Prose Poetics-9
Stealing flowers
Without the plant
Itself knowing...
I've seen it
Happening in
Many independent
Houses here
Even the respectable do
Jogging, walking, stealing
In early dawn-hours
So too many common folks
Surprisingly it's a shock
Occuring even in 'apartments'
The whole horticulture is stolen
None other than
The blind watchman is supporting
I heard it's common
In apartments everywhere
'So what' you ask?
Just my agony..
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Related quotes
Stealing Rosemary
If you need me
Ill be here
On my knees
On my knees
In the neighbors garden
Where the light is growing long
Stealing rosemary for you, my love
Its the tiny lies I tell
For you to please
You to please
Early in the morning
When the light is growing strong
Stealing rosemary for you, my love
Im stealing rosemary
Flowers crushing on my skin
Tuscan blue
All for you
Caught in rain and running
Home to you
Im coming home
Stealing rosemary for you, my love
Im stealing rosemary for you, my love
Stealing rosemary
song performed by by Bangles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fairy Song
We the fairies blithe and antic,
Of Dimensions not gigantic,
Though the moonshine mostly keep us,
Oft in orchards frisk and peep us,
Stolen sweets are always sweeter;
Stolen kisses much completer;
Stolen looks are nice in chapels;
Stolen, stolen be your apples.
When to bed the world are bobbing,
Then's the time to go orchard robbing;
Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling
Were it not for stealing, stealing.
poem by Thomas Randolph
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Song of Fairies Robbing an Orchard
We, the Fairies, blithe and antic,
Of dimensions not gigantic,
Though the moonshine mostly keep us,
Oft in orchards frisk and peep us.
Stolen sweets are always sweeter,
Stolen kisses much completer,
Stolen looks are nice in chapels,
Stolen, stolen, be your apples.
When to bed the world are bobbing,
Then's the time for orchard-robbing;
Yet the fruit were scarce worth peeling,
Were it not for stealing, stealing.
poem by James Henry Leigh Hunt
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Time crimes
She drove as I fiddled with the radio.
I was stealing looks at her,
young, fresh, clean.
and oh my god her cleavage was hypnotizing.
Her eyes had the same sorrow as mine.
The wounded,
they know each other when they see each other
instinctively.
Like 2 sick junkies passing each other on the street.
They can just TELL.
You can see the emptiness where something or someone use to be.
Spending time with her was like stealing from death.
It was time taken out of time.
She, young and beautiful,
Once she held my corpse and said
'We are the same, you and I'.
I laughed,
A harsh,
mean, laugh that said
'You're right, we are. But that's none of your business'.
She sat on the grass
legs out stretched,
I would lie my head on her thighs.
She looked down at me and sweetly said
'Do you love me a little? '
A line from a film I had intrduced her to.
I answered with:
'What time is it? '
It was all time out of time.
Time stolen from the jaws of death
The death that nibbles away the hours,
the minutes,
the seconds of our lives so slowly we rarely even notice.
Laying there,
in the grass,
in the park,
we were co-conspiritors
stealing time from time
stealing it from death itself.
Stealing time from each other.
Such a fine line,
it occurs to me as I write this
between 'stealing' and 'wasting' sometimes.
-----30----------
poem by Brevet Wilson
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Woman Has A Role
Stealing is gainful but is bad in law.
Stealing one’s wife is worse and harsh in blow.
Unlike the stolen things, which are mute,
Women in adultery have a role to play.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Where people live in the concrete jungle
Where people live in the concrete jungle
with apartments as their property
and no one knows of grass or flowers
or any natural life source
lorries drive the whole time with ton upon ton
of rocks and sand to construction sites that amazes.
Where people live in the concrete jungle
with apartments as their property
they see nothing of nature from their balconies
while just more and more arrives in the city,
disguised from the essence of existence,
with only the charm of the rays of the sun,
where people live in the concrete jungle.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter CXV: Common Thing
It’s not a kindness of heart
It’s not strong solidarity
It’s just a common thing
It’s not local wisdom
It’s not old tradition
It’s just a common thing
It’s not call of duty
It’s not sense of right
It’s just a common thing
It’s not formal greeting
It’s not automatic response
It’s just a common thing
It’s not a matter of guessing
It’s not a part of instinct
It’s just a common thing
It’s not natural reaction
It’s not act of compassion
It’s just a common thing
It’s not regular news
It’s not lack of awareness
It’s just a common thing
It’s not general knowledge
It’s not piece of memory
It’s just a common thing
It’s not statistic range
It’s not operational standard
It’s just a common thing
It’s not moral excuses
It’s not people ignorance
It’s just a common thing
It’s not public secret
It’s not rhetoric question
It’s just a common thing
It’s not different mindset
It’s not basic solution
It’s just a common thing
It’s not absolute law
It’s not blind obedience
It’s just a common thing
It’s not sweet revenge
It’s not getting even
It’s just a common thing
It’s not constant worry
It’s not planted fear
It’s just a common thing
It’s not usual bickering
It’s not daily fight
It’s just a common thing
It’s not die hard habit
It’s not strange behavior
It’s just a common thing
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Conscience Pricks First Time
The maiden stealing makes me shy.
Stealing tenth time from home,
I don’t feel that I am stealing.
Conscience pricks me the first time.
(17.03.2011)
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Three Men Walking
Three men walking
Along the roadside
One after another
Wearing weird caps
In the dark
The town asleep
Some traffic
Street lights
And cold
Silhouettes
Trees
Roots whirling
Some visible others hiding
Some past events
The three men
Talking to themselves
And to each other too
Smell of hey
Some old friends
The three men
Still walking
One after another
A young boy
Runs past
All covered up
Without socks
A cat with long tail
And a dog
Waiting for something to eat
Common cause
The boy
Collects rotten fruit
In a bag
Whose cause?
The three men walking
A young girl
Beaten
Cries
Selling flowers
A man with a gun
A watchman
Destroys her flowers
Water
Red colored
And black too
Going down a small stream
Blood is red
And water black
The three men
Further, into the darkness of the streets
Their caps
Water enters the shoes
Cold water
And black water
And then into the restaurant
The three men
With weird caps
Some people in the restaurant
Long faced small faced
Tired and worried
The three men
Looking from above a cabin
Some boys
And burgers
Water and tea
A common cause
poem by Sadiqullah Khan
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Begotten
No stealing is allowed when you meet him,
The son of his is condemned for being him.
A thief is excellent due to poor health,
But when he is begotten, the wealth is contrived.
One is amazed by the flute of freedom,
Singing like itself with profuse melody;
The begotten son amazes me when not stolen
Like the sound so erred by those insignificant ones.
The stealing of the piccolo deserves mention,
One talked to the highness of some. The ones
Who rule shall gain a wonder, from all this bounty.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Order in the animal kingdom
Have you ever heard of a sheep-
that was a police officer?
arresting a lone wolf
for committing a murder
have you ever heard of a cow
that was a judge?
sentencing a pig
for stealing chocolate fudge
have you ever heard of an eagle-
that was a president?
flying above his subjects
watching over his residents
have you ever heard of a lion-
that was a wise king?
sitting on his majestic throne
looking after his surroundings
have you ever heard of a gorilla-
that was a government official?
serving for the common order
of the animal kingdom
have you ever heard of a monkey-
that was a published author?
writting in the news column
about this prevailing disorder
i've never seen any of that
thats why i say theres no order-
in the animal world,
and yet
they seem to have more order
than us humans...
ironic really
poem by Allen Steble
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Democracy is zera
Democracy is zero
Common man is hero.
Common man is called
Janata janardan
Common man is called
Nara narayan.
Common man is omnipresent
Common man is Omniscient
Common man is omnipotent.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Stolen From The Sun
The light in our hearts,
Is stolen from the moon
Scarred thorough with the marks
Of failing attempts to woo
Seeking for love,
Rising again
Fleeing like a dove
Yet returning like a friend
Stolen from the sun
Our joyous days are
But for eternal light
You’ll have to seek far
Seeking that peace,
The bliss given to few
All the pain would cease,
Without me giving it to you
Stealing from the stars
Stealing their eternal light
Hiding our scars
Praying for what might
Praying for what might be
Praying for what we’ve sought to seek
The light in our hearts,
Is stolen like the moon
Scarred thorough with the marks
Of failed attempts to woo
poem by Timothy Weiermann
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No people is wholly civilized where a distinction is drawn between stealing an office and stealing a purse.
quote by Theodore Roosevelt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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And the whole thing is that you're treated like a step-child. Here it was down here, everything in the black, because they were stealing, basically. Stealing from us old country boys down here.
quote by Waylon Jennings
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What It Takes to Lead
Can one completely lost of wit,
Be held accountable...
For not having an independent thought,
At all.
Everyone born...
Isn't always guaranteed,
Common sense.
And those ignorantly involved in 'their' nonsense,
Have not a clue they are not well.
Even a barrage of thrown hints,
Would go left unaddressed.
Those folks are focused on their greed.
With a twisted ego to keep them fixed.
Can one completely lost of wit,
Be held accountable...
For not having an independent thought,
At all.
'Good question.
I can't answer it.
The next one plays basketball.
And his wife takes no nonsense.
I think we all are in for quite a surprise.
These new folks are totally awake!
And they know what it takes to lead! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Name of the game...life.. destiny...fate
Big ol’ houses…
lil’ studio apartments
Limousines
Little bitty Kia cars
Haute cuisine
Beans and weenies
Back porch people
Movie stars
Caviar
Microwave popcorn
Same pleasures,
Different name
From Cars to culture…
food or fame
From samovars…or mason jars
...The coffee’s still the same...
poem by David Whalen
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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part I: To Manon: XIII
HE DARES NOT DIE
Four hours by the clock! How strange it is! Four hours
Since love and life, the future and the past,
Died with the shutting of these silent doors,
And thought became to me one purpose vast.
I have not moved from where she sat. The cast
Of her fingers on this cushion lightly scores
Its surface still; and still I hear the last
Tones of her laughter, and here lie her flowers.
Poor flowers! The ugliness of grief has wrought
Your change already. No besotted bloom
Of a false dawn has lured you to base life.
You at the pinch were brave and trifled not,
Going ungrudging to our common doom.
And I? Ah God! I have not faced the knife!
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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The Lucky Break
The young Russian, who had ended up on the shores of Algarve,
was drunk, poor and miserable. He offered people to help unload
trolleys into cars, few wanted him to do so as he was a big man
and looked threatening. Cold shoulders of contempt, yes he did
noticed it ok and every arrow of rejection found its mark.
He approached me I gave him enough money to buy a litre of
wine. A litre of wine would bring some relief he would be able to
sleep for a few hours, but knew he would wake up at dawn, feel
wretched and ashamed full of hopelessness and thinking how to
escape this misery that only drink could assuage for a few hours.
Once I was drunk, skint and far from home, I went into a church
for warmth, found a big money note on the floor I put it in
the collection box and cursed. Hell it I could not take the note
back it would look like a theft. I don’t know what I feared the most
stealing or being caught stealing. The day after I got a job, no it
didn’t make me religious, but it made me appreciate the element
of luck in life.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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And, you know, the fact is, if you believe in evolution, we all have a common ancestor, and we all have a common ancestry with the plant in the lobby. This is what evolution tells us. And, it's true. It's kind of unbelievable.
quote by Jeff Hawkins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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