All The Fingers Are Not Equal
One should be the head and,
The other should be the servant;
Because, all the fingers are not equal!
And like your love behind the veil,
But who the cap fits should always wear it.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Related quotes
Equal Rights,2011
equal rights to live,
equal rights to love.
equal rights to believe,
to speak out, to stand up
and be counted.
equal rights to work,
equal rights to study.
equal rights to build.
equal rights to profess faith,
equal rights to pray.
equal rights to give...
equal rights to live,
equal rights to love!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If 1 And 2 Were Equal
If 1 and 2 were equal
we'd have as many hearts as fists
If 1 and 2 were equal
we'd have confused shopping lists
If 1 and 2 were equal
there'd be less phone numbers to dial
If 1 and 2 were equal
noon would surely last a while
If 1 and 2 were equal
there'd be a nose under each eye
If 1 and 2 were equal
you couldn't say no to 'you and I? '
If 1 and 2 were equal
I think I'd be much more happy
'cause if 1 and 2 were equal
I would not be so lonely
poem by John W. McEwers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It Is Another Long Walk To Life
do not mismate
your shoes. try fitting
in what fits you.
tie the lace.
stamp your feet.
tighten your belt.
stand up.
comb your hair.
wear the warmer shirt.
take the cap
and put it on your head.
smile in the mirror.
take the watch.
wear the white socks.
eat the banana.
and wear the Ipod.
sounds of chappel
in your ears.
it is 6: 05, now
you are ready for
the usual walk
at the oval this
morning. The leaves
of the trees and
grasses are still
rich with their
dews. The sunrays
are slowly coming.
the air is fresh
scented with
the smell of the
rice paddies.
good morning.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All fingers are not alike, If you cut bigger ones to make all equal it is communism, If you stretch smaller ones to make all equal it is socialism, If you do nothing to make all equal it is capitalism.
quote by B.J. Gupta
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Amoako
If you kill a snake, try to cut off its head;
For many are they which will wake up to bit you again.
Amoako is your name and,
You need a muttonfish to guide your lover;
But like a visit to the Island of Guernsey,
Try to cut off the head of the snake whenever you kill it.
Amoako is your name and,
Your love is served raw and sliced at times;
But try to live with your lover like,
An indigenous Maori of New Zealand.
Life is like that at times and we all need a guide,
But who the cap fits must surely wear it;
So try to do your best for your lover at all times.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Equal
equal,
..equal,
...equal,
....equal,
.....equal,
......equal,
.......equal!
dont it sound good?
wouldnt it feel good?
think about it,
and then do something about it!
equal!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fits Like A Glove
Aint a cardinal sin, baby lemme in, girl Im gonna treat you right
Well goodness sakes, my snakes alive and its ready to bite
Hornets nest, lay me down to rest, ooh I wanna shed my skin
I got the urge to merge, youre cold as ice, baby wont you lemme in
Night scenes, wet dreams, enough to make you drool
And fire, fire, fire for the fuel
Dont like to dress, talk too good, but I found my queen
Not too clean, know what I like, if you know what I mean
Baby, baby, guess you win the prize
Maybe, baby, where the sun never shines
This must be love, fits like a glove
Well it must be love, it must be love - fits like a glove - fits like a glove
Feel the heat, drivers seat, my blessing is my curse
Think Im gonna burst, a gonna burst, a gonna burst
Night scenes, wet dreams, enough to make you drool
And fire, fire, fire for the fuel
Ooh baby, babe - fits like a glove
Yeah yeah, yeah yeah, yeah yeah - fits like a glove - fits like a glove
Cause when I go through her, its just like a hot knife through butter, ooh yeah
Baby, baby, guess you win the prize
Maybe, baby, where the sun never shines
Fits like a glove - well it must be love, it must be love - fits like a glove
Fits like a glove - well it must be love, it must be love
Fits like a glove
song performed by by Kiss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Deliberately
Your love,
Proved futile!
But who the cap fits must always wear it;
For you deliberately killed him in the bush.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Today... 'Holy Servant
Oh Holy Servant of God
The pathways of earth You trod
walked with mankind healing the blind
Oh Holy Servant of God
Oh Holy Servant of God
the hill of Calvary You trod
and from that cross You saved the lost
Oh Holy Servant of God
Oh Holy Servant of God
all the way to the grave You trod
and from that grave reached out to save
Oh Holy Servant of God
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
Frenzied Fingers Run Amuck
When I get you into my arms
I can't control the things that I do.
Fingers grab the hair on your head.
Fingers caress the small of your back.
Fingers travel down your spine
and back up again.
Fingers reach to all corners of your being,
quietly unnoticed at first,
but more frenzied with passing time.
Wild fingers travel your soul
with frenzied action that is hard to stop.
Uncontrollable fingers run wild
until you beg them to stop.
But even then, there's no counting on it.
These fingers like to run wild.
Whenever I place my fingers on you,
frenzied fingers run amuck.
The Mystic Veil
When the shadows take their nightly places,
When departing light is faint and pale,
Then in my chamber gather phantom faces,
Gazing thro' the mystic veil.
One there is with features so familiar,
Glimpse of her give[s] my pulse a start;
Oh! tell me truely is it you, love,
Come to cheer my lonly heart?
Come one step nearer! (One step nearer!)
one shade clearer? (one shade clearer!)
Breath on word before we part; (before we part;)
And tell me--truly it is you, love,
Come to cheer my lonely heart?
When my song, in lonely notes ascending,
Vainly bids my sadden'd soul rejoin [rejoice?],
Methinks I hear a murmur'd alto blending:
Is it really your sweet voice?
Answer now, if only by a whisper;
Rend the veil, the mystic veil, apart:
And tell me truely is it you, love,
Come to cheer my lonely heart?
Waking while the denser darkness lingers,
Some one seems to stand beside my bed;
I can but think I feel your fairy fingers,
Softly laid upon my head.
Silently why does the vision vanish?
Dream I yet, or is it magic art?
Now tell me truely is it you, love,
Come to cheer my lonely heart?
poem by Henry Clay Work
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I'm In The World!
I'm in the world where hope dies.
I'm in the world where truth cries
I'm in the world where lie laughs I'm in the world where love is blind
I'm in the world where hatred is not hard to find
I'm in the world where all fingers aren't equal
I'm in the world where challenges is won by worrior
I'm in the world where opinions aren't in one uniform
I'm in the world where poeple wear different uniform.
I'm in the world where sex is taken for lust
O I'm in the world where ev'rybody accepts his fate!
poem by Adesitimi Taiwo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fits Ya Good
Well in the air for the world today yeah.
Five oclock and those walls are slowly closin.
You get home so down and worn out, thunderstruck.
Yeah fits you good,
Oh fits you good.
Yeah fits you good, oh.
Closin time you were bringin me down,
Well I know its just the way you live your life.
But you dont know like I know better,
I did all that I could. now it
Fits you good,
Yeah fits you good.
Oh fits you good, oh.
But you dont know what I know,
I did all that I could. now
song performed by by Bryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Furness Abbey
I WISH for the days of the olden time,
When the hours were told by the abbey chime,
When the glorious stars looked down through the midnigh dim,
Like approving saints on the choir's sweet hymn:
I think of the days we are living now,
And I sigh for those of the veil and the vow.
I would be content alone to dwell
Where the ivy shut out the sun from my cell,
With the death's-head at my side, and the missal on my knee,
Praying to that heaven which was opening to me:
Fevered and vain are the days I lead now,
And I sigh for those of the veil and the vow.
Silken broidery no more would I wear,
Nor golden combs in my golden hair;
I wore them but for one, and in vain they were worn;
My robe should be of serge, my crown of the thorn:
'Tis a cold false world we dwell in now,
And I sigh for the days of the veil and the vow.
I would that the cloister's quiet were mine;
In the silent depths of some holy shrine.
I would tell my blessed beads, and would weep away
From my inmost soul every stain of clay:
My heart's young hopes they have left me now,
And I sigh for the days of the veil and the vow.
poem by Letitia Elizabeth Landon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fits Like A Glove
That shoes
Fits me like a glove
Thanks God
Because that
Shoes I love very much
And it is so comfortable
When I wear it on my feet
poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blue Me
Blue me, blue me
Blue is the color
That fits best on me
Im blue
Just as blue as can be
Blue me, blue me
I cry
And I die
I lie awake at night
And I question why
Must it be
I can never be free
Blue me, blue me
My heart is heavy
But its empty inside
No one to love me
Or to lay down beside
Im blue
The queen of sorrow
Wears royal blue
My luck aint changin
Is it ever goin to
Im blue, oh Im blue
Why must I wear this robe of blue misery
Blue me, blue me
Ooh
This sad old feeling
Is breakin me down
No satisfaction with these blues hangin round
Lord, Im blue
Oh, Im so blue
Why cant I shake it tell me where will this end
When will I get out of this blue rut Im in
Oh, Im blue
Looks like the blues just took a liking to me
Blue me, blue me
Blue me, blue me
Blue is the color that fits best on me
Ooooh, Im blue
Im just as blue as can be
Blue me,
Blue me
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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God Servant
temple free
god was waiting
for is servant
servant was
not come
god also sad...
servant will bee comes
good happy...
why...?
god only no
i don't no
YOU no...
tell me to god
and me...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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The painter... does not fit the paints to the world. He most certainly does not fit the world to himself. He fits himself to the paint. The self is the servant who bears the paintbox and its inherited contents.
quote by Annie Dillard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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