Pressed
Their breasts were pressed and,
They have bruised the bosoms of their virginities!
Because they played whoredom in thier youth,
And now they are seeking how best to bsre children.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Big Big Whoredom
Come on baby turn that frown upside down
Tell me why you aint been around
What is it brings you down?
We work the hardest to be the smartest (we work)
We work the hardest to be the smartest (we work)
We work the hardest to be the smartest (we work)
We work the hardest to be the smartest (we work)
And the big big whoredom scared me
No, no, baby I aint convinced it aint so bad as you paint it
Theres plenty more heads of hair for us out there
Well strike it rich, a monster switch (monster)
Well strike it rich, a monster switch (monster)
Well strike it rich, a monster switch (monster)
Well strike it rich, a monster switch (monster)
But the big big whoredom scares me (no no it doesnt do that)
The big big whoredom scares me (no no dont be sad)
The big big whoredom scares me (please please stop it)
The big big whoredom scares me (dont dont)
The big big whoredom scares me (please)
The big big whoredom scares me (no)
The big big whoredom scares me
The big big whoredom scares me
The big big whoredom scares me
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Her Youth
In her youth,
They lay with her and they bruised the breasts of her virginity!
And she has never given up on the acts of her harlotry;
Because, she is now a grown up woman! !
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Mama Zimbabwe
Mme Zimbabwe (seSotho word for Mother)
You were the overflowing Breadbasket of Africa
The Curvatious, tall and proud daughter of Africa
Until Mzilakazi sold you to Britain for mere bag of beads and Sugar
And they took you away
You weeped as your Children....
As your children suffered under the oppresing rule of those colonial demons
But as your children fed from the suculant breast of Mama Africa, The Queen of african soil
Thier strength grew and so did thier fight for freedom
And in 1980 you saw a promising Dawn despite the bloodshed that spread
What went Wrong Mme Zimbabwe, you lie mute?
You lie hopeless and your bruised soul evidence of abuse
The very same children who fought for your emancipation now corrupt, split, spit and kill the very essence of you
However even though your frail Body falls defeated
And you are now the laughing stock of the World
In your eyes i see resiliant strength
Your scent strongly of approaching freedom
And you smile continues to seduce me into loving you, Zimbabwe
poem by Wanelisa Albert
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My pictures
Onthe wall
in may room
are pictures of native americans
in love and holding
on to the ones they love
from leaving them behind either
by a hunting trip or they are trying
to save their lover from death
or a couple inthe arms of each other
mot knowing what will happen
to them next.
Children seeking for
something more than
what they have now
all wanting, needing
something or someone
form thier internal intrapment
poem by To Those Who Wonder What Life Is About
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For The Reader
Thier tortured soul will climb into this blind
And thier words will mingle with mine
In thier mind, they'll think of the ideals
A shride of pride for this moment in time,
When our mind's eye do intertwine
And everything clicks for a mild moment
The humor will bring them up, though they're never really down
Smiles pound thier heart from the inside out
They'll pry and try to get inside, behind these battered eyes
This person will read my poem and for a spliced moment,
Realize and get it
The message of feelings underneath
They could be any color, or mind, from any walk of life
But if they give my try some attention
They are not only the reader, but also
The Intention
poem by Lauren Miller
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By The Fireside : The Open Window
The old house by the lindens
Stood silent in the shade,
And on the gravelled pathway
The light and shadow played.
I saw the nursery windows
Wide open to the air;
But the faces of the children,
They were no longer there.
The large Newfoundland house-dog
Was standing by the door;
He looked for his little playmates,
Who would return no more.
They walked not under the lindens,
They played not in the hall;
But shadow, and silence, and sadness
Were hanging over all.
The birds sang in the branches,
With sweet, familiar tone;
But the voices of the children
Will be heard in dreams alone!
And the boy that walked beside me,
He could not understand
Why closer in mine, ah! closer,
I pressed his warm, soft hand!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Nigerian Biafran War
The Biafrans cry separate
Nigerians cry we are one
The Nigerians and Biafrans
in a royal rumble
For non would submit to humble
as non would come to agreement
so they decided to fumble
and settle themselves on the battle field
The Nigerian soldiers fully prepared
Biafran soldiers thought they were ready
the opposing soldiers were excited
on the day of thier first outing
The soldiers filled with joy
the men filled with hatred
the women filled with fear
and the children with innocence
A bomb blast is heard
the soldiers quack their guns
the men getting ready to attack
the women in absolute confussion
The youths pick up weapons
the children sheding out blood
the soldiers held unto thier triggers
as men fell like woods
The rich flying abroad
the poor into the bush
women and children trampled
while some died at the instance
The children cries are heard
the shout of the women aswell
the grumbling of the men
and the mummuring of the youths
Nigerian soldiers chant their war songs
as they return with Biafrans defeated
though they still cry separate
the echoes of oneness is louder
The bodies of the dead were gathered
and the injured too
non could bear to stand and stare
at the worst of scenes
Women and children cried out thier hearts
the men were left with shocks
as every one reaised that war means death
and the reign of peace brings life
poem by Micheal Udenyi
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To Stay The Best Of Kids
I have played with my children the same way,
On a daily basis.
Everyday.
And...
For most of their lives I have been in sight.
So do not try to reprimand me,
About my inability to be a good parent.
I raised my kids the best I could,
To be good children and nothing more.
'And...
Who played the role of the adult?
While you and your children played,
To stay the best of kids,
Most of your lives? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Never Die
Hands on a window pane
Watching some children laugh and play
They're running in circles
With candy canes and French braids
Inspired to question
What makes us grown-ups anyway?
Let's search for the moment
When youth betrayed itself to age
So let the children play
Inside your heart always
And death you will defy
'Cause your youth will never die
Never Die
In searching for substance
We're clouded by struggle's haze
Remember the meaning
Of playing out in the rain
We swim in the fountain
Of youth's timeless maze
If you drink the water
Your youth will never fade
So let the children play
Inside your heart always
And death you will defy
'Cause your youth will never die
Never Die
Never Die
Never Die
I won't let go of that youthful soul
Despite body and mind my youth will never die
I won't let go of that youthful soul
Despite body and mind my youth will never die
[Guitar Break]
So let the children play
Inside your heart always
And death you will defy
'Cause your youth will never die
So let the children play
Inside your heart always
And death you will defy
'Cause your youth will never die
Never Die
song performed by by Creed from Human Clay
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Conceal to reveal
Breasts bare, breasts with bra,
Breasts revealing the cleavage,
Breasts under blouse with bare belly
And breasts with contour visible
Have their appeal up in that order.
The more one is left for imagination
The more the beauty will reveal.
06.12.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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I've got no words but you
a northern wind will bruise a flake
that spins around a barren bough
and looks for a nice place to melt
seeking my heart to hide in
the white dust moves to crack the soul
that leaked into the pools of dyes
and frozen lies in love with the ground
seeking my heart to hide in
and all the words I ever uttered
into the wells or into the clouds
are bruised like flakes in icy wind
seeking my heart to hide in
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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A Warning
Cried Age to Youth: 'Abate your speed!
The distance hither's brief indeed.'
But Youth pressed on without delay
The shout had reached but half the way
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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In Their Hopeless Schools
In the school:
Echoes of bleach- pitifully superficial
Holocaust
Of adolescent fanfare the busses bring here:
Children come here
And they are lost- from class to class:
What brings them? They have no
Will to learn,
But they giddy up through the turnstiles
With youth to burn:
And I watch them matriculate from
Copper state to bronze-
The airplanes don’t even pretend to brush them:
The airplanes leap across the canals
These children don’t even think to leap across:
The greatest angels burn their
Fuselages across the milkweeds and the puss willows:
The pilots are taking their stewardesses into
The bosoms of the mountains,
Populated with wildflowers and honey due:
To make love
Far above the mindless heads of the children
In their hopeless schools of every afternoon.
poem by Bret R. Crabrooke
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They The People
they the people, united by flashing lights
huddeled alone with sharp words taken flight
they the people, who love things that do not move
and cower before them lest otherwise be proved
they the people, with passion for throwing stones
to hit any target except for their bones
they the people, guarding piles of shells
to rally against neighbor at the ringing of bells
they the people, dumb deaf to distant cries
but the belief that two plus two equals christ
they the people, praying forever for more
tithing thier children to the shadows of war
they the people, they the people, they
choke on thier blood like wolves licking a blade.
poem by David Grant Sinclair
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People make jokes about my bosoms, why don't they look underneath the breasts at the heart? It's obvious I've got big ones and if people want to assume they're not mine, then let them.
quote by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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O Children!
O Children why do you make mockery of the old?
What gives you that audaciousness to be bold?
Hasn’t anyone spoken, have you not been told?
Your time for maturing, you cannot put on hold
Silent children, speak quietly
Silent children, speak gently
Address me not rudely
I speak to you all fondly
I see you all; I have been there before
Like a thief I want to creep
Back on the other side of age’s door
Today I weep, I weep and I weep
O Eternal youth thou cannot keep!
O Children, Children, Why the innocence?
With a deceptive facial display that is intense
I see through you all, I see the entire pretence
You say you are sorry, it’s a lie, I can sense
O Children why do you seek to grow so fast?
Your flowering youth is not meant to last
Before long it will wrinkle away into the past
Soon you shall become a mere outcast
In the land of youth and that is the truth
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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The Town I Loved So Well
In my memory, I will always see
The town that I loved so well
Where our school played ball by the gas yard wall
And they laughed through the smoke and the smell
Going home in the rain, riding up the dark lane
Past the jail, and down behind the fountain
Those were happy days in so many, many ways
In the town I loved so well
In the early mornin the shirt factory horn
Called women from cryin, the moor and the bog
While the men on the dole played a mothers role
Fed the children and then walked the dog
And when times got tough there was just about enough
And they saw it through without complainin
For deep inside was a burning pride
In the town I loved so well
There was music there in the derriere
Like a language that we all could understand
I remember the day that I earned my first pay
When I played in a small pick-art band
There I spent my youth, and to tell you the truth
I was sad to leave it all behind me
For I learned about life, and I found a wife
In the town I loved so well
But when I returned, how my eyes have burned
To see how a town could be brought to its knees
By the armoured cars and the bombed-out bars
And the gas that hangs on to every breeze
Now the armys installed by that old gas yard wall
And the damn barbed wire gets higher and higher
With their tanks and their guns, oh my god, what have they done
In the town I loved so well
Now the musics gone but they carry on
For their spirits be bruised, never broken
They will not forget but their hearts are set
For tomorrow theyll have peace once again
For whats done is done and whats won is won
And whats lost is lost and gone for ever
I can only pray for a bright, brand new day
In the town I loved so well
song performed by by Ronan Keating
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Changing Times
Perverse and foolish, discontent.
Naïve but far from innocent
the bored young people of today
undisciplined in any way.
Seeking always new sensations
which might cure their chronic boredom.
Stirring up passing emotions.
Pursuing gluttony and whoredom.
The wheel of fate will slowly turn
repeating ancient history.
An age of discipline return
Curtailing excess liberty
Men swing between the two extremes
and always have done so it seems.
3-Mar-08
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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With pen in hand.
I have been blessed
Reading of the manic, the happy
And the stressed.
Prodded on by hunting poems web site,
I try to rhyme with all my might.
Who would of guessed?
I am sourronded by peers,
Who write about fears and fantasy,
Birds dogs and gators.
About sin and strife,
The crux of ones life.
In an elavator or in a war.
They speak of love and lust
The one most mighty
Or when they went bust.
Then I am hooked on thier stories of life
How they lost thier dog and then thier wife
Their ego and pride.
They probably ran away with the bride.
I want to write something great
Like perhaps this lonesome heart ache
To honor my peers
where we stand.
With pen and ink in hand,
We will wander through the hunter of poets land.
The pen is truley mightier than the sword.
A Mother's Child
A mother's children are her
pride and joy, and she'll do
anything to keep them safe.
But if a mother really loves her child
She will teach them not to hate.
Our children are the future,
And hold this country in their hands.
So instead of teaching them violence
We need to teach them to be all they can.
But if this war between the races continues,
Our children and thier country won't stand a chance.
Dianna Nally
poem by Dianna Nally
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