A Cat
An unwelcome guest –
A cat sits on a wall
Beside the busy street!
poem by Asif Andalib
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Busy
I am busy
you are busy
we are busy
but the old woman needs help
to find her way home.
I am busy
you are busy
we are busy
but the dove is too slow
to fly out of the way.
I am busy
you are busy
we are busy
but the children crossing the street
are too many.
I am busy
you are busy
we are busy....
I am busy
you are busy
we are...
busy.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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So what are you doing with your life now?
She says
She stares blankly on the wall
She is busy
Counting the lamp posts on the streets
She is so busy
She thinks God is preparing something
Grand for her and she is so busy
Too preparing something for God
Who prepares for her.
I am amazed
I ask her
“So, did you stare long enough on that blank wall
Was it really blank? Did you really stare?
What made the wall so blank? Is the stare really
Worth making on a blank wall?
And how many lamp posts have you counted?
Is the street filled with lamp posts?
How is God? When will the preparation last?
How are you doing with God? Is God busy too? ”
She is a little bit understanding to my way of thinking.
“There you are making a poem again. You have never changed.”
She said.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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To The Head-Ach
THOU tyrant of the ling'ring hour!
Ah, why with me delight to rest?
Hence far away, tormenting pow'r
Unwelcome guest!
With thee, sad visitant! I prove
The long, the melancholy day;
Ah! foe to peace! from me remove,
Thy dreaded sway.
Oft when I'd court ideal themes,
'Tis then thy leaden wings o'erspread
That seat of wild, fantastic dreams,
My weary head.
And when in Fancy's fiery car,
With her and with the muse I'd fly;
To realms beyond the morning-star,
The earth and sky;
Not long in these illusions blest,
Through fairy-palaces I roam;
Thy wand recals, unwelcome guest!
My visions home.
Ah, foe to peace! When thou art nigh,
Farewell the dew-balm of repose;
Then slumber's fled—the languid eye
Forgets to close.
I ne'er my midnight vigils keep,
To ponder by the taper's light;
Nor waste in downy arms of sleep,
The morning bright.
'Tis mine to rove the hill, the dale,
To wander through embow'ring trees;
The soul of freshness to inhale,
The mountain-breeze.
Then, tyrant of the ling'ring hour,
Ah! why with me delight to rest?
Hence far away, tormenting pow'r,
Unwelcome guest!
poem by Felicia Dorothea Hemans
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The Wall Street Shuffle
Do the Wall Street shuffle
Hear the money rustle
Watch the greenbacks tumble
Feel the Sterling crumble
You need a yen to make a mark
If you wanna make money
You need the luck to make a buck
If you wanna be Getty, Rothschild
You've gotta be cool on Wall Street
You've gotta be cool on Wall Street
When your index is low
Dow Jones ain't got time for the bums
They wind up on skid row with holes in their pockets
They plead with you, buddy can you spare the dime
But you ain't got the time
Doin' the....
Doin' the....
Oh, Howard Hughes
Did your money make you better?
Are you waiting for the hour
When you can screw me?
'Cos you're big enough
To do the Wall Street Shuffle
Let your money hustle
Bet you'd sell your mother
You can buy another
Doin' the....
Doin' the....
You buy and sell
You wheel and deal
But you're living on instinct
You get a tip
You follow it
And you make a big killing
On Wall Street
song performed by by 10 Cc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hurt
Yesterday
I told Hurt
Not to come
Visiting me.
Today it
Popped in
Again to say
‘Hi' to me.
I retorted:
You are such
An ugly,
Unwelcome guest.
It winked
And said:
Don't you
Know ;)
I'm the
Common
Household
Pest -
That thrives
In every home
And family…
It's not just
You and me!
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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I've been in and out of Wall Street since 1949, and I've never seen the type of animosity between government and Wall Street. And I'm not sure where it comes from, but I suspect it's got to do with a general schism in this society which is really becoming ever more destructive.
quote by Alan Greenspan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Would You Believe It?
One year ago I wished that I
A banker great might be
With a hundred million dollars
And financial majesty;
A mighty Wall Street banker
With a whopping lot of power
And an income of somewhere around
A thousand plunks per hour;
A solid Wall Street banker
With securities in sacks
And with clever men to show me
How to pay no income tax;
A wealthy Wall Street banker
Who raked in cash like hay;
I wished that just a year ago—
And I wish the same today.
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
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Wall Street
On the wall of Facebook of uncertainty
your blog is written-
A Street that swirls to Capitalism.
What to occupy?
Anarchy, Crash, War, or a History?
JP Morgan, Daniel Drew, Jay Gould or the WTO?
Prairie farmers, urban workers middle sizes traders
denounced 'Money Trust';
ultimately trusted money.
Progressive Reformers charged the 'Devil Fish'
degrading democracy;
finally joined to loot the other people's money.
Working -class socialists welcomed the money street
as a transit route toward collective ownership;
now distrusted.
It is not a Chinese wall-street
that encircled the capital
It is an American firewall that
engulfed the world in Seattle.
War came war went Wall Street is high
Capital comes Capital goes
No one can still occupy.
Because Money is Honey, Money is moral
Money can not die
Protest comes and protest goes
Wall Street erects high.
poem by Vidyut Chakraborty
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Vote for the Future of Big Bird
Please vote for the future of our children.
Vote to fund PBS, an oasis of knowledge, get even
On Election Day. Vote for Sesame Street,
Vote for Main Street, not Wall Street.
Vote for the re-election of the President,
Who supports student loans for our college students.
Vote for the man who is a strong proponent
Of investing in America, and in the future of our citizens.
The Hedge Fund Managers have sufficient money;
The wealthy ought to pay their fair share of taxes accordingly.
Vote for Big Bird and Main Street,
An tell Wall Street that the party is over,
No more business as usual; it is over.
Give a chance to Big Bird and Main Street.
poem by Hebert Logerie
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Quigly
I don't have much words to say to you,
But you do;
And like the man of many caps!
For, it means well to you when all goes well.
Family and friends,
What does it mean to you when all goes in?
And, to the fullest;
And like the woman with many bags!
For, it means well to you wghen all goes well.
Quigly my friend!
This is like the season of dreams;
And like an unwelcome guest,
But, i don't need double standards on this issue.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Gone
THE last, late guest
To the gate we followed;
Goodbye -- and the rest
The night-wind swallowed.
House, garden, street,
Lay tenfold gloomy,
Where accents sweet
Had made music to me.
It was but a feast
With the dark coming on;
She was but a guest --
And now, she is gone.
poem by Henrik Johan Ibsen
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Apple and Ball
A for apple
B for ball
Put in a car
D for dog
Drive the car
Through the busy busy street.
poem by Dilipbhasker Mathra
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God Save The South
It was a red hot night night in mobile
Sweat glistened on the reverends chin
His mohair suit was shinin
He told us all about sin
It could be wall to wall in wall street
We could be livin hand to mouth
Jesus loved a yankee
But God saved the south
Across the street in the pool hall
Bubba put the eight ball down
Its a high five celebration
They passed the jack around
Its wall to wall in wall street
Were livin hand to mouth
Jesus loved a yankee
But God saved the south
God saved the south
Yankee boy shut your mouth
Yes, God saved the south
Yankee boy shut your mouth
Shut your mouth
Some long haired boys with guitars
Playin behind the chicken wire
Theyre goin up to new york city
Gonna sing about atlantas fire
It could be wall to wall in wall street
We could be livin hand to mouth
Jesus loved a yankee
But God saved the south
And God saved the south
Yankee boy shut your mouth
Yes, God saved the south
Yankee boy shut your mouth
Yes, God saved the south
Yankee boy shut your mouth
And God saved the south
So,yankee boy shut your mouth
And God saved the south
Yankee boy shut your mouth
Yes, God saved the south
So, yankee boy shut your mouth
God saved the south
So, yankee boy shut your mouth
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mycoo: 22
guests are gods
their vehicles
unwelcome
[Traditional Indian culture treats mother, father, teacher and guest as god. Nowadays, every apartment complex greets you with the sign: Outsiders’ vehicles not allowed]
[Mar 08,2009: : Hyderabad, India]
poem by AtreyaSarma Uppaluri
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On The Street
On the street
On the street
O, O, On the street
On the street
O, O, On the street
[Everybody dance]
[Watch for the difference]
On the street
{Breaking on broadway]
O, O, On the street
[Shaking on sunset strip]
On the street
[Like nobody booming supporting that]
Da, da, da, da, da ...
On the street
On the street
Dancing
On the street
On the street
Dancing
Dancing
On the street
On the street
[Twisting on the turnpipe]
Dancing
On the street
On the street
On the street ...
Da, da, da, da, ...
Dance on the street ...
song performed by by Madonna
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Barreness Of A Busy Life
Beware the barrenness of a busy life.
(Socrates)
bored as barren
a body that is bone-dry,
a walk in the desert,
dry as dust,
moistureless existence
lips parched,
a thirsty soul,
a life waterless
busy, busy, busy,
that is what you are.
beware, for soon
in seeking life
busy, busy, busy,
you lose it.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Busy Bodies
So you think that you have seen her
When youre lying in between her
And you tell me that you dont care
Busy bodies getting nowhere
Evrybodys getting meaner
Busy bodies
Caught in the concertina
You check her outline
Break her regulations
You watch her legs through several
Service stations
Busy bodies
Very busy
Getting nowhere
Nowhere, nowhere, nowhere
Now youre ready for the merger
With the company youre part of
And you do the dirty business
With your latest sleeping partner
Youre becoming
Automatic
Busy bodies
Out playing with the traffic
You want attention
You try my patience
With the best intentions you are nothing but a nuisance
Busy bodies
Busy busy
Getting nowhere
Nowhere, nowhere, nowhere
Now youve given your performance
Though the matinee was idle
And you find that a wave of her right hand
Could seem so tidal
Just a second
Satisfaction
Busy bodies
Temporarily out of action
You wash and brush up
You want to dress up
You want to kiss her
But shes busy with her makeup
Busy bodies
Very busy
Getting nowhere
Nowhere (x6)
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Profiteers
Who profits from
these wars we wage?
The ones who read
the Wall Street page.
The young men fight.
The young men die
and do not know
the reason why?
For if they knew
they'd not be there.
Then there'd be silence
in the air.
The profiteers would
sit in rage
while reading again
the Wall Street page.
Sweet Mother of God
can they not find
another way
within their mind
to profit from
some other means
besides these
bloody awful scenes?
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Exhausted
Exhausted.
From the high cost of living,
Charity giving and donated sweat.
Let's you and me,
Set aside some time so we...
Can get busy!
Exhausted!
From daily fears warned,
And people torned
Between what's right and wrong.
Let's you and me,
Cast aside those trivialities.
Getting butt naked...
And doing as we please,
Getting busy!
Exhausted...
From creditors who call,
To arrange bill payments!
The neighbors barking dogs,
And arguments not making sense.
Let's pretend we have none at all,
And get busy after dating for lunch...
Easing these tensions,
With the headboard banging against the wall.
Busy like rabbits and making catcalls.
Are you exhausted,
By those images I recall?
Me too!
And I am so glad you didn't dare me,
Like your eyes were wishing for those days
Like I do!
We both know we're too...
Busy to get naughty,
Like we did before age 40.
When we come to that line we'll cross it.
Next time!
But right now we're both much too exhausted!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Dungeon
He whom I enclose with my name is weeping in this dungeon.
I am ever busy building this wall all around; and as this wall goes up into
the sky day by day I lose sight of my true being in its dark shadow.
I take pride in this great wall, and I plaster it with dust and sand
lest a least hole should be left in this name;
and for all the care I take I lose sight of my true being.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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