Time...
time
drills
into me
like a screw
inching into me
relentlessly
a trail of frayed edges
as it teaches me
to value him
like the tickler
mother has used
that leave behind
time-capsuled
wam memories
drill, drill, drill
drill into me
with your magic
giving me
your magic
in the form of
mother, brother, sister,
friend, heroes and heroines
as i try to keep up
with your adventure
both in and out
time runs, runs, runs
never waits for me
even when i'm
six feet underground
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Related quotes
Drill Baby Drill
DRILL BABY DRILL
“Oh-oh say can you see”
Any beach-sand oil free
This pollution debris
A gift from corporate B P
DRILL BABY DRILL
This sea-borne disaster
Oil hardened like plaster
Needs a plug-the-leak master
To stop the oil gushing faster
DRILL BABY DRILL
Beautiful pelican creatures
Once with beautiful winged features
Now bogged down in oily slime
No longer enjoy their flying time
DRILL BABY DRILL
B P drilling for profits and dividends
Caused havoc with too many of natures friends
Along with much of the seafaring life
Who share the pelicans’ oily strife
DRILL BABY DRILL
The Gulf of Mexico now in distress
Is due to B P’s preventable oil laden mess
We’ve only one planet so we better beware
No more DRILL BABY DRILL-give Earth its due care
poem by Stanley Cooper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The fact is that we cannot drill our way to independence. We cannot drill our way to freedom, and we cannot drill our way to create jobs in this country.
quote by Jay Inslee
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Drill
WHEN day's hard task's done,
Eve's scant meal partaken,
Out we steal each one,
Weariless, unshaken.
In small reeking squares,
Garbaged plots, we gather,
Little knots and pairs,
Brother, sister, father.
Then the Word is given.
In their silent places
Under lowering heaven,
Range our stern-set faces.
Now we march and wheel
In our clumsy line,
Shouldering sticks for steel,
Thoughts bitter as brine!
Drill, drill, drill, and drill!
It is only thus
Conquer yet we will
Those who've conquered us.
Patience, sisters, mothers!
We must not forget
Foiled dead fathers, brothers;
They must teach us yet.
In that Hour we see,
The Hour of our Desire,
What shall their slayers be?
As the stubble to the fire!
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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Lines on London
They once in wilderness did ride
On beast with horn and shaggy hide-
A savage goat or unicorn,
But now parade in uniform ;
As gay as ancient Knight or Lord,
With their grand plumes, and belt and swords.
Their graceful movements at their drill
Doth all with admiration fill,
And the chief glory it was won
By the encampment of London ;
For they at every tournament
For drill are the chief ornament.
So skillfully they sword do wield,
Victorious on every field ;
For victory's graven on their shield
Doth make their rivals for to yield ;
Drill companies they out maneuver
From Newfoundland to Vancouver.
poem by James McIntyre
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Staff Meeting at Auschwitz
We dare not tell
the Fuehrer that
we failed to get
the rabbi's wife
to tell us where
the rabbi is so
now we have to
call the plumber.
Tell Old Franz
to bring his drill.
He has a way
with women.
Old Franz
will have to
rod this lady out
so we can ask her
once again
where the rabbi is
and if she still
won't tell us
Franz will have to
rod her out again.
Remember Mrs. Stein,
zaftig in her dirndl?
She wouldn't tell us
where the cantor
and his wife were
hiding till she saw
Old Franz's drill
and then she told us
where they were
and we found 30 more
silent in the attic.
If Mrs. Stein were
still alive, she'd tell
the rabbi's wife
about the drill
and that would
be enough to save
Old Franz a trip.
He's getting weary.
He had to use
a cane the night
he came to call
on Mrs. Stein.
poem by Donal Mahoney
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Australia
I SEE a Land of desperate droughts and floods:
I see a land where Need keeps spreading round,
And all but giants perish in the stress:
I see a Land where more, and more, and more
The demons, Earth and Wealth, grow bloat and strong.
I see a Land that lies a helpless prey
To wealthy cliques and gamblers and their slaves,
The huckster politicians: a poor Land
That less and less can make her heart-wish law.
Yea, but I see a Land where some few brave
Raise clear eyes to the struggle that must come,
Reaching firm hands to draw the doubters in,
Preaching the gospel: 'Drill and drill and drill!'
Yea, but I see a Land where best of all
The hope of Victory burns strong and bright!
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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Cavity Search
Listenin to the muzak
Hearin people scream
Sittin in the waiting room
Readin crappy magazines
With a toothache
This is it, pal
Root canal
My molars are impacted
Im gettin gum disease
Im gonna need some fillings
Got twelve cavities
Can you help me
Have mercy
Doctor, please
My teeth are a fright
Got a huge overbite
Numb me, drill me
Floss me, bill me
You jab at my nerve endings
Its driving me insane
Just give me nitrous oxide
Shoot me up with novocaine
Help me out here
cause Im in severe
Pain
Please stop for a bit
Now let me rinse and spit
Numb me, drill me
Floss me, bill me
You validate my parking
I think that Im okay
But you my one more appointment for
A week from saturday
cause you came upon
A little problem on
My x-ray
Oy vey!
Its getting absurd
Well, I hope Im insured, now
Numb me, drill me
Floss me, bill me
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nostril Noise
Do you not know...
you can also operate
on the nose u know...
to eradicate
that irritating
nostril noise
those thunderous claps
those cloudbursts of buzz saws
those bewailing banshee cries
those sirens ill sung upon pillow rocks
where only softly lapping waves should lull
where only silver sands of sleep should fall
where only waterfalls of dream love should flow
where only whispered pillow talk should soft caress
take out the liberating knife by all means...
a practiced cure is open heart surgery
for that feeble failing ailing heart...
but while he is asleep upon the table
and opportunity comes medically a knocking
drill out that boisterous problem fog horn nose
drill clear hose bent unruly problem passages
drill clear that insidious nostril night disorder
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Peacekeeper
We make all of our suns the same
Every one will suffer the fire weve made
They all explode just the same
And theres no going back on the plans weve made
Peacekeeper take your time
Wait for the dark of night
Soon all the suns will rise
Peacekeeper dont tell why
Dont be afraid to fight
Love is the sweet surprise
Only creatures who are on their way
Ever poison their own well
But we still have time to hate
And theres still something we can sell
Chorus
When the night is cold and still
When you thought youd had your fill
Take all the time you will
This is not a test, its not a drill
Take no prisoners, only kill
You know all of our friends are gods
And they all tell us how to paint our face
But theres only one brush we need
Its the one that never leaves a trace
Chorus
When the night is cold and still
When you thought youd had your fill
This is not a test, its not a drill
Take no prisoners, only kill
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Scream
Relax, I only just want to drill a little,
And this silver tube will remove the spittle,
Then your mouth will feel nice and dry,
Ready for me to quickly try,
To tackle your damaged top side molar,
Yes, I will Inject it, to make if a 'polar
Region', nice and frozen, so you won't feel
A thing. Now there's no need to squeal
When I mend your tooth which you have broken.
GOSH! What a scream, you must have woken
Everyone within a radius of a mile,
Now don't you go and start to pile
On the agony, which isn't there,
I've only a few minutes to spare.
My other appointments are due, but I'm willing
To sort out your tooth by doing a filling,
Which is only using my drill and a bit of paste,
Now what is this, what's all the haste,
You can't just leave with the job not done,
You don't just jump up and start to run.
Your yelling has caused total chaos, in fact
The consequence is, it has had such an impact,
It's cleared my 'waiting room' the patients have left,
And it has left me all bereft.
Your filling has made me lose my cool,
Which is totally against the rule.
So if when next time your tooth you crack.
DON'T COME BACK! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Karma
I drop a stone into the ocean
Every choice another turn of the screw
Another wheel set in motion
With every single thing I do
Its there in the air that I breathe
Its in my whisper and scream
Inside everything I believe
And its all gonna come around someday
As the smallest stream runs to a river
And every river runs to the sea
So every little bit of love I give to another
You know that I believe it comes back to me
There is no absolution whether Im the garden or the rose
If I aint part of the solution, yeah you know how that goes
You can always leave but you bring it all back home someday
As the smallest stream runs to a river
And every river runs to the sea
So every little bit of love I give to another
You know that I believe it comes back to me
Every single thing I say, everyone that I betray
Any love that I take when I do not make it in return
Every thing I do and every time Ive been unfaithful too
All the things that I believe are lessons I must learn
As the smallest stream runs to a river
And every river runs to the sea
So every little bit of love I give to another
You know that I believe it comes back to me
As the smallest stream runs to a river
And every river runs to the sea
So every little bit of love I give to another
You know that I believe it comes back to me
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Drill instructors worked seven days a week, fifteen to seventeen hours a day in many cases, with no time off in between platoons.
quote by R. Lee Ermey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shi
Test bed,
Test ban,
Test drive,
Test case;
And like Shi your lovely friend,
But the magic pill is all that you need.
Fill, ill, will, till, pill, kill, drill, trill, rill;
use the mouse to satisfy the muse of your love!
Bill, quill, grill, gill, hill, mill, Jill, still;
For this work is needed by Shi your lovely friend.
Mouse, blouse, louse, house, arouse, souse, grouse, rouse!
For this love is like the muse of a beautiful flower;
But Shi your friend still waits for you outside.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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For A Lady Who Must Write Verse
Unto seventy years and seven,
Hide your double birthright well-
You, that are the brat of Heaven
And the pampered heir to Hell.
Let your rhymes be tinsel treasures,
Strung and seen and thrown aside.
Drill your apt and docile measures
Sternly as you drill your pride.
Show your quick, alarming skill in
Tidy mockeries of art;
Never, never dip your quill in
Ink that rushes from your heart.
When your pain must come to paper,
See it dust, before the day;
Let your night-light curl and caper,
Let it lick the words away.
Never print, poor child, a lay on
Love and tears and anguishing,
Lest a cooled, benignant Phaon
Murmur, "Silly little thing!"
poem by Dorothy Parker
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Pain runs through my body
Pain runs through my body, and I don't need anymore.
Pain runs through my body, so leave me alone you whore.
Pain runs through my blood, as I start to bleed.
Pain runs through my body, and love is what I need.
Pain runs through my body, everyday of my life.
Pain runs through my body, as I pick up the knife.
Pain runs through my body, as I put it through my chest.
Pain runs through my body and I think you know the rest.
poem by Ari Castillo
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To The Sons Of Labour
GRAVE this deep in your hearts,
Forget not the tale of the past!
Never, never believe
That any will help you, or can,
Saving only Yourselves!
What have the Gentlemen done,
Peerless haters of wrong,
Byrons and Shelleys, what?
They stand great famous Names,
Demi-gods to their own,
Shadows far off, alien
To us and ours for ever.
Those who love them and hate
The crime, the injustice they hated,
What can they do but shout,
Win a name from our woes,
And leave us just as we were?
No, but resolutely turned,
Our wants, our desires made clear,
And clear the means that shall win them,
Drill and drill and drill!
Then when the day is come,
When the royal battleflag's up,
When blood has been spilled in vain
In timid half-hearted war,
Then let the Cromwell rise,
The simple, the true-souled Man;
Then let Grant come forth,
The calm, the determined Comrade,
But deep in their hearts one hate,
Deep in their souls one thought,
To bring the Iniquity low,
To make the People free!
Ah, for such as these,
We with the same heart-hate,
We with the same soul-thought,
Will fall to our destined places
In the ranks of the Great New Model,
In the Army that sees ahead
Marston, Naseby, Whitehall, The Wilderness, Petersburg — yes,
But beyond the blood and the smoke,
Beyond the struggle and death,
The Union victorious safe,
The Commonwealth glorious free!
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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From: War Is Kind
Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind.
Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky
And the affrighted steed ran on alone,
Do not weep.
War is kind.
Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment,
Little souls who thirst for fight,
These men were born to drill and die.
The unexplained glory flies above them,
Great is the battle-god, great, and his kingdom -
A field where a thousand corpses lie.
Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.
Because your father tumbled in the yellow trenches,
Raged at his breast, gulped and died,
Do not weep.
War is kind.
Swift blazing flag of the regiment,
Eagle with crest of red and gold,
These men were born to drill and die.
Point for them the virtue of slaughter,
Make plain to them the excellence of killing
And a field where a thousand corpses lie.
Mother whose heart hung humble as a button
On the bright splendid shroud of your son,
Do not weep.
War is kind.
poem by Stephen Crane
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind
Do not weep, maiden, for war is kind.
Because your lover threw wild hands toward the sky
And the affrighted steed ran on alone,
Do not weep.
War is kind.
Hoarse, booming drums of the regiment,
Little souls who thirst for fight,
These men were born to drill and die.
The unexplained glory flies above them,
Great is the battle-god, great, and his kingdom --
A field where a thousand corpses lie.
Do not weep, babe, for war is kind.
Because your father tumbled in the yellow trenches,
Raged at his breast, gulped and died,
Do not weep.
War is kind.
Swift blazing flag of the regiment,
Eagle with crest of red and gold,
These men were born to drill and die.
Point for them the virtue of slaughter,
Make plain to them the excellence of killing
And a field where a thousand corpses lie.
Mother whose heart hung humble as a button
On the bright splendid shroud of your son,
Do not weep.
War is kind.
poem by Stephen Crane
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When The Money Runs Out/Another Poem Will Not Save Me
When the money runs out
Another poem will not save me-
When the money runs out
The poems will be a bit less poetic-
They will seem more meaningless-
All the years of writing them
Will seem more a waste and an indulgence-
When the money runs out
And I am working or trying to work
For not enough money
And guilty at being in debt
And frightened at not being able to pay on time
The poems will seem another kind of thing entirely
And I will wonder how I could have once given so much time to something
That does not make a cent-
When the money runs out
The poetry may run out with it
I will be the slave of small sums
And have lost my time and dedication
To what I have loved most.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The tears that I cry are not yours
I am not your friend who tried
to kill you last night
I am not you friend who mustanize
and try to get intimacy
I am not your friend who killed you
your father, then came back home with a gun on my face
I am not your friend
who is your friend
then your friend
what is a friend
when you have a friend
then a friend who is my friend
when I have a friend
The tears that I cry are not yours
I have never had a friend
like my mother
I have never had a friend
like my father
I have never had a friend
like my brother
my sister, she hates me
as much as I hate her
The tears that I cry are not yours
who is she to take off
her clothes in the middle of
the street and say the door will
be closed in the next fifteen minutes round
The tears that I cry are not yours
‘she my mother, my mother who cries
every time she thinks of
me’
you are my sister
but you were my sister
when my sister was born
The tears that I cry are not yours
every time I see her
I am happy
for she knows what it means to…
‘she used to come home to me
and say poy I have something for you to eat
don’t tell anyone
The tears that I cry are not yours’
poem by Amos Motlanthe
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