A Wreath on the Tiles Factory
Lips of a chimney
always puff
gray smoke out.
Lorries, loaded with tiles,
always rush out.
Rupees always heap up
in a wooden drawer.
Red tiled roofs
always give them refuge.
Those ‘always' remains
in the fossils now.
Weeds lock the compound.
Rust hugs the bolts.
Experience dies in arms.
Coolies teach their children
how to hush the hunger.
Concrete roofs
proudly put wreaths
on their predecessors.
Now a coolie's lips puff
curls of worries out
before the closed gate.
FABIYAS M V
poem by Fabiyas M V
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Related quotes
Pipe Song
Care is all stuff:--
Puff! Puff!
To puff is enough:--
Puff! Puff
More musky than snuff,
And warm is a puff:--
Puff! Puff
Here we sit mid our puffs,
Like old lords in their ruffs,
Snug as bears in their muffs:--
Puff! Puff
Then puff, puff, puff,
For care is all stuff,
Puffed off in a puff--
Puff! Puff!
poem by Herman Melville
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Smokin The Herb Again
Yo yo yo, yo, yo yo what
Smoking
Were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Were smoking, were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Were smoking, were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Were smoking, were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Damn, I really wish I could find my sack man
Must have got eaten by pac-man
If I had it I could smoke again
Smoke with my friends to the very end
But now Im trying to comprehend
Whens the next time that Ill smoke again
I need to know, please tell when will we smoke again
I got a buddy, his name is ted
Hes got a problem going through his head
He doesnt know how to puff puff give
But I like so Ill teach him and Ill let him live
Everyday we teach him right
When he divides, we have to fight
But at the end of the trying day
We says its ok and we puff away
Just the other night, I saw you, you were smokin not sharing and being tight
But thats ok, you are my friend, well smoking until the very end
The lessons that we put out, we order you to try it out
Its nice to smoke, yea thats what were all about
Smoking
Were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Were smoking, were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Were smoking, were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Were smoking, were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Hey, ho, hey ho, hey, ho, hey, ho, hey, ho, hey, ho
I smoke, you smoke, we smoke, they smoke, smoking everywhere
I smoke, you smoke, we smoke, they smoke, smoking all together
Smoking
Were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Were smoking, were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Were smoking, were smoking, were smoking the herb again
Were smoking, were smoking, were smoking the herb again
song performed by by Incubus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mr.Puff
My dog Mr.Puff,
Mr. Puff has got the stuff,
He's white and fluffy,
And full of glee,
He's very cute and always happy,
Mr. Puff is a ladies man,
He's a ladies man with a plan,
He goes and sits on the street,
And all the ladies come at his feet,
Mr. Puff knows the game,
He has three females whos owner is the same,
He sleeps with the three every night,
And makes sure to keep them in his sight,
Mr. Puff is a dog many has dreamed of,
Mr. Puff is my dog and he knows he's loved.
poem by Shutter Queen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Old Black Jacko
Old Black Jacko
Smokes tobacco
In his little pipe of clay.
Puff, puff, puff,
He never has enough
Though he smokes it all day.
But his lubra says, "Mine tink dat Jacky
Him shmoke plenty too much baccy."
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Past skeletons of steal and concrete
Past skeletons of steal and concrete
I came this morning
and saw people small like ants,
between yellow cranes groaning and bended.
Where white smoke poured from round chimneys
and people struggled in the half-light
or glowing in a hell like fire
of iron and metal
lost between ovens cooking glowing,
people where captive and caged
by walls, doors and roofs that surrounded them
and lost in the circles drawn by the city
attracted by work from rural places.
The day was cast over and grey
but still they kept on building
and cement lorries were parked in the road
while workers were clinging to black pipes.
On the other side of the road children laughed
caught by the tinned pleasure pulsating
day and night without end
and beggars waited with stretched out hands.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Put a Sock In It
Put a sock in it,
Maybe this will rush a hush.
Put a sock in it,
Maybe this will rush a hush.
Put a sock in it,
Maybe this will rush a hush.
Today there is just too much stuff.
And people are getting fed up!
Put a sock in it,
Maybe this will rush a hush.
Put a sock in it,
Maybe this will rush a hush.
Put a sock in it,
Maybe this will rush a hush.
Today there is just too much stuff.
And people are getting fed up!
Many getting sick of the pickiness started.
And when it gets sticky they can not stop.
Instigating agitation with annoyance.
Dropping all they've got to tie a mind in knots.
Put a sock in it,
Maybe this will rush a hush.
Put a sock in it,
Maybe this will rush a hush.
Put a sock in it,
Maybe this will rush a hush.
Today there is just too much stuff.
And people are getting fed up!
Can't you see them strike poses and begin to 'cheese'.
Then plop on their knees,
To make their pleas.
These same folks cry about bad luck.
With claims their butts are stuck in ruts.
Put a sock in it,
Maybe this will rush a hush.
Put a sock in it,
Maybe this will rush a hush.
Put a sock in it,
Maybe this will rush a hush.
Today there is just too much stuff.
And people are getting fed up!
Put a sock in it,
Maybe this will rush a hush.
Folks have had enough,
And fed up!
Put a sock in it,
Maybe this will rush a hush.
Folks have had enough,
And fed up!
Folks have had enough.
Folks have had enough.
Folks have had enough.
And fed up!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The wheels on the bus
‘The wheels on the bus
Go round and round
Round and round
Round and round
The wheels on the bus
Go round and round
Round and round
Round and round
All night long’
The driver on the bus goes
Rush rush rush
Rush rush rush
Rush rush rush
The driver on the bus goes
Rush rush rush
Rush rush rush
Rush rush rush
All night long
The children on the bus go
Wow wow wow
Wow wow wow
Wow wow wow
The children on the bus go
Wow wow wow
Wow wow wow
Wow wow wow
All night long
The fathers on the bus go
Blush blush blush
Blush blush blush
Blush blush blush
The fathers on the bus go
Blush blush blush
Blush blush blush
Blush blush blush
All night long
The mothers on the bus go
Hush hush shus
Hush hus hush
Hush hush
The mothers on the bus go
Hush hush hush
All night long
The clouds in the sky go
Sky sky sky
Sky sky sky
Sky sky sky
The ashes from the ground go
Die die die
Die die die
Die die die
All night long
Shakiras on the bus go
Waka waka hey
Waka waka hey
Waka waka hey
The boughs in the tree go
Waka waka sway
Waka waka sway
Waka waka sway
All night long
PS:
The wheels on the bus – children’s song (anonymous?)
Waka waka World’s current top hit on VH1 music channel
August 17,2010
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Pernicious Weed!
The pipe, with solemn interposing puff,
Makes half a sentence at a time enough;
The dozing sages drop the drowsy strain,
Then pause and puff, and speak, and pause again.
Such often, like the tube they so admire,
Important triflers! have more smoke than fire.
Pernicious weed! whose scent the fair annoys,
Unfriendly to society's chief joys,
Thy worst effect is banishing for hours
The sex whose presence civilizes ours.
poem by William Cowper
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Voodooded Lips
VOODOODED LIPS
esspeecee …18.06.09.
In the mirror of silence
I’ll reflect you lips’ eloquence.
In the mirror of silence
I’ll blush-in by your lips’ glittrence.
In the mirror of silence
I’ll unfold your lips’ innocence.
In the mirror of silence
I’ll savor to the lees your lips’ elegance.
In the mirror of silence
I get psychic catharsis
In our lip lock reminiscences.
In the mirror of silence
I’ll siphon in your lips’ effulgence.
In the mirror of silence
I’ll grope your lips
In abyssal absence.
In the mirror of silence
My lips will coalesce
In your lips’ effervescence.
In the mirror of silence
I’ll be vortexed by
Lips’ psychedelic resonance.
In the mirror of silence
We’ll passionately hug
With sensuous confluence.
In the mirror of silence
I’ll smear lips by
Your lips’ fragrance.
In the mirror of silence
We’ll tie-up our lips
In Monalisian resemblance.
In the mirror of silence
I’ll fresco my lips
From your lips’ brilliance.
In the mirror of silence
My lips will stain
By your lips’ every essence.
I’m voodooded by:
In the mirror of silence,
Your lips’ excellence,
And deluxe luminance.
Copyright reserved by the Author
.
poem by Dr. Sakti P. Chakravorty
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Light Up Your Cancer Sticks
nice virgin new pack light up your cancer sticks
use as intended cigarettes sold legally crave favours
each need puff puff accumulates over time kills
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Mrs. Jasmine Garland Seller
A female tongue pushed me down from the swing of sleep.
Rain kids roused the stink of railway track in the dawn.
His liquor reddened half opened eyes gaze
At the life-like-fan, its rotation makes him dizzy.
His sweet brown lady drags him into the duties.
A long chain of complaints tinkles on her lips.
Worries about her female children at home
Rise up like the black smoke from the train.
She tries to put white smelling jasmine garlands nicely
In her basket that does rest on the floor of the compartment.
Baskets never enjoy the fragrance, but only carry………
poem by Fabiyas M V
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Their spirits and their visions are embodied in their craft. And so is mine. It's not Jane Saw Puff. But the clarity of Jane Saw Puff is precious to me.
quote by Sharon Olds
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hush Hush
Hush Hush
Obsessed by Obsession
never in her possession
tender wavy cherishy
never on her lilly me
orch-idea impressions
soft cloud goodbyes
rayed in flashy whites
enslave my nerves
and dendochrones
beat through my bones
if only once, I miss
that long lost tenderness
of lovely lips caressing,
of lovely lips caressing
of lovely lips possessing
'Hush, Hush..................! '
Madrason 24-10-2009
poem by Madrason writer
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To Write Your Poems The Easy Way
the rhythm is in the huff and puff
the inhale and exhale
of your life, the color is in
the hues of sunrise and sunset
the taste is right there
in your tongue
the kiss of your lips
sweet and sour
and sometimes bitter
we swallow all these
and you hear
how smooth all these
in your ears
like the hush of the wind
one day
in your life
moment by moment
every minute savored
like you have
never lived before
like
tomorrow does not come
like you
loving the person
who loves you
like a push and
a pull
like both of you
engaged to a touch
of eternity
that is the ease
of my poetry
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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While She Walked In The Sun In Guatemala
ten anemic stars
shine in my wooden sky,
against my wooden wall
against lace
and Yaweh faces,
three times in the curtains
she became a christian
for the sanctity or
comfort
'cause she knows that after
death is something
big, there's something
waiting
she smiled on roofs of
sheetmetal siding in
Guatemala
photographs of sun and palms
walking dirt roads
arms wrapped around one another
in that reassuring heat
of Southern geography
Latino nights
and days of hammers
nodding t'wards the earth
in sync with its rhythm
poem by Matthew Schoerner
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Out on the Roofs of Hell
SING us a song in this cynical age,
Sing us a song, my friend,
While the Flesh and the Devil are all the rage
And Death seems the only end.
Give it the clatter of hoof-clipped bones
And a note like a dingo’s yell,
And the long, low sigh when the big mob moans
Out on the roofs of hell.
For Wool, Tallow, and Hides and Co.,
For Wool, Tallow, and Hides—
Over the roofs of hell we go
For Wool, Tallow, and Hides.
We take the route or we take the track,
Hell-doomed by the greed of man,
And we leave our wives in the scrubs out back
To struggle as best they can.
For the credit is short and the flour is low—
And this is the tale we tell—
A check must be made and the stock must go
Over the roofs of hell.
Wake ere the burst of the great white sun
Into the blazing skies,
Our limbs are stiff and the lids are gummed
Over our blighted eyes.
But our souls have perished in dust and heat,
And this is the tale we tell—
Our lives are ever a grim retreat
With Death on the roofs of hell.
They drivel and say how the bushman drinks,
But what do the townsfolk know?
The life is a hell to the man who thinks—
He must drink or his reason go.
Drink and drink, as the bushman knows,
Till he strip to the skin and yell;
Down for a change! for a rest! he goes
Down through the roofs of hell.
For Wool, Tallow, and Hides and Co.,
For Wool, Tallow, and Hides,
Down through the roofs of hell they go
For Wool, Tallow, and Hides.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Born With The Hunger
Hear the coyote howl
He's found his pray at last
In one moment of weakness
The chase is over so fast
He celebrates his kill
No mercy in his eyes
When you're born with the hunger
The hunger never dies
Midnight is on the prowl
And I hear it call my name
Danger lurks in the shadows
But it's all part of a game
Until I quench this thirst
I will not close these eyes
When you're born with the hunger
The hunger never dies
You and I, we're the same
We both carry this flame
To depths of our souls
Once the fever awakes
We can never escape
It's beyond our control
We're both born with the hunger
Oh with the hunger
Temptation bites your lip
One kiss ignites the fire
So begins the seduction
As we succumb to desire
Your body aches for more
Why are you so surprised
When you're born with the hunger
The hunger never dies
When you're born with the hunger
The hunger - it never dies
Never dies
When you're born with the hunger It never dies
When you're born with the hunger Oh, it never dies
He celebrates the kill
You're born with the hunger
It never dies
song performed by by Cher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am A Chocolate Cherry On Your Lips
The taste of life is bitter or is sweet,
But me i am a chocolate flavor,
When sitting on your lips.
You could try many flavors,
You could experience all kind,
But nothing will compare with the joy i will give you,
When melting in your mouth.
Come to my arms my love, lay by my side,
I will be a chocolate cherry on your lips,
It is Valentine's tonight.
poem by Cristina Teodor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The nebulous house abandon; But some live in
No doors and windows in the Mews
Mystery wind peeps and departs
And nothing remains.
But the rusty padlock
Still at the gate.
The rumour spreads among the villagers
Smoke goes to the sky in the night
From the bricked chimney
And smells roasted turkey
While a sad neigh echoes.
An officer goes for the Census
But the gate is locked at all.
* Those who grabs the perishable life never leaves?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Nothing But Air
We are
nothing
but hot air
disappearing
quicker
than a puff
of smoke.
poem by Vince Gullaci
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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