I wonder how I fit into my new country
Respect for other people
and self are missing
and while I go up the steps
of the bus
teenage girls are shouting
loudly to each other
and a ghetto blaster,
is playing very loud music
and it’s much worst
than in a mad bazaar.
a Toddler pushes her fingers
one after the other
into her nose
and draws lines
on seats and windows
and her mother
wipes her nose against her jersey.
An overweight lady
sits down next to me
and there’s a sharp smell
that hits my nose
and no other seat
to go to
and I wonder if she
bathed this week,
or this month
and are scared that head lice
are going to jump on to me.
The bus draws away
and misses a car narrowly
and jerks
while the driver changes gears,
as if he’s struggling
to get the right one.
When I get off at the bus stop
there’s a man relieving himself
and the urine smell,
hangs heavy in the air
and I wonder how
I fit into my new country.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Related quotes
Be Glad Your Nose is on Your Face
Be glad your nose is on your face,
not pasted on some other place,
for if it were where it is not,
you might dislike your nose a lot.
Imagine if your precious nose
were sandwiched in between your toes,
that clearly would not be a treat,
for you'd be forced to smell your feet.
Your nose would be a source of dread
were it attached atop your head,
it soon would drive you to despair,
forever tickled by your hair.
Within your ear, your nose would be
an absolute catastrophe,
for when you were obliged to sneeze,
your brain would rattle from the breeze.
Your nose, instead, through thick and thin,
remains between your eyes and chin,
not pasted on some other place--
be glad your nose is on your face!
poem by Jack Prelutsky
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Why Do You Bob Your Nose, Girl ?
(kinky friedman)
Why do you bob your nose, girls, it does not look so nice,
If it' s just to keep in fashion, it's not the lord's advice.
Well, you mangle mother nature and brave the lord's command
You care about your nose, girls, and reach the glory land.
Why do you bob your nose, girls, it's not the thing to do,
Run with that nose and some day the lord may say to you:
You naughty little booger, you honky tonkin' hose
But at least i'm glad for one thing: you'sll never bob your nose.
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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O! What a nose!
People talk about a running nose
I'm talking about a long facial cargo
She’s got a nose longer than my longest toes
With a mission of being nosy as time goes
Please don’t get close
When she discloses
Her loud snoring doze
Don’t be like the heroes
Goodness gracious
O! What a nose!
Goodness gracious
What a precious nose pose!
Painted as red as a romantic rose
Standing long like my garden pipe hose
And as she sniffs, sneezes and exposes
I cannot help thinking of Pinocchio’s nose
Goodness gracious
O! What a nose!
Goodness gracious
Red and long when it snows
And this nose is nosy
She can smell a rat, cat or a bat
When you are getting cozy
In your one bedroom flat
O! What a nose!
In and out juice flows
And when she smells the air
They all cannot help but stare
Copyright 2008 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Nose
No one cares for the nose
To go nose straight is the tao
If there were no eyes
You could see better with your nose
If there were no nose
you wouldnot distinguish the sweet from the bitter
And there would be no value judgements in the world
And it is the nose that keeps you hot in the cold
And that keeps you cold in Jakodabad
The nose is the vigilant customs officer
That does not allow any drug to your lungs
And the nose cannot be bribed
Oh Nose! the customs officer of the body
And the pivot of value judgement in the world
If that name thou love
Remain with us and teach the noseless world
That it must have a nose in this wartorn world
He who knows the greatness of nose
Surely goes to the realm of rose
In the life to come
Hurrah Let us compose hymns to nose
poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
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That Smell
Whiskey bottles, and brand new cars
Oak tree you're in my way
There's too much coke and too much smoke
Look what's going on inside you
Ooooh that smell
Can't you smell that smell
Ooooh that smell
The smell of death surrounds you
Angel of darkness is upon you
Stuck a needle in your arm
So take another toke, have a blow for your nose
One more drink fool, will drown you
Ooooh that smell
Can't you smell that smell
Ooooh that smell
The smell of death surrounds you
Now they call you Prince Charming
Can't speak a word when you're full of 'ludes
Say you'll be all right come tomorrow
But tomorrow might not be here for you
Ooooh that smell
Can't you smell that smell
Ooooh that smell
The smell of death surrounds you
Hey, you're a fool you
Stick them needles in your arm
I know I been there before
One little problem that confronts you
Got a monkey on your back
Just one more fix, Lord might do the trick
One hell of a price for you to get your kicks
Ooooh that smell
Can't you smell that smell
Ooooh that smell
The smell of death surrounds you
Ooooh that smell
Can't you smell that smell
Ooooh that smell
The smell of death surrounds you
song performed by by 3 Doors Down
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stop Funk'n With My Head
Muir-Trujillo-Dunn
Hey hey hey somebody's always funk'n with your head
No matter where you go you know you just can't stop people
from funk'n with your head
I was hanging around wasn't making no sound then you
come on down but you say that thing to me
With your runny nose and your out-of-date clothes and you still are
playing with G.I. Joes so stay away from me
Chorus:
So why you fu why you fu fu funk'n why you funk'n with my head
Hey hey hey somebody's always funk'n with my head
No matter where I go I know
I just can't stop people from funk'n with my head
You got your attitude and you're getting crude and you're
thinking you're rude
But you just ain't got she with me
And you ain't got a clue and you smell like pu and you can't even
Walk with your size 20 shoes so step away from me
Chorus
Funk it up
Can't you hear what I just said stop that funk'n with my head
Hey hey hey somebody's always funk'n with my head
No matter where I go I know
I just can't stop people from funk'n with my head
Hey hey hey hey hey hey hey watch the funk'n with my head
Don't matter what you know don't matter what you show doesn't matter
Where you come or where you're gonna go when you're funk'n with my head
Chorus
song performed by by Infectious Grooves
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That Smell
(allen collins - ronnie vanzant)
Whiskey bottles, and brand new cars
Oak tree youre in my way
Theres too much coke and too much smoke
Look whats going on inside you
Ooooh that smell
Cant you smell that smell
Ooooh that smell
The smell of death surrounds you
Angel of darkness is upon you
Stuck a needle in your arm
So take another toke, have a blow for your nose
One more drink fool, will drown you
Ooooh that smell
Cant you smell that smell
Ooooh that smell
The smell of death surrounds you
Now they call you prince charming
Cant speak a word when youre full of ludes
Say youll be all right come tomorrow
But tomorrow might not be here for you
Ooooh that smell
Cant you smell that smell
Ooooh that smell
The smell of death surrounds you
Hey, youre a fool you
Stick them needles in your arm
I know I been there before
One little problem that confronts you
Got a monkey on your back
Just one more fix, lord might do the trick
One hell of a price for you to get your kicks
Ooooh that smell
Cant you smell that smell
Ooooh that smell
The smell of death surrounds you
Ooooh that smell
Cant you smell that smell
Ooooh that smell
The smell of death surrounds you
song performed by by Lynyrd Skynyrd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Nose Is Growing Old
Yup.
A long lazy September look
in the mirror
say it's true.
I'm 31
and my nose is growing
old.
It starts about 1/2
an inch
below the bridge
and strolls geriatrically
down
for another inch or so:
stopping.
Fortunately, the rest
of the nose is comparatively
young.
I wonder if girls
will want me with an
old nose.
I can hear them now
the heartless bitches!
"He's cute
but his nose
is old."
poem by Richard Brautigan
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The Spirit Of A Sponge
I dreamed one night that Stephen Massett died,
And for admission up at Heaven applied.
'Who are you?' asked St. Peter. Massett said:
'Jeems Pipes, of Pipesville.' Peter bowed his head,
Opened the gates and said: 'I'm glad to know you,
And wish we'd something better, sir, to show you.'
'Don't mention it,' said Stephen, looking bland,
And was about to enter, hat in hand,
When from a cloud below such fumes arose
As tickled tenderly his conscious nose.
He paused, replaced his hat upon his head,
Turned back and to the saintly warden said,
O'er his already sprouting wings: 'I swear
I smell some broiling going on down there!'
So Massett's paunch, attracted by the smell,
Followed his nose and found a place in Hell.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Scavenging Ravens
I am so scared to close my nose,
as I may offend the deplorable souls,
An earthen pot filled with boiling rice,
comfortably sits in the middle of flies,
Everyone's waste is disposed here,
varieties of things in variant grade,
rotten, rotting and sale able plastics,
two human squat there to separate,
what other disposed, have some values,
when ever I walk by the dumpster,
at the sides of these main roads,
I try to walk faster, not to inhale,
the horrible smell of decaying garbage,
the other day I was forced to stop,
the traffic jam created by,
around ten rickshaws and a bullock cart,
I tried to take a deep breath,
and walk past as fast as I could,
Then I saw the bed that was laid,
between the dumpster and the wall,
just on the plank over the clogged ditch,
I was shocked, then I took off my hands,
from the nose and breathed the air,
that these poor people on the street inhale,
day and night and night and day.
How to change this country,
of over multimillion people,
half of them are dirt poor,
one tenth of them are the richest,
forty percent of them middle class,
How to change this country,
to have clean air for people to breathe?
How to change these countries,
to have clean water for people to drink?
How to change these continents,
to have ample work for the human,
to stand on their own feet?
Who is going to do it,
without being the mosquitoes,
that like to suck,
the blood of poor men?
who is going to do it,
without being the Shylock,
who wants not only a pound,
but also the body and the soul,
of the poor men of these continents?
I am scared to close my eyes,
as I may miss seeing all these lies.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Tunnel Vision
I have been advised of having tunnel vision...
You know when you are near blind as a bat?
Worried and in fear-for my eyes my dear?
Nah, my nose works and i'm sure i smell a rat**! ;
Thank God for my nose and my ears...
Never mind my limited sight...
A highly developed instinct also carries me-
Through the blackest of darkest night! ;
It gives me much sought after information...
Of long ago sequesterd plans and schemes...**
I've been told that i am sixth sense old...
That my information is formed in my dreams;
So never mind my tunnel vision sweetheart-
My nose and my ears do just fine...
Coupled with the sixth sense instinct God gave to me...
For miles i can smell my enemies sign**;
May 14,2010
**Smoke From The Attic (as usual)
The Phantom IS Back.
poem by Theodora Onken
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Janice and You at Waterloo Station
At Waterloo Station
the steam engines
puffed powerful steam
reaching up
to the rooftop
and you stood there
hands in your pockets
your nose sniffing in
the white and grey smell
you can taste it
on your tongue
and Janice beside you
her eyes looked up
at the rooftop
as the steam
reached high
her hands clutching
the small bag
I want to be a train driver
when I'm older
you said
I want to smell
that smell
and breathe in
that steam and shovel
coal in the engine
maybe you will
Janice said
maybe you'll be
on a train like that
big and black
and powerful
she put her hand
under your arm
and squeezed
Gran said we can be
what we want
if we want it
bad enough
Janice added
you felt her hand
under your arm
sensed her squeeze it
we went to the seaside
on a big black train
like this last year
you said
and I put my head
out the train window
and my mum said
keep your head in
or a train
will knock it off
that'd be horrible
Janice said
she clutched
closer to you
as the steam train
puffed out more steam
and the sound was loud
and powerful
and she said
maybe
when you're an engine driver
you can take me
to the seaside
with Gran
yes
you said
and if you come
to the engine
before you take off
I can show you
the engine
and how powerful it is
and she smiled
and put her head
on your shoulder
yes
you said softly
when I grow up
and when I am older.
poem by Terry Collett
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Kung
What you are now experiencing is
the Vibration of Life ladies and gentlemen
Your head may be feeling heavy
Seven beats per second
Your nose light
This will re-energize you
Your eyes heavyYour nose light
Your eyes heavy
Kung...
Kung...
Kung...
Your eyes may be feeling heavy
Your nose lightYour eyes heavy
Kung...
Kung...
Kung...
Rich in minerals
Rich in firth Carry well ye martin lad
Fervent fourth
Now Fervent fifth
Forever arealm we cry
Be it ever so Voraciously alternate
We call upon your pulse
Can we stand?
Can we stare?
We can stage a runaway golfcart marathon!
Stand up
Stand up
Stand up on your heels and call
From the hills
From the hills
This may have made your eyes feel heavyY
our nose light
Your eyes heavy
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There was a Young Lady whose nose,
Was so long that it reached to her toes;
So she hired an Old Lady,
Whose conduct was steady,
To carry that wonderful nose.
quote by by Edward Lear
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There was an Old Man with a nose,
Who said, 'If you choose to suppose,
That my nose is too long,
You are certainly wrong!'
That remarkable Man with a nose.
by Edward Lear from A Book of Nonsense (1846)
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Sugar bush I want you
Sugar bush I want you
sounds magically from the
alfalfa field
where small blue flowers
are between the green
and a sweet smell
rise in my nose
and the sky is bright blue
as if summer
is holding a festival,
but it’s your deep blue eyes
that draws my glance
and your blond curls
hanging out beneath
your straw hat.
Maybe I have to tell more
about a boy and a girl
meeting each other
in the alfalfa field,
but everyone already knows
where these words go...
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Tale Of The Trucker's Life
The young bride sits alone in her house,
waiting for her farm hand husband to return to her lonely bosom.
Enters the husband, tired, and cranky.
He goes to the stereo, hooks up his headphones,
and falls asleep listening to country, and western music.
The bride long since gone to bed alone.
The young mother, and her toddler son
in front of the TV watching movies while the
husband/father works third shift at Wal-Mart 25 miles away.
The mother takes her son to his baseball games,
explains why daddy can't come,
because he decided to be a truck driver.
She is mother, father, and sole teacher to there young son.
She wipes away his tears when he is hurt,
Comforts him when he is sick,
and makes excuses for the absent father
who never has acted like he loved their child.
Who wipes away the tears that the
mother/wife sheds every time she sees
how much their son misses his daddy.
Their little boy puts his arm around his
mother's shoulders and with a hug,
he says, 'mom it will be all right.'
Does the trucker miss his family?
Does he feel the same pain, and sorrow?
He must not care, for he stays gone sometimes four,
sometimes six weeks in a row,
only coming home long enough to make love.
Never does he interact with his son, not really.
The wife, and son now lay in the cold, hard ground,
never to rise again. Now it is too late
for the old trucker to tell them how he really felt.
He sits alone in an old rocking chair,
staring at old, faded photos of his wife,
and son, but he is not in any of the pictures.
He stands in front of the pearly gates of Heaven,
he sees his wife, and son just on the other side,
But they don't recognize him.
So goes the tale of the trucker's life.
poem by Velmar Pewee Hale Johnson
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Honoured For Nose
My nose is running, having congestion.
Have to visit doctor for medication.
Loosing taste of mouth, cannot smell rose
But my friend is honoured of his nose.
He is sensitive to the surrounding,
In his duty he proved outstanding,
Being very daring and composed,
Last year promoted to senior post.
A special task he was assigned,
With the police team combined,
On the eve of holidays of new year,
To patrol at venues every where.
Venues suspected were at risk,
Concealed explosive he frisked,
Was planted in a crowded place,
The suspect was thereafter chased.
If the explosive was exploded
Lives of many could have eroded,
Diligence of the sniffer saved those,
So honoured for his amazing nose.
poem by S.D. Tiwari
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People Everywhere: Social Music (Original 11 03 2009)
PEOPLE EVERYWHERE: SOCIAL MUSIC
Original 11 03 3009
People everywhere over here over there people
In poor bread lines people in pony drawn carriages
People on a chariot with a rumble seat people on a
Climb on a mountain steep people on a dime on a
Corner on Wall Street –street people -people everywhere
Everywhere there’s a drummer. Where you going?
Everywhere you go you go with a beat you go with
Where the music is… where the music is “social man
What’s jazz? ” People everywhere just social that’s all
New Orleans people social all the way up river to
Kansas City on up to Chicago don’t make no difference
If your name is Santiago Obama Bergson Rothschild
Bush just social People -Montrose New York City
People social all the way to Rio Paris Johannesburg
Brazil Belize over all the bridges –London Suez
Toronto Montreal people in a dim café -social
People in church every weekday and everyday
Everywhere there’s a temple play -Joe’s Place
People social man -music social don’t make no
Difference where you get together whoever is playing
Just playing so you keep on playing with everybody
Playing -people play social music man –man or
Woman don’t understand just don’t stop playing
People everywhere want to be there to see it -up here
You playing social music -understand -just don’t
Stop playing -people everywhere get hungry lose
Patience -people everywhere not playing social music
When you stop playing social music people every-
Where stop –trying to figure out why everybody
Stop playing social music -nothing social about
Playing a whole lot of music -nothing truly social
In a lot of music -the next thing you know a short
Spell and before long you got wars breaking out
Stop playing and its hell -that’s not social any more.
Lee Mack copyright 2009. ISBN # 0615318347. Do not reproduce without permission.
poem by Lee B. Mack
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