Parched tongues
Stretch out from clay pots
Moon hesitant
quote by by Indira Babbellapati (13 May 2011)
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Parched tongues
Stretch out from clay pots
Moon hesitant
quote by by Indira Babbellapati (13 May 2011)
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Stretch Out And Wait
On the high-rise estate
What's at the back of your mind ?
Oh, a three-day debate
On a high-rise estate
What's at the back of your mind ?
Two icy-cold hands conducting the way
It's the eskimo blood in my veins
Amid concrete and clay
And general decay
Nature must still find a way
So ignore all the codes of the day
Let your juvenile influences sway
This way and that way (this way)
This way and that way (this way)
God, how sex implores you
To let yourself lose yourself
Stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
Oh ... let your puny body, lie down, lie down
As we lie, you say
As we lie, you say
Stretch out and ...
Stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
Oh ... let your puny body lie down, lie down
As we lie, you say :
Will the world end in the night time ?
(i really don't know)
Or will the world end in the day time ?
(i really don't know)
And is there any point ever having children ?
Oh, i don't know
What i do know is we're here and it's now
So ... stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
There is no debate, no debate, no debate
How can you conciously contemplate
When there's no debate, no debate ?
Stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
Wait
Wait
Wait
Wait
song performed by by Smiths
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Unquenched
(a re-post)
i stretch my
parched tongue
each time
it rains dropp
after dropp
the body catches
all the rain
and the perfume
drapes the body
behind its veil…
the crystalline drops
whisper sweet nothings
into the invisible heart
but leave the
tongue parched…
27mar08
14.50hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stretch Out & Wait
On the high-rise estate
Whats at the back of your mind ?
Oh, a three-day debate
On a high-rise estate
Whats at the back of your mind ?
Two icy-cold hands conducting the way
Its the eskimo blood in my veins
Amid concrete and clay
And general decay
Nature must still find a way
So ignore all the codes of the day
Let your juvenile influences sway
This way and that way (this way)
This way and that way (this way)
God, how sex implores you
To let yourself lose yourself
Stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
Oh ... let your puny body, lie down, lie down
As we lie, you say
As we lie, you say
Stretch out and ...
Stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
Oh ... let your puny body lie down, lie down
As we lie, you say :
Will the world end in the night time ?
(I really dont know)
Or will the world end in the day time ?
(I really dont know)
And is there any point ever having children ?
Oh, I dont know
What I do know is were here and its now
So ... stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
There is no debate, no debate, no debate
How can you conciously contemplate
When theres no debate, no debate ?
Stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
Stretch out and wait
Wait
Wait
Wait
Wait
song performed by by Smiths
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A pot trader whose fortunes are all invested in her clay pots isn't much of a merchant.
Stone
The days have passed, nights are gone,
I'm still in love with a stone,
The seasons changed, the clay too came,
I still hold it with no moan,
The clay comes to me in so many shapes,
Wants me to hold it, whatever it may take,
But clay can hurt me, clay may fake,
Even if it's clay, I have a heart it can break,
The season may change,
The clay may go,
Slowing my heart beat,
All time low,
Stone is hard,
Stone is black,
Stone is emotionless,
Doesn't stab at back,
The clay, the stone, both make me die,
But if a stone does, even the clay may cry...
and I'll never ask why...
It's better to live with a stone,
not clay,
Clay is soft, but it hurts,
which is not the stone's way.....
poem by Apurva Jain
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Peace Proposal
Said General Clay to General Gore really must we fight this silly war
To kill and die in such a bore I quite agree said General Gore
Said General Gore to General Clay we could go to the beach today
And have some icecream on the way a grand idea said General Clay
Said General Clay to General Gore we'll build sand castles on the shore
Said General Gore we'll splash and play let's leave right now said General Clay
Said General Gore to General Clay but what if the sea's closed today
And what if the sand's been blown away the dreadful thought said General Clay
Said General Gore to General Clay I've always feared the ocean's spray
And we may drown it's true we may it chills my blood said General Clay
Said General Clay to General Gore my bathin' suit is slightly tore
We better go on with our war I quite agree said General Gore
The General Clay chanrged General Gore as bullets flew and cannons roared
And now at last there is no more of General Clay or General Gore
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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The Generals
Said General Clay to General Gore,
'Oh must we fight this silly war?
To kill and die is such a bore.'
'I quite agree,' said General Gore.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'We could go to the beach today
And have some ice cream on the way.'
'A grand idea,' said General Clay.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'But what if the sea is closed today?
And what if the sand's been blown away?'
'A dreadful thought,' said General Clay.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'I've always feared the ocean's spray,
And we may drown!' 'It's true, we may.
It chills my blood,' said General Clay.
Said General Clay to General Gore,
'My bathing suit is slightly tore.
We'd better go on with our war.'
'I quite agree,' said General Gore.
Then General Clay charged General Gore
As bullets flew and cannons roared.
And now, alas! there is no more
Of General Clay or General Gore.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Prisoner Of The Dark
There is always a call, from outside a call
Yet I stay rooted in a dark theater hall
There is an outside where the sky gets paint
The birds busily tweet for my ears to be lent
The sunrays stretch their hands for me to come along
The winds want me listen to a long forgotten song
I want to run out there, to see and smell it full
As the rain comes from heaven for the parched earth to be cool
Once I soak in them, feel them inside me
The moon coming out of clouds sets my spirit free
The call is loud and clear, it is all over me
In a dark theater hall, I only dream to be free!
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Real man
I am a real man
I am real
This world where I am
Is real
In this real world
I am living
This world will not die
This world will not perish
How can I perish
I am made out of this real world
Here there is only truth
And I am truthful
As in ice there is water
In gold ornaments there is gold
In clay-pots there is clay
In iron-weapons there is iron
Look like the world I am strong.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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The place is where Eden falls
in acres of land the spots self expelled
called earth called sky seek heaven above
the ways the ocean daily swims
when clay made pots reach their brims
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Be Young You
The tongues of some men are made of metal
The tongues of some men are made of oil
But the keeper of those men never rolled
Their tongues for anybodys free ride but his own
Now the oily tongues are thirsty for black gold.
But the old men are going to bed
Theyll be sleeping through the future
And the children red with fire
They got to move away the old mans rusty beds.
Now the tongue, the tongue of a master
That should be laughter - with dancing legs
Like a flying wheel for the weak and sad man
Some tongues of man are made of silence
And your eyes will listen.
song performed by by Jefferson Starship
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wait For The Bus!
you can read the grain
of timeworn faces,
much as the grain of the ancient oak.
and rivers exist somewhere,
behind tired eyes, universes beneath dirty nails.
no one gives much of a damn for old men,
that's why there are benches, stoops,
and worn out old chairs.
perhaps god is knitting, or discovering
another Einstein....
and just doesnt have time to collect the lost!
while women bury their dreams in flower pots,
and the young burn clocks to the moon.
dogs piss on blades of unmarked grass,
giving names to faces unseen.
as old men with erections and scars,
translate the forbidden tongues.
seeing the naked light inside shadows,
they fart scriptures, and wait for the bus!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Chimney pots coated
In evening moonshine, Lamposts
dispel moon shadows
haiku by Ken e Hall
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Possible Causes
If possible causes are rigid they give complaint,
Designing the universe is too late, as it is faint.
My container is hesitant for we live by pots that cook,
The light from the night-sky overwhelms like a hymnbook.
The song of life muttered only when it sang
From a singer, a really sound man or woman that rang.
To ring a solemn mystery in the ears of a parent
Judged minutes and seconds worse with involvement.
The intoxicants stay in the blood, too late,
Nobody struck a face too beaten, to investigate.
My hymns are found in the cosmos in this creation
I call the one made, the one made by completion.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Our vases were filled with wine
Our vases were filled with wine
As our childhoods spun on a dime
But it wasn't the abstinence of tears
That made us, into granite rocks.
It wasn't Mount Vesuvius…
That turned us each into clay-pots
So what was it, please... answer!
Well, look, look, here's the answer…
It's written on the back of that mirror!
poem by Mark Heathcote
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A Poem from Transatlantic
Stretch sea
Stretch away sea and land
We are following thee
Thy lead is dangerous
And glorius
Stretch thyself and us
And make us live
To mount the ladder of horizons
Until we step upon the radiant plateau.
poem by Jean Toomer
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Here Comes The Moon
Everybodys talking up a storm
Act like they dont notice it
But here it is and here it comes . . .
Here comes the moon, the moon, the moon, the moon, the moon.
Impulse always quickens when its full
As it turns my head around me
Yes it does and here it comes
Here comes the moon, the moon, the moon, the moon, the moon.
Gods gift I see thats moving up there into the night . . .
Though dark the mirror in the sky reflects us our light:
Looks like a little brother to the sun
Or mother to the stars at night
And here it is and here it comes
Here comes the moon, the moon, the moon, the moon, the moon.
Breath is always taken when its new
Enhance upon the clouds around it
Yes it is and here it comes
Here comes the moon, the moon, the moon.
song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Murdered By Their Tongues
Threatened by a mentalness,
That spreading gossip did.
And murdered by their tongues.
Whatever between them did exist,
That ruined their happiness...
And long loving relationships,
Has been murdered by their tongues.
Murdered by their tongues,
Abandoned good deeds are left undone.
In big numbers.
Murdered by their tongues,
Some people had to run...
To find their comfort.
Murdered by their tongues,
Some choose to begin to run...
To find their comfort,
And unencumbered by the numbers.
They've been murdered by their tongues.
Stubborn these people,
Who've been murdered by their tongues.
Unconscious people,
Who are murdered by their tongues.
These fools are equal,
Who will murder anyone with their wicked tongues.
Murdered by their tongues,
Some people had to run...
To find their comfort.
Threatened by a mentalness,
That spreading gossip did.
And murdered by their tongues.
Whatever between them did exist,
That ruined their happiness...
And long loving relationships,
Has been murdered by their tongues.
They've been murdered by their tongues.
Stubborn these people,
Who've been murdered by their tongues.
Unconscious people,
Who are murdered by their tongues.
These fools are equal,
Who will murder anyone with their wicked tongues.
Murdered by their tongues,
Some choose to begin to run...
To find their comfort,
And unencumbered by the numbers.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Prajapati or prajapita
Can potter ever slaughter?
His own work as creator
He is called father of mankind
And go on making shapes of different kind
He is also known as clay maker
Another name given for him as "prajapita"* or creator
As almighty creates entire human race
You may find with him pots of different shapes
Not all the pots survive
As not all the children live
In this world and meet the fate
Some may come early and some may come late
You will not find single person of same appearance
Even if found it will be one in million chance
You can never find identical nose and face
Where as there is limited scope to make it from base
How can we forget our own creator?
Who has given us everything as our real mentor?
If all his creations survive successfully
Then there won't be any place left to love peacefully
Many pots break during process
Many break while finding access
Yet some of them come out to find the world
Remind us of power that has been lying in his fold
Not only he is known for his creative work
But exclaimed for exemplary show pieces work
His hand moves without any measurement
To be precise and near to precision instrument
I love to praise his ability to shape
He has no thesis or roads on the map
It is purely human instinct to perfection
The art pieces speak of excellent action
* Prajapati or prajapita…. The father of human race
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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