Related quotes: Calm night Owl is awake...

An Owl Is Awake

Calm night
Owl is awake
Rats are target
Food to get

Death is met
Certain fate
Never be late
If ever to state

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Our Friendship Ain't Fateful

Late out of state without absolute hate,
I decline to incline my fate into failure’s plate
I perceive not me able to be for you that great
Yet you make perfect of me, even in my state
Looking down upon me not, yet looking upon me without hate
Of how it came to being is a mystery that revives history in slate
Oh how I hate the thought I could lose my current state
In hate I’d sulk to ever cross a path that seals this fate
Can destiny and fate really drag me away? I doubt; they’re late

poem by David Munene wa Kimberly
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Late Cat

Late to train
Late to bus
Late to class
And late to party;
She is everywhere a late cat!

Late to eat
Late to sleep
Late to fate
And late to luck;
She is for everything a late cat!

Late to clock
Late to block
Late to dash
Against the truck
And, lo! Even late to death;
She is always a late cat!

poem by Sasikala Kamandula
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Blame me

Blame me for everything,
Spare me for nothing,
I left behind special thing,
My memory to miss something,

It was to last and something to cherish,
Till I am forgotten and completely perished,
My soul still roams and not finished,
Blot on old cloths removed andwashed

I was awaiting a simple death,
To live alive in memory and breath,
So till last I may have say,
With beautiful time and day

All dues and regards I pay,
Still she may have all the say,
She may have hopes in sun rays,
I still hesitate and remember in many ways,

I will remain calm and narrate,
Always grant her higher the rate,
May be it was my fate,
What to write and what to state,

I had simple memory as clean slate,
I may be called or addressed as late,
I may have long wait to decide the fate
Before it is. All over and nothing to state

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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(V – 1988) Fighting Fate

Oh, things out of control we call real fate
For factors far unknown too decide our state!
But things there are we must not see as mere fate;
Such things if controlled can oh, alter our state!

No thunder or tyrant is ever such fate
If faced with courage and soon held to checkmate!
Oh, thou art the architect of thy own fate!
So fight well with will and thus safeguard thy state!

At times we may fall to some strange, cruel fate;
By them should never our will still abate!
With arrows of resolve and faith, fight thy fate!
Oh, give no space ever to stand or to wait!

So bow not or falter before any fate;
Oh, fear and despair will thy fate aggravate!
Grim panic and anguish will strengthen our fate;
They make us, oh, lick a time unduly late!

So well in advance to, oh, face any fate
Thou equip thyself and thus secure thy state!
Challenges of life are challenges of fate –
So meeting them well, oh, means living life great!

poem by Kannan G
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Overweight with Food

Are you just a tub of lard and
Vastly overweight?
Do you think that when you die you'll
Need a piano crate
To act as coffin for your frame? -
Chosen as you die in shame, with
Only you to take the blame
For years of eating much the same:
A daily calorific fest
Gourmands of your ilk digest!

Is your heart in final fling and
Nearly set to burst?
Are your arteries bunged and clogged and
Feeling now the worst
For wear? - your aneurysm fit to blow
While blood as thick as rising dough
Cries 'Halt! ' to any hope of flow:
A dreadful state to put on show
In front of any nurse!
Best you hail a hearse.

Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!
Oh! Food food food food food food food foooooood!

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Admit The Rat (Interlude)

I got a story
bout all these rats
all the sewer rats
all these gun rats
im talkin bout all these gold diggen rats
these hood rats
my grandmothers a rat
she's just an old school rat
my mothers a rat
she's just a high class rat
my sisters rats
she's just a middle class rat
my cousins rats
they just low class rats
im tired of rats tryin to get into my boyz pockets
im tired of rats tryin to ride around in my cars
im tired of rats talkin all that jibber jabber to their friends
but ond day these rats are gonna be straight
no diss to rats
cuz there are some rats that i love too
my message to you today is admit the rat in you
to all women admitt the rat in you
admit the rat in you
admit the rat in you
admit the rat in you

song performed by by Next
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Admit The Rat

I got a story
Bout all these rats
All the sewer rats
All these gun rats
Im talkin bout all these gold diggen rats
These hood rats
My grandmothers a rat
Shes just an old school rat
My mothers a rat
Shes just a high class rat
My sisters rats
Shes just a middle class rat
My cousins rats
They just low class rats
Im tired of rats tryin to get into my boyz pockets
Im tired of rats tryin to ride around in my cars
Im tired of rats talkin all that jibber jabber to their friends
But ond day these rats are gonna be straight
No diss to rats
Cuz there are some rats that I love too
My message to you today is admit the rat in you
To all women admitt the rat in you
Admit the rat in you
Admit the rat in you
Admit the rat in you

song performed by by Next
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Syrup Sponge

Pour a pint of cream
Upon my spongy bulge!

Scoop me with a
Hefty spoon;

Taste my essence -
Do you swoon?

Feed your self-esteem; indulge
In me until you burst -

Death by syrup sponge - you're cursed!

And as the count in inches gain
Upon your weary waist, the strain
Will tell, but you'll not care -
Steeped in sponge, you're unaware!

food food food food food food food
food food food food food food food food
food food food food food food
food food food food food food

poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Home Truths

Seeking a Truth
The sewers under the abortion clinic
is where successful rats live and only
the strongest survives.

From the bland food of suburbia and
narrow minded excrements, unwilling
given back to the drains and nature.

These big rats have survived to sit by
the top table and be respected as those
who deserves a prize for endurance.

They live on sludge of fetuses, tiny fingers
small, beating hearts; also, clean livers;
and the rats grow and reason as humans

Rich rats now have an army of lesser
rats to defend them, nothing last always,
but for some it ended before it began.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Night Runners Competition Counted

we enjoy counting the rats
running around at night,
when we are arriving home
on our faithful motorbike,

usually two or three rats to see,
Kayla and I have a competition
counting first spied rats we see,
who can spot local drain rats first

the biggest rats seen truthfully
are as big as healthy pet cats,
we go look at pets frequently
in BSD once a week we peep,

in at a pet shop when we watch,
a movie in expedition BSD every week
a family movie is a special treat,
our two happy daughters think it so neat

our neigbour concreted over their open drain
next door rats love their drains seldom stray,
so less rats outside rats too close we do disdain
rats who venture close in life peril cannot stay,

if any bold rats venture into our house ceiling,
these rats are disposed of poisoned very quickly
our rule is no entry for any rats poison strictly,
tropical rat best learn trespass has no pity feeling.

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Slave To The Wage

Run away from all your boredom
Run away from all your whoredom and wave
Your worries and cares
Goodbye
All it takes is one decision
A lot of guts, a little vision to wave
Your worries and cares
Goodbye
Its a maze for rats to try
Its a maze for rats to try
Its a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die
Its a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die
Sick and tired of maggies farm
Shes a bitch with broken arms to wave
Your worries and cares
Goodbye
Its a maze for rats to try
Its a maze for rats to try
Its a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die
Its a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die
Its a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die
Its a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die
Burn away
Run away, run away
Run away, run away
Run away, run away
Run away, run away

song performed by by Placebo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Target

Uptown - downtown
No ones fussy Im a target
Black, white - day, night
No ones fussy Im a target
Somebody say Im crazy
Walking in this neighborhood
Say you cant be too careful
But that wont do no good
Im no one special
But any part of town
Someone could smile at me then
Shake my hand then gun me down
Uptown - downtown
No ones fussy Im a target
Black, white - day, night
No ones fussy Im a target
Somebody say Im crazy
Living in this crazy town
I say maybe youre just lazy
Got to either swim or drown
I know what Im doing
Im happy day to day
But then something happens
Takes my nerve away
Uptown - downtown
No ones fussy Im a target
Black, white - day, night
No ones fussy Im a target

song performed by by Joe Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We Cry for Food and They Give Us Bullets

Food! Food! Food!
It is all that we need
It is all that we need
to calm down our spirits!

It is food that fills
that fills the empty pangs
of our stomachs,
pangs that make us yawn
but cannot sleep
that make us gulp
but cannot vomit,
that make our saliva
taste sour and acidic!

We cry for food
like the helpless little children
with the art to attract attention
by our street demonstrations.
Yes, we cry for food like little children
to calm down our spirits,
that the cry cannot at all be neglected
for it is food,
it is food that soothes our spirits.

But you give us bullets
on the streets where we stage
our cry for food
You give us bullets
instead of food.

But even bullets cannot silence
our cry for food
for as long as we`re hungry
we shall be like little children
that will ever cry for food.

poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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This House Is Not For Sale

Tell 'em that the house is not for sale
We're still livin' here, how come nobody can tell
They're takin' all the furniture, movin' our things
Come on little honey, put your head on my knee
Tell 'em that the house is not for sale
And calm down, calm down, calm down
Calm down, calm down, calm down
Do you remember when we even bought this thing?
I danced you across the wooden floor and you signed the lease
What happened in the car that night?
What happened in the car that night?
Tell 'em that the house is not for sale
And calm down, calm down, calm down
Calm down, calm down, calm down
Calm down
Tell 'em that the house is not for sale
We could grab a couple sheets, yeah, give 'em quite a scare
I remember lyin' on the bedroom floor
You were holding me, little honey, kissin' my soul
Tell 'em that the house is not for sale
And calm down, calm down, calm down
Calm down, calm down, calm down
Calm down
Calm down

song performed by by Ryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hunter's Mind

Awake, awake!
Awake to the morning bowl from last night's food;
Like the fling of a stone that puts the stars into flight.
What has the hunter in the hand?
Awake to the games of the Sultans,
Where the morning glory do call for the hunter;
Awake, awake!
Awake to the facts of life;
Cos', the hunter's gun is ready for action.
Oh no! ! The hunter's eye has caught the Sultans turret,
Like the noose of light to awake nature's call;
Who can satisfy the Sultans?
Like a little pool, so is the hunter's mind;
The hunter's gun is ready for action.
The only man who makes no mistake is,
The man who never does anything;
Awake, awake!
The Sultans turret is in trouble;
Like the noose of light to awake nature's call.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Slaves of Food

Thick red blood veins bath in anger
The stomach grumbles in idiotic anger
A taste of food and out springs laughter
Triumphant moods commence again after

And it can be argued
We are all but slaves of food
Digesting away between interludes
Without food the mind is wholly screwed

We consume and wear different costumes
With food for thought and food of all sorts
We eat for the heart until it sets us apart
While the crumbs are often sought by rats

The pleasure one feels after a congested meal
That inner gratifying satisfaction is cheap but real
Toast, eggs and beans and it is work and work
Fruits, wine and cakes and it is talk and talk
Coffee or tea and eyes are conspicuously awake
A turkey roast and sleep is suspiciously at stake

We are all but slaves of food
I conclude with fluctuating moods
There is food for romance
There is food for the fools
Enjoy, eat fast, food never lasts, rewind and preview
Hungry mouths elsewhere regularly wait for its rescue

poem by Sylvia Chidi
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In the Meaning of Love

Can we shake ourselves awake?
Before the dawning comes to leave us.
Can we shake ourselves awake?
Before the moonlight leaves the night.

Can we shake ourselves awake?
To see all the love we're missing.
Doing everything...
To breakup and find another.

Can we shake ourselves awake?
Before the dawning comes to leave us.
Can we shake ourselves awake?
Before the moonlight leaves the night.
And all lights are turn out...
To keep a fuss with backbiting!

Can we shake ourselves awake?
From seeding clouds with hatred.
Can we shake ourselves awake?
From deeds like that,
That do much harm.
Can we shake ourselves awake?
To welcome sunrays from above.
And will we all find what's there,
In the meaning of love!

Can we shake ourselves awake?
Before the dawning comes to leave us.
Can we shake ourselves awake?
Before the moonlight leaves the night.

Can we shake ourselves awake?
To see all the love we're missing.
Before its too late...
To bake a cake and make up!

Can we shake ourselves awake?
To welcome sunrays from above.
Will we all find what's there,
In the meaning of love!

Will we all find what's there,
In the meaning of love!

Could we ever find what's there?
In the meaning of love!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Bin Men

Bin -Men
In the late sixties there was a down turn in shipping
I was broke and unemployment, benefit meager.
From I was fifteen I had always been in catering and
before that I was milking cows, and now I got a job
as a bin man. In the back of restaurants and cafes
bins where open and attracted rats, black and brown;
we wore gloves but they were still jumping about
and as the foreman said it took too long killing them.
The job was easy enough we started in the morning
and finished about noon, I went to the communal
bath for a long shower, but I still smelled of rats and
rotting food. A call came and I was needed in
the merchant navy…but for my fellow bin men this
was their honest toil and they were great mates.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Death's Final Conquest

The glories of our birth and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armour against fate:
Death lays his icy hands on kings;
Sceptre and crown
Must tumble down,
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

Some men with swords reap the field,
And plant fresh laurels where they kill;
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still:
Early or late
They stoop to fate,
And must give up their murmuring breath,
When they, pale captives, creep to death.

The garlands wither on your brow,
Then boast no more your mighty deeds;
Upon death's purple altar now,
See where the victor victim bleeds:
All heads must come
To the cold tomb,
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in the dust.

poem by James Shirley
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From Ajax Dirge

The glories of our blood and state
Are shadows, not substantial things;
There is no armor against fate;
Death lays his icy hand on kings.
Scepter and crown
Must tumble down
And in the dust be equal made
With the poor crooked scythe and spade.

Some men with swords may reap the field
And plant fresh laurels where they kill,
But their strong nerves at last must yield;
They tame but one another still.
Early or late
They stoop to fate
And must give up their murmuring breath,
When they, pale captives, creep to death.

The garlands wither on your brow,
Then boast no more your mighty deeds;
Upon death’s purple altar now
See where the victor-victim bleeds.
Your heads must come
To the cold tomb;
Only the actions of the just
Smell sweet and blossom in their dust.