofty legs without waists are cranes
Who is graceful?
The crane stands out; the tall woman stands out.
29.04.2002, pakd

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Show Tune II

That's the long and short of it
now you know
how I've been waiting all these years
where I'm coming from
that's the long and short of it.

That's the long and short of it
now you see
just how hot hot jazz was
how it turned about, my bookcase
that's the long and short of it.

That's the long and short of it
now you know
that my arrest record's
not my best record
that's the long and short of it.

That's the long and short of it
now you see
how the Past's like a love
you can neither leave nor live
that's the long and short of it

That's the long and short of it
now you know
it was no gun in my pocket
it was a rocket
that's the long and short of it.

That's the long and short of it
and you're wond'ring dear
how I kept so pure
hull, it was easy
that's the long and short of it.

That's the long and short of it
now you see
so bounce your head
into bed
that's the long and short of it.

That's the long and short of it
read the blues
in these tattoos
make a song of it
that's the short and long of it.

How I wish
there was a bridge-
then I could burn it;
or the train
of a refrain
then I could board it
but there isn't
no there isn't, so...

poem by Morgan Michaels
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Man Gave Names To All The Animals

Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.
He saw an animal that liked to growl,
Big furry paws and he liked to howl,
Great big furry back and furry hair.
Ah, think Ill call it a bear.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.
He saw an animal up on a hill
Chewing up so much grass until she was filled.
He saw milk comin out but he didnt know how.
Ah, think Ill call it a cow.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.
He saw an animal that liked to snort,
Horns on his head and they werent too short.
It looked like there wasnt nothin that he couldnt pull.
Ah, think Ill call it a bull.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.
He saw an animal leavin a muddy trail,
Real dirty face and a curly tail.
He wasnt too small and he wasnt too big.
Ah, think Ill call it a pig.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.
Next animal that he did meet
Had wool on his back and hooves on his feet,
Eating grass on a mountainside so steep.
Ah, think Ill call it a sheep.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, in the beginning.
Man gave names to all the animals
In the beginning, long time ago.
He saw an animal as smooth as glass
Slithering his way through the grass.
Saw him disappear by a tree near a lake . . .

song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Supermodels Are People Too

The long legs, the long eyebrows
The short skirts, the absence of bras
The silky hair, the flat chest
The short nails, the long nose
The small hole, the long toes
And they fail to wear their Sunday’s best
Supermodels are people too.

They eat like the exotic pelicans
They walk like the rowdy drunks
Who kicked the old beer cans
Next to the illegally parked vans
Supermodels are people too.

The angels of the nights
The exquisite sights
The retired pimps of the streets
They refused to eat the hot beats
Who shed blood not tears
The walking style of the hungry deers
Supermodels are people too.

All men want one
All men want to win
The sugar daddy behaves like a teenager
Who is not afraid of the lonely stranger
Supermodels are people too.

They grow old occasionally
They belong to a special crew
Sometimes, they forget to be pretty
At the carnival, they jump and dance
In the middle of the crowd, they dropp top and pants.
Supermodels are people too.

poem by Hebert Logerie
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The Daddy Long-Legs and the Fly

Once Mr Daddy Long-Legs,
Dressed in brown and gray,
Walked about upon the sands
Upon a summer's day;
And there among the pebbles,
When the wind was rather cold,
He met with Mr Floppy Fly,
All dressed in blue and gold.
And as it was too soon to dine,
They drank some Periwinkle-wine,
And played an hour or two, or more,
At battlecock and shuttledore.

Said Mr Daddy Long-legs
To Mr Floppy Fly,
'Why do you never come to court?
I wish you'd tell me why.
All gold and shine, in dress so fine,
You'd quite delight the court.
Why do you never go at all?
I really think you ought!
And if you went, you'd see such sights!
Such rugs! and jugs! and candle-lights!
And more than all, the King and Queen,
One in red, and one in green!'

'O Mr Daddy Long-Legs,'
Said Mr Floppy Fly,
'It's true I never go to court,
And I will tell you why.
If I had six long legs like yours,
At once I'd go to court!
But Oh! I can't, because my legs
Are so extremely short.
And I'm afraid the King and Queen
(One in red and one in green)
Would say aloud, 'You are not fit,
You Fly, to come to court a bit.'
O Mr Daddy Long-Legs,'
Said Mr Floppy Fly,
'I wish you'd sing one little song!
One mumbian melody!
You used to sing so awful well
In former days gone by,
But now you never sing at all;
I wish you'd tell me why:
For if you would, the silvery sound
Would please the shrimps and cockles round,
And all the crabs would gladly come
To hear you sing, 'Ah, Hum di Hum!''

Said Mr Daddy Long-Legs,
'I can never sing again!
And if you wish, I'll tell you why,
Although it gives me pain.
For years I could not hum a bit,
Or sing the smallest song;
And this the dreadful reason is,
My legs are grown too long!
My six long legs, all here and there,
Oppress my bosom with despair;
And if I stand, or lie, or sit,
I cannot sing one single bit!'

So Mr Daddy Long-Legs
And Mr Floppy Fly
Sat down in silence by the sea,
And gazed upon the sky.
They said, 'This is a dreadful thing!
The world has all gone wrong,
Since one has legs too short by half,
The other much too long!
One never more can go to court,
Because his legs have grown too short;
The other cannot sing a song,
Because his legs have grown too long!'

Then Mr Daddy Long-Legs
And Mr Floppy Fly
Rushed downward to the foaming sea
With one sponge-taneous cry;
And there they found a little boat
Whose sails were pink and gray;
And off they sailed among the waves
Far, and far away.
They sailed across the silent main
And reached the great Gromboolian plain;
And there they play for evermore
At battlecock and shuttledore.

poem by Edward Lear
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A Carefree Day For Each One Of Us

sunshine falls upon the leaves of
a mango tree

under it is a man wearing blue long sleeves
yellow shorts
twirling the key of his red motorcycle

he is talking to another man with short hair
denim pants, beside a wall with moss

it is a carefree day
it is life that is moving too slowly

to each and every living human being
in this sleepy community

a sparrow hovers and stops over my window
as i take my gaze, my long, long gaze to a faraway horizon.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Even More Domineering

I love Rudi’s protectiveness, Juliette says
I’m a disgrace to all feminists, I love his
jealousy while Juliette points out that she
is the great beauty, not I, she has the hair,
seriously beautiful hair, long legs and big
blue eyes; while I have soft hair, light-sen-
sitive eyes and short legs and a non-sexy
smile, Juliette has been crowned first
princess in a beauty pageant

She mockingly threatens to steal Rudi from
me, he’s much too handsome and I’m much
too clinging, she says, but I disagree, I asked
him could he have chosen Juliette if he had
met her first, he burst out laughing and said
not on your life, I don’t care for eyes, legs and
hair, but about what’s inside, I asked him if
he loved what’s inside me more
than the outside –

He replied, I love what’s inside AND I adore
the package in which you arrived, he kissed
my non-glamorous hair and my light-sensitive
eyes and said he liked the fire that lived inside,
he kissed my non-sexy smile and said the love
in the line of my lips drove him wild, I asked him
about my being too dependent and forcing him
to be domineering, using Juliette’s arguments;
he decided then and there

To become even more domineering instead
and marched me off to bed…

poem by Louise Tredoux
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The monk with long pretty hair

I love this life,
Sworn to serve the poor,
My body honed to perfection,
With the life style,
The material skill,
The difficult chores,
And the blessing our the lord Buddha,
I will always honor him,
For he gave me the greatest gift of all,
My long pretty hair.

The others start to object,
Claiming my head needs shaving,
There just jealous,
I wear the orange robe,
What more do they want?
I’m always on time,
The best in my class,
I bet that’s why they hate me,
Because who could hate,
My long pretty hair.

Everyday I realise,
My hair is all I care for,
I made my excuses,
I need to be clean,
Because cleanliness is holiness,
Suddenly there’s not enough hours in the day,
I cut the training,
And fall behind on my chores,
To stare at perfection in the mirror,
My long pretty hair.

The Masters are angry at me preaching,
That my hair sets me apart,
As indeed it does,
I see the jealousy in every eye,
They hate me because I'm perfect,
Why should I shave my head?
Am I not the universe’s chosen?
Above all the others,
So what if I’m the better with,
My long pretty hair.

I’m banished from my home,
But that’s ok,
They left me a mirror,
Which I stare into all day,
I found my true love,
Better than my old life,
Helping and healing and fighting,
I rebel against my order,
Despite all I lose I still have,
My long pretty hair.

On the execution block I stand,
In all my glory,
They took my mirror away,
And dared to touch my hair,
Who can blame me for hurting them?
They deserved it,
And now I stand,
Proud and tall,
With my hair flowing free,
Caressed by the breeze
My long pretty hair.

And I now hang by the gate,
By my long pretty hair,
Final glory for everyone to see.
My long pretty hair.

poem by David Whittingham
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ask Marcelino if he still remembers

when he was yet four years
and Maya was yet five on this very bed

where Maya just woke up one morning,
he kissed her.

he stole a kiss from her lips and from his
short pants, that of a child, loose and transparent

i have seen how hard his thing was
to my disbelief arising as it was from a very young boy

with milk on its tongue. And Maya too liked it.
There was no anger in her face.

Freud must be right. One cannot take for granted
the tick that sticks on the eggs of men
inflamming them.

One cannot take for granted the lust of the past.
They still haunt. They still confuse. They can still make us crazy.

Look under your pants.The difference is just the lush of the black hair.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Beginning To See The Light

(reed)
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Some people work very hard,
But still they never get it right.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Now Im beginning to see the light.
Wine in the morning
And some breakfast at night.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Here we go again
Playing the fool again.
Here we go again
Acting hard again.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Now Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Im beginning to see the light.
I wore my teeth in my hands
So I could mess the hair of the night
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Hey Im beginning to see the light.
I met myself in a dream
And I just wanna tell you - everything was alright
Im beginning to see the light.
Here comes two of you,
Which one will you chose?
One is black, one is blue.
Dont look just what to do.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Now Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Well Im beginning to see the light.
Some people work very hard
But still they never get it right
Well Im beginning to see the light.
There are problems in these times
But none of them are mine
Baby, Im beginning to see the light.
Here we go again,
I thought that you were my friend.
Here we go again,
I thought that you were my friend.
How does it feel to be loved?
How does it feel to be loved?

song performed by by Velvet Underground
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hair Styles I Remember

There are hairstyles I remember wearing
oh so long ago.
My father had a fit with most of them
told me, 'go comb that mess out before you go! '

I'd rat it up with the small toothed end of comb
so the base would hold it up.
Then took a brush to smooth it some
and then I sprayed it so it stuck!

The wind could blow its hardest
but my hair withstood its gail!
When anyone would touch my do
they said it felt as hard as nails!

There was one do called the, Bee Hive
It was hallowed out in the center.
Some gilrs would hide their smokes in there
and have a puff or two after schools dinner.

Then there was the bouffant flip
it was the smallest flip you'd ever seen.
Your head looked like this big balloon
with a small hat rim of hair flipping up, was keen!

Then the Pixie and the Bob
boxed off hair cut for cool guys
long hair for the slobs!

Then the Beatles made their hair debut
my father hated them.
Everyone wore the Nauru jackets
and their pant legs tight and slim!

Then Farra Faucet, that's a funny name
but her hairstyle look, was in the hair book hall of fame!

Not too many new looks I see now a days
just long or short, no curls, no waves.
No teasing of hair, no spray or thick gels
But highlights for sure, all look swell.

I'm glad those days are over with
took forever for you to get ready.
Now it's just blow and go, and sprits or two
and your off on a date with your steady!

poem by Linda Winchell
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Summertime

(Dean Sams/Rivers Rutherford/Tom Shapiro)
I like your look in that sweater
All warm and bundled up tight
But I keep picturing something a little different tonight
I see you in a bikini
One lazy toe in the pool
Layed back and sippin' on something long, tall and cool.
Yeah, I can't wait for a warm breeze blowin'
Green grass growin' and the bright sunshine
Short sundress with your long legs showin'
I can't wait for the summertime
Oh, the summertime.
I'm gonna find us some tickets
To a tropical isle
You just see if your mama can keep the kids for awhile
We'll take our drinks with umbrellas
We'll take a room with a view
I'm gonna take my sweet time makin' love to you
That's what I'm gonna do.
I can't wait for a warm breeze blowin'
Green grass growin' and the bright sunshine
Short sundress with your long legs showin'
I can't wait for the summertime
Feel your body next to mine
In the summertime.
Yeah, I can't wait for a warm breeze blowin'
Green grass growin' and the bright sunshine
Short sundress with your long legs showin'
I can't wait for the summertime
Oh I can't wait for a warm breeze blowin'
Green grass growin' and the bright sunshine
Short sundress with your long legs showin'
I can't wait for the summertime
Feel your body next to mine
In the summertime.
Summertime.
Summertime.
In the summertime...

song performed by by Lonestar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The barbar down the lane

Most time as much a scissor talk
Call for long legs and hair walk
A thing that happens all the time
To every pocket that has least a dim


The man change a hair one
With smile and happiness morning in line
A hair enters and 'voom' disappears
The man inside with hair on repairs


Our barbar down the lane
Is a man with no shame
My hair I dedicate to him
And mine is down with all vim


The everday I wish to enter
And embrass the comb in my hair
This then I know it him
The barbar down the lane

poem by Henry Nii Ayi Cobblah
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Mr. Jones

Mr. jones
Put a wiggle in your stride
Loosen up
I believe he'll be alright
Changing clothes
Now he's got ventilated slacks
Bouncing off the walls
Mr. jones is back!
Bulge out
And wind your waist
Tight pants
Got curly hair
Drinking cold beer
From metal cans
Moonshine
And handi-wipes!
Mr. jones is back in town
It's his lucky day
Hold up your hands and shout
Jones is on his way
Pitter pat
Mr. jones is back in town
Aces high
Now his pants are falling down
He looks so fine
In those patent leather shoes
Mr. jones, you look tired
I believe you'll be alright
Sales men
Conventioneers
Some rock stars
With tambourines
Short skirts
And skinny legs
Selling bibles
And real estate
It's a big day for mr. jones
He is not so square
Mr. jones will stick around
He's everybody's friend
Fast cars
And motorbikes
I'm sure glad
He's on our side
The jones gang
Down at the bar
Watch out, this time
They've gone too far
They call for mr. jones
They put him in charge
Mr. jones will help us out
He's a lucky guy
It is mr. jones' birthday party
For another year
In his hotel room party favors
It's a holiday

song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Adolescent hormones…

I have a devil in my pants
With a three pronged lance
Look here? Look there?
Look everywhere?
The whores of Babylon
And the wenches of France
Are serving up a dance
In my pants, in my pants
In my pants,
Yet; my heart wants romance.

poem by Mark Heathcote
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Ghost

lately ive been thinking
lately ive been dreaming with you
im so resitant to this type of thinking
oh, now its shining through
i was alone for the last time
before my nights vacation with you
alive from the first
now im denied by the ghost of you
you take yourself a photograph and laugh at me
please
i know theres little use in crying
its more wide awake and dying then im used to
i thought wed walk these streets together
now im hoping that ill never have to meet you
step aside from all this anger
and somewhere in between i can feel you
ask me should we try again
im thinking no
yknow, its not what i believe in
its not what i believe in
you take yourself a photograph and laugh at me
please
you make yourself a photograph and laugh at me
please
no i, wanna taste you, love
no i...no i
no i, just wanna taste you, love
standing in your shoes
i turn and now
youre standing bare in my doorway
i only wish that i had been prepared
im gonna have to go along with your way
just take the plastic camera out
its the pants you borrowed in the driveway
alive from the first
now im denied by the ghost of you
make yourself a photgraph and laugh at me
please
you make yourself a photograph and laugh at me
please
no i, wanna taste of love
no i...
i was alive from the first
now im denied by the ghost of you

song performed by by Howie Day
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Short Peoople

Short People got no reason
Short People got no reason
Short People got no reason
To live
They got little hands
And little eyes
And they walk around
Tellin' great big lies
They got little noses
And tiny little teeth
They wear platform shoes
On their nasty little fett
Well I don't want no Short People
Don't want no Short People
Don't want no Short People
Round here
Short People are just the same
As you and I
(A Fool Such As I)
All men are brothers
Until the day they die
(It's A Wonderful World)
Short People got nobody
Short People got nobody
Short People got nobody
To love
They got little baby legs
And they stand so low
You got to pick 'em up
Just to say hello
They got little cars
That got beep, beep, beep
They got little voices
Goin' peep, peep, peep
They got grubby little fingers
And dirty little minds
They're gonna get you every time
Well, I don't want no Short People
Don't want no Short People
Don't want no Short People
'Round here

song performed by by Randy Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Taking Off The Edge

(larry cordle/larry shell)
I been down on my luck
I been down on my knees
Well I been downtown
And I been down on the farm
I cant be satisfied
But Im gonna have to find
A way to kick back and
Take off the edge
Now theres a little gal I know
Just south of tupelo
Her hair is dark and her legs are long and tan
She rubs my back just right
Till way up in the night
She knows how to
Take off the edge
Ive been laid up with the flu
Laid off a time or two
Ive been uptight
And Ive been up a creek
Im gonna take my bamboo pole
And head out to the fishing hole
Dont you know it helps to
Take off the edge
Now theres a little gal I know
Just south of tupelo
Her hair is dark and her legs are long and tan
She rubs my back just right
Till way up in the night
She knows how to
Take off the edge
Now its morning once again
Oh, lord I just punched in
And I cant hardly wait till quitting time
Gonna get that big brown jug
All I need is a little slug
Just another way to
Takin off the edge
Now theres a little gal I know
Just south of tupelo
Her hair is dark and her legs are long and tan
She rubs my back just right
Till way up in the night
Well she knows how to
Take off the edge
Oh she sure knows how to
Take off the edge

song performed by by John Michael Montgomery
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Aging Gracefully

You asked if I'd still love you if you lost all of your hair
Your baldness seems a tragedy: you want more fullness there.
It's strange the way we always wish for what we seem to lack
And anything that goes away is what we'd welcome back.

But hair-well that might be a different story all together
We grow it long or cut it short depening on the weather.
In time, it seems to him there's no such thing as too much hair
She spends her evenings waxing and goes shopping for more Nair.

It really is amusing as we old folks go to bed
She has too much; he has too little hair upon his head.
Perhaps a doctor may invent a way we all can win
By building him a grand toupee with hair plucked from her chin.

poem by Suzanne McNamee
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One Of Those Birthdays

i found finally the photograph of us,
five children
three sisters and two brothers
different faces, mine is an aquiline nose,
the first has white skin, and the second is the
dark brown cookie,
and the third has a long straight hair
square jawed,
i always felt that i am
out of place, barefoot
and skinny,
and silent despite her pinches
on my side
i am not misbehaving
in this photograph
except the youngest brother
who compromised
with a pose
two minutes and then ran away
not wanting to be
a part of anybody else's
advices
good or otherwise.

i guess it was Friday,
January 29,1976, and if i am not wrong
it was one of those
birthdays

mine.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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