The Indulgence
Like being in the right place, at least;
Like being in the wrong mood, at most;
Moving with determinism like a beast,
Approaching a prey to make a feast,
Coopted, its an indulgence
Like a tree planted across the river,
With the cold, it does not shiver,
The flowers, the fruits it deliver,
The seasons, the leaves it recover,
Corelated, its the indulgence
Moving with the wind, suspension
Slowing in speed, reaction,
Its a dilemma indeed, temptation
It was yellow then red, variation
Cooperation, its the indulgence
Was it painting pictures on walls,
Or maybe picturing paints on walls,
Some called it pronounced casuality,
Others said a denounced formality,
A smooth perfidy of reality,
Conglomeration, its the indulgence
poem by Gaylord Munemo
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Related quotes
Although no stupid scoffer
Although no stupid scoffer, I
Am wholly at a loss
To apprehend the reason why
You kiss Lorenzo's Cross.
For though indeed a hundred days'
Indulgence thus you win,
There does not move a lip but says
That you did never sin.
Ha! but I did not read the whole.
I see it now; the gain
May be applied to any soul
In purgatorial pain.
And oh, how many spirits lie
In such sad bondage through
Having too often passed it by
Whilst gazing after you!
They longed, instead, your lips to kiss;
Their wish, though vain, was clear;
They fondly thought they would by this
Make sure of heaven here.
Indulgence each your lip acquires,
On them it doth bestow;
And you who lighted here their fires,
Do quench their flames below.
And so you soothe-'tis only fair-
The souls you lately vexed.
'Tis lucky you have grace to spare
For this world and-the next.
poem by Alfred Austin
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The harvest
Some sowed seeds of cabage.
They got the leaves as harvest..
Some grafted buds of oleander.
They got flowers as harvest.
Some planted ginger for rhizome,
And some, cinnamon for bark.
So are banana grown for fruits,
And cardamom, for seeds.
Some plants for wood or shades.
Planting is not for only seeds.
Loving is not for only progeny.
It includes sights, pursuits, chats,
Romance, embraces and indulgence,
Recollections and remembrance.
Pining and sorrow are by-products.
Each is a piece of harvest of love.
03.07.2000.Madras
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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There Is A Cycle That Is Consistent With The Doing
It doesn't take a scientist,
Or a mathmetician...
To identify the feeling,
Of being unappreciated.
Those who set patterns of self indulgence,
Are as obvious as a tree...
That begins to shed its leaves.
There is a cycle that is consistent with the doing.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Birth Control Logic
Birth control is not anti-self-indulgence
not even depriving the
supreme gift of pleasure
Yes God allows people
to multiply on earth
Yet same God instructs
same people to subdue
and take control the multiplied population
Human needs need controllership
to take control is not merely
to control, to rule over populace.
to take control is taking control
the ultimate birth-making pleasure
to subdue perilous ballooning population
Birth control therefore is not
anti-self-indulgence
rather a noble submission
to the Creator who need no more
creation multiplacation
poem by Rommel Mark Dominguez Marchan
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Erotica (Acrostic)
Every fiber of the flesh is arouse,
react to the stimulation of the touch.
Overwhelming conduction of thrill
lurks in the core of sexuality.
Indulgence lit the temptation,
calls for consumption of pleasure.
poem by Marvin Brato Sr
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Chocolate And Vanilla Swirl
When I was a child
I spoke, thought, reasoned as a child
My favorite treat on a hot summer day
Was a chocolate vanilla ice cream swirl
I'd have it for every meal if I had my way.
When I became a women
Grown and mature
I put aside all childish things
Everything but my love
For chocolate vanilla swirl
My only indulgence to my inner girl.
Not so very long ago
That swirl of chocolate and vanilla
Melded in a way I'd never dreamed of
Ice melted by fire
Our trust and desire
Sweetly blended
Bodies so entwined
It couldn't be said
Where we began or ended.
Looking back at our time together
The years have flown by in a whirl
As we allowed our indulgence
To lose ourselves
In the sweetness of our
Chocolate and vanilla swirl.
I hope there is forever
In this special connection
Of this chocolate boy and vanilla girl.
poem by Esther Brush
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It is but fair that he who requires indulgence for his own offences should grant it to others.
There's a thin line between interesting music and self-indulgence.
quote by Larry Mullen Jr.
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Wordplay With Marshmallows
Some days are meant for marshmallows
Such light and puffy stuff
Time for tossing words about
For phenomenal fun with fluff
Infinite interludes for introspection
Imbue innumerable another day
However a taste for marshmallows
Suddenly insinuated itself today
No harm ensues from marshmallows
(No eye need be put out)
As long as one practices prudence
While tossing them about
As with all sugary self indulgence
Some control needs be employed
But no call for complete capitulation
(Marshmallows won’t be denied)
Like clouds they are in substance
(Or at least they so compare)
This froth of egg whites and sugar
When fully whipped with air
Though sticky at inception
Once given a chance to chill
Then danced through dusting of powder
They proceed to a benign thrill
One cannot subsist on marshmallows
(I do concede that singularity)
And some don’t relish their taste
(So I embrace such peculiarity)
But allow me this indulgence
On this extraordinary day
While a penchant for marshmallows
Occupies my wordplay
poem by Mary Havran
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Painting The Walls
painting the walls,
rolling over handprints,
cobwebs, and smoke stains....
over splashes of color,
over peels of time.
painting over the sounds
of voices whispering, laughing....
painting over tears hidden
from the world, from each other.
painting over running, and working,
working all day and half the night.
painting over children, and dreams,
folded like old clothes, and put away.
painting over notes from God,
that were often barely noticed...
painting over the nail that held
up the clock, hands moving slowly,
turning the seasons of living....
painting over the final words,
the last breath held in the hands,
of lives written in the grain....
the testimony of each feeling....
painting the walls,
and brushing the corners,
as if we never lived!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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I refer, of course, to the debts our nation has amassed for itself over decades of indulgence. It is the new Red Menace, this time consisting of ink. We can debate its origins endlessly and search for villains on ideological grounds, but the reality is pure arithmetic.
quote by Mitch Daniels
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The only real indulgence was buying a house. That was a pretty big step.
quote by Calista Flockhart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Toughness Of Mind
Detachment from indulgence
Is the path of peace
Prerequisite to use it
Is toughness of mind
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Love turns, with a little indulgence, to indifference or disgust; hatred alone is immortal.
quote by William Hazlitt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It's an indulgence to sit in a room and discuss your beliefs as if they were a juicy piece of gossip.
quote by Robert A. Heinlein
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Funny Farm Frenzy
Welcome to the funny farm,
Let’s embrace in the steel embedded walls without harm,
Welcome to delusion, the land of charm,
Inside the walls is the realm of the most brilliant of men,
The schizophrenics, and the bi polars, everything torments them,
But inside the insane asylum, they escape from condemn,
The funny farm where you’re surrounded with laughter,
Through the air, the giggles are hidden beneath the rafters,
Constant delusion, from morning, afternoon and thereafter,
Manuscripts and portraits, the artistic minds inside the brilliant drafters,
The mentally ill the most creative of mind,
Inside the asylum, escaped from reality, their thoughts refined,
Inside the asylum, their life is left behind,
On the white walls where portraits and creative writing shine,
Without sunlight, they’re the creators of their own realm of divine,
Inside the white walls, in their delusion, their confined,
The funny farm where humor is their lifeline,
Welcome to delusion, the neverending dream,
Inside the asylum things are not what they seem,
To reality it’s a prison, to the patients it’s their regime,
But what happens when the walls blacken in the night?
The laughter fades and their humor turns to spite,
They crumble in the fear of darkness without the touch of sunlight,
And they realize something about them isn’t “right”,
Isolated from the world their trapped in the dark,
Only within the walls, is their adventure to embark,
Inside their asylum, a community of reality segregated apart,
Their lifeline, through vivid imagination they depart,
They cannot see the walls around them, it’s their everyday home,
Inside the closed doors, their only space to roam,
An everyday dream to separate from reality, the unknown,
But when the lights turn on, and the walls turn white, the asylum fills with glee,
The reality inside the funny farm, the walls they can’t see,
They open their mind to creativity and imagination where their free,
The most creative of the mind, the indulgence of the what reality can’t see,
Up and down inside the walls, the rollercoaster of the emotional cycle spree,
The novel written and painted inside the asylum, the neverending dream,
Beyond the walls where reality isn’t seen.
poem by Kurt Kacich
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An enemy to whom you show kindness becomes your friend, excepting lust, the indulgence of which increases its enmity.
Study is the bane of childhood, the oil of youth, the indulgence of adulthood, and a restorative in old age.
quote by Walter Savage Landor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Disquieting Thoughts...
some might find the act...curling up to die alone... to be one of a noble and natural animal...
.I know differently....
I won't say so anywhere but here....
supposing it is good to have a place where I can be truthful....here in virtual company... no good could come of otherwise giving voice to it... it would, in fact, be an indulgence I will not provide...not for myself...nor for the one of whom I speak...
it saddens, but does not surprise me....as I am no nobler than, well...anyone else, and certainly less so than any beast....I will not give the eulogy...
.I shall sing an elegy in a quiet and sequestered place....when moved to do so...
seems I am, in today's all-too-compromised language, ' in judgment'.... it'll pass...
it's here now....and it's damned uncomfortable.....! $@%#&^(*^%#
poem by that's how I intended to ... delilah contrapunctal
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