Recipe For Happiness Khaborovsk Or Anyplace
One grand boulevard with trees
with one grand cafe in sun
with strong black coffee in very small cups.
One not necessarily very beautiful
man or woman who loves you.
One fine day.
Submitted by Britton
poem by Lawrence Ferlinghetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
My grand dad
I remember you grand dad
Back since I was only three
I remember you granddad
How much you adored me
I remember you grand dad
How you made me smile
I remember you grand dad
You made my toddler years worthwhile
I remember you grand dad
Your lovely smell of tobacco
I remember you grand dad
The love for others you would show
I remember you grand dad
When I came to see you, you would give me a jellybean
I remember you grand dad
You always made me feel like a queen
I remember you grand dad
And I miss you everyday
Give us that grand word ""woman"" once again, and let's have done with ""lady""; one's a term full of fine force, strong, beautiful, and firm, fit for the noblest use of tongue or pen; and one's a word for lackeys.
quote by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Coffee!
Coffee beans all ground up,
Coffee in my favourite cup,
Coffee black, coffee white,
Coffee dark, coffee light,
Coffee right, to start the day,
Coffee at work, coffee at play,
Coffee midday, coffee at night,
Coffee to sober, coffee to excite,
Coffee weak, coffee strong,
But maybe instead some Lapsang Souchong! ! ! !
TEA! ! ! ! !
poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Black Woman!
BEAUTIFUL BLACK WOMAN, YOUR SENSUOUS
SPLENDOR IS LIKE THE SHINING SUN YOUR
WONDROUS WAYS COME FROM YOUR SOUL
WHICH NO ONE MAN MAY HOPE TO CONTROL
BEAUTIFUL BLACK WOMAN, YOU ARE THE GUIDING
HOPE OF OUR PEOPLE
BEAUTIFUL BLACK WOMAN, YOUR MIND MAINTAINS
YOUR GLORIOUS POWER
BEAUTIFUL BLACK WOMAN, YOUR SPIRIT IS
LIKE A SHINING CHURCH TOWER WHICH POINTS THE
WAY TO HEAVEN ABOVE AND WHICH
SEEKS TO FIND TRUE LOVE
BEAUTIFUL BLACK WOMAN, YOU ARE THE GUIDING
HOPE OF OUR PEOPLE
BEAUTIFUL BLACK WOMAN, YOUR TIME IS LIKE A
PRECIOUS COMMODITY
BEAUTIFUL BLACK WOMAN, YOUR EBONY WILL IS
STRONG AND FREE SO TAKE YOUR PRECIOUS TIME
AND YOUR DETERMINED WILL AND USE THEM BOTH TO
EMPHASIZE WHAT YOU REALLY FEEL
BEAUTIFUL BLACK WOMAN, YOU ARE THE GUIDING HOPE
OF OUR PEOPLE
BEAUTIFUL BLACK WOMAN, IN YOU LIES OUR FUTURE!
poem by Samuel Newton
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Over His Latte.
He's only just sat down
in the cafe when she enters
and stands at the counter
waiting to be served. He lets
his latte settle. Allows his
eyes to scrutinize. The waitress
serves the woman in the white
hat and black dress. He notes
her fine figure, the low cut at
the neck, the thin straps over
shoulders. He tries to breathe
in from where he sits her perfume,
but it doesn't come. The woman
orders an espresso and says it
with an Italian accent. He follows
her with his eyes as she walks
to a table alone. She looks like a
girl Modigliani would have painted.
She looks at her watch and then
around the room of the cafe.
She crosses her legs, one over
the other, thigh revealed. He sips
his latte. Wipes his lips with the
back of his hand. Bad habit, mother
would have slapped his hand as a
child once. The waitress delivers
the woman's coffee; he notes the
waitress's fine behind, the hands
serving, the legs touching together.
Then she's gone. Just the woman
in the white hat to study. The way
she lifts the small white cup to her
mouth, her fingers holding delicately,
as if afraid to break. Get a life Brody
would say if he were there. But he's not;
he's away with that girl from the office,
having a lay. The woman in the hat
stares at him, her eyes devour, her lips
part like legs before sex. She looks boringly
away. He sips more latte. He doesn't like
her white hat or black dress anyway.
poem by Terry Collett
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Cafe Prague.
Cream coloured coffee
And hot buttered toast
August sunshine
A packet of cigarettes
Talks on love and life
Friends and strangers all together
Days of summer
Seated on outside chairs
Tears and laughter
Mixed in the air
Of the perfect day just us and them
Cafe pavements
The world at view
Paris, Rome and cafe Prague
Used coffee cups
And ashtrays too
Paris, Rome and cafe Prague
Trendy young girls
And the wannabe author
Auster, Adams and Mr. Salinger
Days of dreaming
The perfect film
In view for all to see
Hello, hello
So good to see you
Was it twelve?
Or maybe it was two
I’ll sit and wait
And think of you
Cafe pavements
For me and you
Pairs, Rome and cafe Prague
Dirty spoons and knives
And glasses too
Paris, Rome and cafe Prague
Teacups and Earl grey
And ice cream sundaes
Black and white life
In full technicolour
Light my cigarette
And I’ll listen all day
Sunshine days
Storm clouds - away
The table over there
Just a smiling man
For today - all alone
Waiting his time
Cafe pavements
The world today
Paris, Rome and cafe Prague
Beautiful Ladies
And business gents
Paris, Rome and Cafe Prague
Student cameras
And picture painting
Hollywood lifestyle
In the common street
Brando, Dean and Al Pacino
Next to you and me
See you later
Maybe tomorrow
Give me a ring
And we’ll make a date
I’ll sit and think
And wait for you
Cafe pavements
For meetings and lunch
Paris, Rome and cafe Prague
Perfect tables
And used up chairs
Paris, Rome and cafe Prague
poem by Patrick Sant
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Race
Our grand son Siluna has brought two cups home after winning in the school sports meet.
Congratulations Son!
At least you won.
Still I am running, your
Gray bearded Grand father
Never seen a cup.
Be strong my son as you have to jump over so many hurdles
in the race of hard life.
But I am sure that you have the sprint
And you take part all the events,
One day you bring the biggest cup home from the racecourse
The Mankind.
*Dedication to Alison, Sandra and Shani the three poetesses polished my scribblings.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Rutherford McDowell
They brought me ambrotypes
Of the old pioneers to enlarge.
And sometimes one sat for me—
Some one who was in being
When giant hands from the womb of the world
Tore the republic.
What was it in their eyes?—
For I could never fathom
That mystical pathos of drooped eyelids,
And the serene sorrow of their eyes.
It was like a pool of water,
Amid oak trees at the edge of a forest,
Where the leaves fall,
As you hear the crow of a cock
From a far-off farm house, seen near the hills
Where the third generation lives, and the strong men
And the strong women are gone and forgotten.
And these grand-children and great grand-children
Of the pioneers!
Truly did my camera record their faces, too,
With so much of the old strength gone,
And the old faith gone,
And the old mastery of life gone,
And the old courage gone,
Which labors and loves and suffers and sings
Under the sun!
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Loch Katrine
Beautiful Loch Katrine in all thy majesty so grand,
Oh! how charming and fascinating is thy silver strand!
Thou certainly art most lovely, and worthy to be seen,
Especially thy beautiful bay and shrubberies green.
Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
And as I gaze upon it, let me pause and think,
How many people in Glasgow of its water drink,
That's conveyed to them in pipes from its placid lake,
And are glad to get its water their thirst to slake.
Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
The mountains on either side of it are beautiful to be seen,
Likewise the steamers sailing on it with their clouds of steam:
And their shadows on its crystal waters as they pass along,
Is enough to make the tourist burst into song.
Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
'Tis beautiful to see its tiny wimpling rills,
And the placid Loch in the hollow of a circle of hills,
Glittering like silver in the sun's bright array,
Also many a promontory, little creek, and bay.
Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
Then to the east there's the finely wooded Ellen's Isle,
There the tourist can the tedious hours beguile,
As he gazes on its white gravelled beautiful bay,
It will help to drive dull care away.
Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
The mountains Ben-An and Ben-Venue are really very grand
Likewise the famous and clear silver strand;
Where the bold Rob Roy spent many a happy day,
With his faithful wife, near by its silvery bay.
Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Buckskin Bag of Gold
Last night I met him on the train--
A man with lovely eyes;
And he gave me a searching glance
Of sweet charm'd surprise!
I knew 'twas he the lady meant,
Who once my fortune told,
By his jet black eyes, his grand moustache,
And his buckskin bag of gold.
Yes! (Ha! ha!) Yes! (ha! ha!) his is the man
Who does your fortune hold!
He has jet black eyes, a grand moustache,
And a buckskin bag of gold.
Tall! (Ha! ha!) slim! (ha! ha!) quick as a flash!
And twenty two years old;
He has jet black eyes, his grand moustache,
And his buckskin bag of gold.
The dearest man you ever saw
How much I love him now!
And if I should live a thousand years,
No other hears my vow.
Like Judas--no, like Jupiter,
He look'd so brave and bold,
With his jet black eyes, his grand moustache,
And his buckskin bag of gold.
Sweet boy bring me the "Morning Call"
Perchance I'll find his name;
At the "Grand Hotel" he must have stopp'd,
I wonder when he came!
He must have charm'd those Lumpkin girls,
So haughty, proud and cold,
By his jet black eyes, his grand mousetache,
And his buckskin bag of gold.
How can I seek a name unknown?
Oh, tell me where he went!
What is this I read! why Papa's bank
Is robb'd of ev'ry cent!
The thief, it seems, left town last night,
Well, well! I'm nicely sold!
He had jet black eyes, his grand mousetache,
And his buckskin bag of gold.
poem by Henry Clay Work
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It's Grand
It's grand to be a squatter
And sit upon a post,
And watch your little ewes and lambs
A-giving up the ghost.
It's grand to be a "cockie"
With wife and kids to keep,
And find an all-wise Providence
Has mustered all your sheep.
It's grand to be a Western man,
With shovel in your hand,
To dig your little homestead out
From underneath the sand.
It's grand to be a shearer
Along the Darling-side,
And pluck the wool from stinking sheep
That some days since have died.
It's grand to be a rabbit
And breed till all is blue,
And then to die in heaps because
There's nothing left to chew.
It's grand to be a Minister
And travel like a swell,
And tell the Central District folk
To go to -- Inverell.
It's grand to be a socialist
And lead the bold array
That marches to prosperity
At seven bob a day.
It's grand to be unemployed
And lie in the Domain,
And wake up every second day --
And go to sleep again.
It's grand to borrow English tin
To pay for wharves and docks
And then to find it isn't in
The little money-box.
It's grand to be a democrat
And toady to the mob,
For fear that if you told the truth
They'd hunt you from your job.
It's grand to be a lot of things
In this fair Southern land,
But if the Lord would send us rain,
That would, indeed, be grand!
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Anna Lu King 1910/2001
O’ beautiful black queen…
The center of my dreams…
Enjoy your sleep…
It made me weep…
Yet in my heart you I keep…
And there you will live on…
O’ great queen…
You still watch over me…
And give me God’s favor, faith…
You’ve showed me how and what…
Is love…
Understanding how I was bad and made me see…
My good…
O’ beautiful black queen…Mother…
Of my Mother…
Woman of my second home…
A whole woman…
A woman with an iron fist…
And a heart of gold…
A God fearing woman…
Sleep…you sweet thang…
In my heart you will always…
Ring…
Making the whole of me sing…
I love you for the words…
You never spoke…
You my mothers, mother…
Twins in my world…
Blessed by God…
Sleep, sleep, sleep…
In heavenly peace…
While I thank you…
Dear woman…
For your daughter…
Who loves you and me…
Thank you grand mother…
For loving me…rest…
I feel you…I feel you watching over…
My shoulder…
Bless are you my sweet black queen…
For in my heart is where you still live…
With all my love, your loving grandson
Kwane Kenya Lamb…rest my sweet…
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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My Blacck Woman
Her hair is like the softest silk,
Her eyes are of deep ebony brown,
Yet her smile melts my inner soul,
She is my Black Woman!
The thick lips she posses are so pleasing;
Her touch is that of a goddess,
Her beauty is beautiful as diamond,
My Black Woman, also My Queen.
Though no one is truly perfect,
But in my eyes she is so fine,
My Black Woman everlasting….
For me there can be only her,
To stand by my side threw thick and thin,
Comfort me when I fail
To help me get back on my feet,
To believe in me when others doubt me,
She’s merely being herself….
Also my Black Woman.
A strong Black Woman she is indeed,
Also passionate with understanding as well,
This woman would never leave my side,
My lady, my friend for all times…
My Black Woman.
©2010 Redscar McOdindo K’Oyuga
poem by Redscar McOdindo K'Oyuga
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Beautiful Black Woman
Beautiful black woman,
What do you see?
I see an African Queen,
You deserve all the riches, Paradise, and the finer things.
Beautiful black woman,
What do you see?
I see a lady who has the sweetest smile and can handle the wild.
Beautiful black woman,
What do you see?
I see a woman who has the highest intelligence of all.
Beautiful black woman,
How about me?
poem by Tori A. Haynes
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Grand Illusion
I saw you in a dream, it hit me like a bright light
Flashing on a screen, visions of my whole life.
I used to chase the moment of desire
Back to when my young heart burned like a fire.
It was just a, nothing but a grand illusion.
Heart was quicker than the eye.
Nothing but a grand illusion,
Legend in my own mind.
I held you in my arms till the other side of midnight.
Kept you in my mind, you got me through some long nights.
Standing on the threshold of desire,
Caught between the madness and the fire.
Chorus
It was all a grand illusion.
Hand was quicker than the eye.
Nothing but a grand illusion,
Legends in our own minds.
I used to chase the moments of desire
Back to when my young heart burned like a fire.
It was just a, nothing but a, it was all a grand illusion.
Nothing but a grand illusion.
It was all a grand illusion,
Legend in my own mind.
It was just a grand illusion.
Nothing but a grand illusion.
It was just a grand illusion,
Legend in our own mind.
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grave who was my great grand ma
She was good woman she bring
us grace to the family
She was great friend and mom and sister
and great grand ma
She bought everyone in the family Grace
Grace was strong woman and nice and kind
and loving and caring and sweet
When she came in to our life she was
great in our life
She love me and everyone else when she
and ma say both love me
It was like Grace she bought me was in
my heart and soul
Grace was good woman and good person
who went to church
God needed my great grand ma to have things of
Grace be bring up their to everyone else like she
did here
God bought a good person in this world and to everyone
hearts Grace is my family and friend
Grace was strong and she was leader all of the family
She was great leader and good friend and family and
she was love and everyone will miss her and wish she
was still here with us
But Grace is with us and she live in us she a hero just
like my aunt is
We love Grace and my aunt and great grand pa and we
always will love these three strong people.
poem by Kristina Riggs
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Strong Black Woman
Baby, such a long life, my child
So many stories I have to tell you
Of slavery and of tragedy
Sit down and listen to my tales
Everybody thinks that the strong black woman died
No, she only stood back because she had not cried
She took a minute to rest. She cried. Her heart so heavy
But she’s back, baby. And child, she’s so pretty
I’m a strong black woman, and I am fighting
Don’t mess with me; I’ll leave your eyes shining
I give these children all the love they crave
I’ll beat away any energy that makes life grave
Hallelujah, the strong black woman still lives
Hallelujah, the strong black woman still gives
Hallelujah, can you feel the strength of her?
Hallelujah, this woman is one you can’t deter
Praise the lord’s name and speak in tongues
May all the strong black women live so long
I am a strong black woman, I am here
A strong black woman lives in my heart
Hallelujah, the black woman is so strong
Hallelujah, this has become my favorite song
Hallelujah, the strong black woman prospers
Hallelujah, she is no different than her brothers
The strong black woman never died, she lives
See, no matter what happens she always survives
I am here, I am a strong black woman, in disguise
And this newly strong black woman never dies
Praise the lord’s name the black woman is back
Now the world knows that we survive any attack
Give her all the suffering children or people in despair
Because the strong black woman will return them to air
The strong black woman was not lynched or killed
She gave herself a proud face and lived on so skilled
Praise the lord’s name and know that she lives on
Hallelujah, the strong black woman will never be gone
poem by German Alcala
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A view of the queue...............
I'm sitting outside a café
as my feet are killing me
from walking too much,
I've heavy bags and it's hot.
I watch a queue for Vue - Cinema,
they're showing Avatar.
The queue is getting longer
and people start to sweat.
A couple of guys down the front
start making whooping noises,
loudly, like they're apes.
I don't get it, at first,
but then I notice they're behind
a black man and they're
gesticulating to him.
I begin to feel uneasy.
The black man is big and stocky,
he ignores the thugs
but they won't stop.
People in the queue do nothing.
There's an old couple standing
next to the black guy.
The old lady starts to fidget,
she moves towards her husband.
The queue still does nothing
and the black guy stands stock still,
like a ship that's sailed into harbor
big and grand and masterful.
His invisible flag is flying high
and he stands there proud and firm.
The little old lady is still fidgeting
and the thugs are making ape noises.
The black man does nothing
and the queue does nothing.
Me, I watch from the café
and I do nothing, I'm scared.
People passing by start to gawp
start to stare and the queue does nothing
The little old lady starts to shake,
she's looking pale. She fidgets.
I get up from my seat in the café,
I will have to walk past the queue,
the thugs and the black guy.
Instead I walk right up to them.
I go up to the biggest thug,
say, "excuse me for interrupting".
Then I pick up my very large bag
and swipe his evil face with it.
I didn't know I had it in me,
I'm that sort of woman!
I'm shaking; He staggers back;
__________ and does nothing.
poem by Ruth Walters
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My taste of Life
I drink coffee seems it is my favorite wine,
How much I can enjoy until the end of my life?
How much I can keep for happiness as in my life?
When my life is going to be disappearing as a morning frost?
I am still worrying a thousand years’ later although,
There are a few grand children around me.
I could not see my grand children after a century,
But I worry about their fortune and children after my death.
poem by Albert Wong
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Rosebank
From the village of Rosebank the hills look so green
A beautiful country as fine as i've seen
A gem of the mountains on the higher ground
Is this quiet little village with hills all around.
In the Green Frog cafe i go back in time
A bard of the old school sat crafting his rhyme
His long hair and long beard seemed whiter than gray
And he sat in the cafe and wrote every day.
In the 'Green Frog' each morning for an hour or two
He sipped his coffee looking out on the view
He took in the beauty it came out in words
The green of the woods and the songs of the birds.
He sat in the cafe this maker of song
And sipped on his coffee and he thought hard and long
And he gazed on those mountains and song to him came
And he died old and poor though he lives on in fame.
And though the bard for long years has now lain with the dead
His verses survive and by many still read
And the mountains of Rosebank that gave him his rhyme
Are still green as ever unfaded by time.
poem by Francis Duggan
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