Manuelzinho
[Brazil. A friend of the writer is speaking.]
Half squatter, half tenant (no rent)—
a sort of inheritance; white,
in your thirties now, and supposed
to supply me with vegetables,
but you don't; or you won't; or you can't
get the idea through your brain—
the world's worst gardener since Cain.
Titled above me, your gardens
ravish my eyes. You edge
the beds of silver cabbages
with red carnations, and lettuces
mix with alyssum. And then
umbrella ants arrive,
or it rains for a solid week
and the whole thing's ruined again
and I buy you more pounds of seeds,
imported, guaranteed,
and eventually you bring me
a mystic thee-legged carrot,
or a pumpkin "bigger than the baby."
I watch you through the rain,
trotting, light, on bare feet,
up the steep paths you have made—
or your father and grandfather made—
all over my property,
with your head and back inside
a sodden burlap bag,
and feel I can't endure it
another minute; then,
indoors, beside the stove,
keep on reading a book.
You steal my telephone wires,
or someone does. You starve
your horse and yourself
and your dogs and family.
among endless variety,
you eat boiled cabbage stalks.
And once I yelled at you
so loud to hurry up
and fetch me those potatoes
your holey hat flew off,
you jumped out of your clogs,
leaving three objects arranged
in a triangle at my feet,
as if you'd been a gardener
in a fairy tale all this time
and at the word "potatoes"
had vanished to take up your work
of fairy prince somewhere.
The strangest things happen to you.
Your cows eats a "poison grass"
and drops dead on the spot.
Nobody else's does.
And then your father dies,
a superior old man
with a black plush hat, and a moustache
like a white spread-eagled sea gull.
The family gathers, but you,
no, you "don't think he's dead!
I look at him. He's cold.
They're burying him today.
But you know, I don't think he's dead."
I give you money for the funeral
and you go and hire a bus
for the delighted mourners,
so I have to hand over some more
and then have to hear you tell me
you pray for me every night!
And then you come again,
sniffing and shivering,
hat in hand, with that wistful
face, like a child's fistful
of bluets or white violets,
improvident as the dawn,
and once more I provide
for a shot of penicillin
down at the pharmacy, or
one more bottle of
Electrical Baby Syrup.
Or, briskly, you come to settle
what we call our "accounts,"
with two old copybooks,
one with flowers on the cover,
the other with a camel.
immediate confusion.
You've left out decimal points.
Your columns stagger,
honeycombed with zeros.
You whisper conspiratorially;
the numbers mount to millions.
Account books? They are Dream Books.
in the kitchen we dream together
how the meek shall inherit the earth—
or several acres of mine.
With blue sugar bags on their heads,
carrying your lunch,
your children scuttle by me
like little moles aboveground,
or even crouch behind bushes
as if I were out to shoot them!
—Impossible to make friends,
though each will grab at once
for an orange or a piece of candy.
Twined in wisps of fog,
I see you all up there
along with Formoso, the donkey,
who brays like a pump gone dry,
then suddenly stops.
—All just standing, staring
off into fog and space.
Or coming down at night,
in silence, except for hoofs,
in dim moonlight, the horse
or Formoso stumbling after.
Between us float a few
big, soft, pale-blue,
sluggish fireflies,
the jellyfish of the air...
Patch upon patch upon patch,
your wife keeps all of you covered.
She has gone over and over
(forearmed is forewarned)
your pair of bright-blue pants
with white thread, and these days
your limbs are draped in blueprints.
You paint—heaven knows why—
the outside of the crown
and brim of your straw hat.
Perhaps to reflect the sun?
Or perhaps when you were small,
your mother said, "Manuelzinho,
one thing; be sure you always
paint your straw hat."
One was gold for a while,
but the gold wore off, like plate.
One was bright green. Unkindly,
I called you Klorophyll Kid.
My visitors thought it was funny.
I apologize here and now.
You helpless, foolish man,
I love you all I can,
I think. Or I do?
I take off my hat, unpainted
and figurative, to you.
Again I promise to try.
poem by Elizabeth Bishop
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Related quotes
Half The World
Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
Half the world hates
What half the world does every day
Half the world waits
While half gets on with it anyway
Half the world lives
Half the world makes
Half the world gives
While the other half takes
Half the world is
Half the world was
Half the world thinks
While the other half does
Half the world talks
With half a mind on what they say
Half the world walks
With half a mind to run away
Half the world lies
Half the world learns
Half the world flies
As half the world turns
Half the world cries
Half the world laughs
Half the world tries
To be the other half
Half of us divided like a torn-up photograph half of us are
Trying to reach the other half
Half the world cares
While half the world is wasting the day
Half the world shares
While half the world is stealing away
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Half The World
Half the world lives,
Half the world makes,
Half the world gives
While the other half takes.
Half the world hates,
Half the world runs away,
Half the world's late,
Half the world praises the day.
Half the world is,
Half the world was,
Half the world thinks,
Half the world does.
Half the world lies,
Half the world burns,
Half the world cries
While the other half turns.
Half the world cares,
Half the world weeps,
Half the world shares,
Half the world keeps.
Half the world sings,
Half the world laughs,
Half the world brings,
Half the world tries to be the other half.
End.
Thoughts-2
'a man's supposed to provide for his family...'
i see them standing in line at the unemployment office...
or working whatever job they can get,
for half of what they're worth.
half-drunk, and pounding their fists
against the wall...
(praying for a gun)
i know how it feels to be trapped...
dont tell me we're not supposed to be angry!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Broken-Down Squatter
Come, Stumpy, old man, we must shift while we can;
All our mates in the paddock are dead.
Let us wave our farewells to Glen Eva's sweet dells
And the hills where your lordship was bred;
Together to roam from our drought-stricken home
It seems hard that such things have to be,
And its hard on a "hogs" when he's nought for a boss
But a broken-down squatter like me!
For the banks are all broken, they say,
And the merchants are all up a tree.
When the bigwigs are brought to the Bankruptcy Court,
What chance for a squatter like me.
No more shall we muster the river for fats,
Or spiel on the Fifteen-mile plain,
Or rip through the scrub by the light of the moon,
Or see the old stockyard again.
Leave the slip-panels down, it won't matter much now,
There are none but the crows left to see,
Perching gaunt in yon pine, as though longing to dine
On a broken-down squatter like me.
When the country was cursed with the drought at its worst,
And the cattle were dying in scores,
Though down on my luck, I kept up my pluck,
Thinking justice might temper the laws.
But the farce has been played, and the Government aid
Ain't extended to squatters, old son;
When my dollars were spent they doubled the rent,
And resumed the best half of the run.
'Twas done without reason, for leaving the season
No squatter could stand such a rub;
For it's useless to squat when the rents are so hot
That one can't save the price of one's grub;
And there's not much to choose 'twixt the banks and the Jews
Once a fellow gets put up a tree;
No odds what I feel, there's no court of appeal
For a broken-down squatter like me.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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A writer is, after all, only half his book. The other half is the reader and from the reader the writer learns.
quote by P.L. Travers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Count Voronstov
One half Milord, one half in trade,
One half a sage, one half a dunce,
One half a crook, but here for once
There's every hope he'll make the grade.
poem by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
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July 15th,1991 Poem
Half gone;
half thru...
Half baked;
Simmer blue
Thumbing through
a book of
blank
pages
Feeling frustration
consternation
Beginnings end
the same,
As a numbness
Creeps into my brain
Buries the pain
and the past
but at what price,
all tomorrows due
Sort of barnacled upon
The high tide postmark of life
poem by Midnights Voice
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Half Breed
My father married a Cherokee
My mother's people were ashamed of me
The Indian's said that I was white by law
The white man always called me Indian Squaw
Half breed
Is all I ever heard
Half breed
Let me hate the word
Half breed
She's no good they warned
Both sides were against me since the day I was born
We never settled went from town to town
When you're not welcome you don't hang around
The other children always laughed at me
Give her a feather she's a Cherokee
Half breed
Is all I ever heard
Half breed
Let me hate the word
Half breed
She's no good they warned
Both sides were against me since the day I was born
We weren't accepted and I felt the shame
Fifteen I left and tell me whose to blame
My life since then has been from man to man
But I can't run away from what I am
Half breed
Is all I ever heard
Half breed
Let me hate the word
Half breed
She's no good they warned
Both sides were against me since the day I was born
Half breed
Is all I ever heard
Half breed
Let me hate the word
Half breed
She's no good they warned
Both sides were against me since the day I was born
song performed by by Shania Twain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There's a subterranean impetus towards pornography so powerful that half the business world is juiced by the sort of half sex that one finds in advertisements.
quote by Norman Mailer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Everything I do, I'm sort of half in, half out.
quote by Harrison Ford
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Escape.
Let me escape,
From my own machinations,
From my own bitter creations,
I feel like I am in an ice cage,
There's half water and half ice,
I am half frozen and half shaky,
I am half alive and half dead,
I feel like breaking through this cage,
My soul wants to runaway,
Breaking these walls,
Out of my isolation,
Out of my despair,
In this revolution,
Out of this confusion,
And escape,
Out of this hollowness,
Out of this pain, half endured and half erupting,
With this volcanic heart, aching hard,
Out of myself,
Out of this lava I breathe...
Out of this story, untold, unread,
And escape, just escape...
poem by Ayesha Riaz
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Monty Python crowd; half of them came from Cambridge, and half of them came from Oxford. But, there seems to be this jewel, this sort of two headed tradition of doing comedy, of doing sketches, and that kind of thing.
quote by Rowan Atkinson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A glimpse
a glimpse
the half opened door
some would say
a half closed door
it all depends on the
state of mind you are in
well half closed for pessismist
and half opened for optimist
half opened or half closed door
so long as it is open
and not close
a good exercise for the mind
of a story teller, novelist, a film maker
a glimpse at the half closed door
the mind is thrown open
like the kick you would give
a half opened door
so that you and pet cat could
glide through easily
the stories that start coming out
from a glimpse at the half opened door
agatha's murdered corpse lying behind
a stalker, a ghost in the corridor of the mind
from the glimpse of the half closed door
a million possibilities, ideas pouring forth
half closed door, half opened door
whichever way you may say
it is an opened door
a million stories, ideas, possibilities
knock at the door of my mind
a glimpse of the half closed, half opened door
my half closed half opened eyes
open themselves to my ever curious mind
boundless as the universe
inspired by
A Glimpse
A GLIMPSE, through an interstice caught,
Of a crowd of workmen and drivers in a bar-room, around the stove,
late of a winter night-And I unremark'd seated in a corner;
Of a youth who loves me, and whom I love, silently approaching, and
seating himself near, that he may hold me by the hand;
A long while, amid the noises of coming and going-of drinking and
oath and smutty jest,
There we two, content, happy in being together, speaking little,
perhaps not a word.
Walt Whitman
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Half Blooded Brothers
You my blood half or full were brothers, regardless of what you do to each other, you my brother half or full, .
We keep each other good, you my brother half or full. We take care of each other, because we brothers half or full.
Imma stop trippin, it'll take a while, because im use to bullshittin and prickin, but you my brother half or full.
Stick together we will stay alive, all the bullshit I said, I've been a asshole, shit who hasn't, but you my brother half or full and I guess that's what family does.
Arguments and verbal brutality towards one another is what we do, because we will always be brothers half or full. Blood half or full, it doesn't matter, because we are brothers till the end of time, your my brother half or full.
poem by Arthur V. Miller III
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Adulthood: A Decade And A Half Plus One
A decade and a half plus one
let me tell you its been fun
and what i mean by that
is simply there has been much change and upheaval
a battle against latent evil
let me tell you, its a constant combat
the principal enemy myself, and the tools of war: the temptation and soul
I am grateful each day, that one day i was made new
that finally i gave up that control
of my life in exchange for a new life, and a purpose, so i could know who
i was and what i was supposed to do, and it is today
that i ponder and reflect and say
i am glad that i am changed, because
i have my flaws
but certainly i had more flaws
i was overcome by evil, and by nature lived to be selfish
with my only wish
to glorify myself, you see I'd help you
and be your friend too
because it made me feel good, not because i had any sort of care
or love or devotion, surely that is something that should scare
anyone because each good deed was done with malice
surely that is worse than being callous
i was that man that the Good Book warned of: with 'an illusion
of Godliness.' living under a delusion
following a god, with only half my heart, hating with the other
hating even my brother
i walked around with my depression and bottled it all inside
sometimes when i would hide
it'd spill out onto the paper
and then float out as if vapor
I was a 'double-minded man'
with no purpose and no plan
praise be to God that now I'm changed
somehow
right now
sixteen feels grown up, not just because of trials thrust upon me
but because now i see,
from where God took this shell
how He gave it life and purpose and redeemed it from literal hell
on earth because we know 'That he who has the Son has life but
he who does not have the Son of God does not have life' its time
a decade and a half and one
it seems I'm all grown up now, but not of myself, nothing new under the sun
and yet, I've been made new, and He who lives in me
He is grown up, sorry if you disagree
because of His presence I am now whole
because of the One i extol
I have been made more than new, because since the adult is inside
i need not hide, for i am grown all up
a decade and a half and one
this is me: there's half a person who became one, and then one and one
poem by David Knox
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Nora
The beautiful little black lamb and,
The pretty little white lamb went to school;
And wisdom and knowledge were their best friends,
And by their fruits you shall know them.
Nora is my friend but,
When you are half-way up means you are half-way down!
For the eye is the light of the body.
I am the pilot in the sky and,
Politeness is the act of choosing among your thoughts;
And you will know them by their fruits.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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In a Manner of Speaking
In a manner of speaking, I want to kill you,
said the drunk redneck to his wife,
In a manner of speaking, I don't love you,
said my ex (turned vegan) to me,
as I returned from a psych ward, hoping for
some sort of reconciliation,
And in a manner of speaking, the whole
world has gone to shit, that no mentally
unbalanced poet can improve upon,
In a manner of speaking, I was just a haiku
before I birthed an epic poem in 2008
and it went something like:
In a manner of speaking…
In a manner of speaking, there is plenty of
beer and loose women,
In a manner of speaking, there is plenty of
internet journals with useless information,
In a manner of speaking, there are plenty of
assholes writing about getting laid and anal sex
on MySpace,
In a manner of speaking, my friend got raped
a few years ago and now has occasional herpes
outbreaks, which are quite disturbing
to her husband,
In a manner of speaking, I'm losing faith in humanity
and love at times,
In a manner of speaking, we just go through the motions,
hoping for something to change or something
spectacular to happen.
But I don't really know any more,
trying to make sense of it all, screaming for some sort of
sanity that eludes me,
In a manner of speaking, I feel alone here,
unable to connect to what's around me-
I just told some guy at a bar that I was a Dallas Cowboys
fan and I don't even watch football,
and he told me to come in my 'gear' on Sunday,
In a manner of speaking, I feel somewhat liberated
because I have no clue as to what I'm doing,
knowing that there is really no escape.
January 8,2008
-Alexander Shaumyan
poem by Alexander Shaumyan
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We Are The Vegetables
Well I've got this feeling in the back of my head
I feel like making someone's face turn red
Learning bike's and ditto vices
Try to look bored and your going places
We are the vegetables
We are the vegetables
We are the vegetables
We are the vegetables
Some music is playing by metal gazers
It's gone through the stage where everyone makes it
Do you think that we're not good
All I really know is I think you should
We are the vegetables
We are the vegetables
We are the vegetables
We are the vegetables
Well I've got this feeling in the back of my head
I feel like making someone's face turn red
Learning bikes and ditto vices
Try to look bored and your going places
We are the vegetables
We are the vegetables
We are the vegetables
We are the
We are the
We Are The Vegetables
Submitted by Michael Hack
song performed by by INXS
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Half A Man
This big old queen was standing on the corner of the street he waved his hanky at me as I went rolling by I pulled the truck up on the sidewalk and I climbed down from the cab with my tire-chain
My knife as I approached him he was trembling like a bird I raised the chain above my head he said, please, before you kill me might I have one final word? and this is what he said:
;i am but half a man, half a man Id like to be a dancer but Im much too large half a man, half a man Im an object for your pity not your rage oh, the strangest feelings sweeping over m
H my speech and manner have become much more refined I said, oh, what is this feeling? what is wrong with me? she said, girl, it happens all the time and you are half a m
Alf a man look, youre walking and youre talking like a fag. half a man, I am half a man holy jesus, what a drag
song performed by by Randy Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Half As Much
I've been up and and down the highway
And i've seen what a man can do
To some little girl along the byway
That's why i sing this song to you
If you find your baby's gone
And you don't know where or when
You wonder, yes you wonder
If you'll ever see him again
Just remember, remember
These simple words i brought
Soon it won't hurt half as much
No it won't hurt half as much
No it won't hurt half as much as you thought
'cause i been up and down the highway
And i watch them as they pass by
Broken hearts and i wish that they'd go my way
I'd save them every little teardrop they cry
Won't you listen?
If you think you can't go on
And life ain't got it for you no more
You're waitin' every night
For him to come walkin' through that door
Just remember, remember
These simple words that i brought
Soon it won't hurt half as much
No it won't hurt half as much
No it won't hurt half as much as you thought
Well, it won't hurt half as much
No, it won't hurt half as much
Lord, it won't hurt half as much as you though
Fades
And everytime you're sad, you cry
You feel like you...
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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