Here We Go, Again!
Speak up I can't hear you,
With those mumbles done.
Do you seek my attention,
With those mumbles done.
And why is it you whisper,
With those mumbles done.
What is it that you're hiding...
And,
Who is it from.
What is it that you're hiding...
And,
Who is it from.
Speak up I can't hear you,
With those mumbles done.
Do you seek my attention,
With those mumbles done.
And why is it you whisper,
With those mumbles done.
What is it that you're hiding...
And,
Who is it from.
What is it that you're hiding...
And,
Who is it from.
You are getting on my nerves,
With those mumbles done.
Do you expect to be heard,
With those mumbles done.
Are you on the run,
With those mumbles done.
And if you're on the run,
Who is it from?
That marbled gobble sounds like garble.
With no listening done.
That marbled gobble sounds like garble.
With no listening done.
That marbled gobble sounds like garble.
With no listening done.
And I wont be the one to strain,
For what comes.
Here we go,
Again!
Speak up.
Speak out.
Here we go,
Again!
Speak up.
Speak out.
Here we go,
Again!
Speak up.
Speak out.
Here we go,
Again...
Speak up I can't hear you,
With those mumbles done.
Do you seek my attention,
With those mumbles done.
And why is it you whisper,
With those mumbles done.
What is it that you're hiding...
And,
Who is it from.
That marbled gobble sounds like garble.
With no listening done.
That marbled gobble sounds like garble.
With no listening done.
That marbled gobble sounds like garble.
With no listening done.
And I wont be the one to strain,
For what comes.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Lightening Strikes!
Cloudy are my eyes that weep.
In me is the storm.
Rainfall drips to dry.
And the thunder...
Mumbles on.
Lightening strikes!
Stripping fast to flash,
Before the lights go out.
Rainfall drips to dry.
And the thunder mumbles on.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What He Say
Ive seen many countries
Argue about human lives
But one thing that stays the same is
The clubs are always full at night
Pick out any far-out place
Like kenya or swaziland
Doesnt matter what the place
Theyll still be dancing to the band
(mumble mumble jumble)
(garble warble farble)
(mumble mumble jumble)
(garble warble farble)
(mumble mumble jumble) what he say?
(garble warble farble)
(mumble mumble jumble) what he say?
(garble warble farble) lets dance!
Say youve found a homeland? (move to it, move to it)
Say youve found a clubland? (get to it, get to it)
Now youve got a song? (groove to it, groove to it)
Got to find a partner (just get to it, get to it)
(mumble mumble jumble)
(garble warble farble)
(mumble mumble jumble)
(garble warble farble)
(mumble mumble jumble) what he say?
(garble warble farble)
(mumble mumble jumble) what he say?
(garble warble farble) lets dance!
Lets dance!
Ive seen many a race of people
Argue many things before
But there is one language that
Gets you understood for sure
Not a language of the mouth
Its only for the feet
Grab a russian by the hands
And he will feel the need
Thats right!
(mumble mumble jumble)
(garble warble farble)
(mumble mumble jumble)
(garble warble farble)
(mumble mumble jumble) what he say?
(garble warble farble)
(mumble mumble jumble) what he say?
(garble warble farble) lets dance!
Lets dance!
song performed by by Ministry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I watch and listen to movies today and am shocked by the way actors deliver their lines. Everybody mumbles now and I don't understand why.
quote by Maureen O'Hara
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Are You Listening
Are you listening to my words
When I say them
Do you hear me when I need you most
Sometimes I feel like you not listening
Are you deaf?
Am i not speaking clear?
If I clear my throat and speak louder
Are you listening to me
Do you hear the words from my mouth
Is my voice to low?
Maybe if I speak louder maybe even scream it
Are you listening
poem by Raesheka Antwine
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A Christmas Turkey
It's Gobble, gobble, gobble
A very tasty meal.
quote by by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Old Pete Parraday
Old Pete Paraday, his mind works very slow;
But, when it fastens on a thoughts, he will not let it go.
He measures it and mumbles it until an answer comes,
Just as he mumbles bits and scraps between his toothless gums.
'I likes to think a bit,' says he. 'An', thinkin', by and large
On these 'ere modrun fashions like, 'as fairly riz me garge.'
Old Pete Paraday, he thinks the joke is rich;
''Cen-TEN-ary! Cen-TEEN-ary!' Did ever you 'ear sich?
I never knowed the like,' says he: 'sich argymints as those.
The proper word is 'Century,' as any scholard knows.
An', when I makes my century, come seven year ahead,
I'll have you call it 'Century,' an' nothin' else instead.'
Old Pete Paraday, he cackles in high glee.
''Cen-TEN-ary! Cen-TEEN-ary!' Ho, lahdidah!' says he.
''Tis these 'ere modrun misses is to blame for all sich rot.
They paints their lips and plucks their brows an' thinks they knows a lot.
But I weren't hatched but yesterdee; an', sure as you're alive,
I knows,' says old Pete Paraday, 'how many beans make five.'
Says old Pete Paraday: 'I've thought it up an' down,
An' back an' front an' crossways, an' likewise roun' an' round'.
The proper word is 'Century,' an' means one hundred years.
'Cen-TEN-ary! Cen-TEEN-ARY!' They fair gits in yer ears!
So when I reach my century, you call it just that way;
An' none of your noo-fangled stuff,' says old Pete Paraday.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Speak With Kindness (Or Do Not Speak At All)
speak with kindness,
or do not speak at all.
speak not of judgement,
you are not the judge.
speak not of salvation,
let your living be your scriptures.
speak not of scriptures,
let your actions be your holy book.
speak not as apostle or teacher,
speak as a human being.
speak not of god,
then god will speak through you!
speak not as a man,
for you are woman too.
speak not with hateful malice,
for love does not work that way.
speak not as a prophet or seer,
speak as compassion made flesh.
speak not of morality,
speak of connection.
speak not of authority,
the tree and the leaf have just as much.
speak not of holiness,
for all that lives be holy.
speak with kindness...
or do not speak at all!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Pitch Black
You awake from a nightmare
and find the room pitch black
You notice your not on a bed
instead, a cold slab of concrete
Where am I you think
you try to move your legs
But their chained to the concrete
you begin to panic
Outside, you hear children laughing
you think of your own, and start to cry
You hear footsteps pounding up stairs
you yank the chain, hoping it would break
Something hard hits what could be a door
you stop yanking the chain to listen
You hear two voices behind the assumed door, Males
their planning something but you cant understand
Your hear a squeak, sounds like a door knob
you wait and see a line of light
A dark figure stands in the light
but his shadow blocks his face
Your heart beats faster, the room gets hotter
you feel your hands about to shake
He mumbles something as he drags in an unkown figure
the light turns on, and you see what it is
poem by Cree Stewart
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On a fateful day, an unlucky time
On a fateful day, an unlucky time,
Unannounced, it may happen thus:
Stifling, blacker still than a monastery
Utter madness descends on us.
Bitter frost. The night, as a decency,
Is observing the icy cold.
In an armchair, the ghost mumbles on and on,
Still the same, in his winter coat.
And the branch outside, and the parquet floor,
And his cheek, and the poker's shade-
All are shot with repentance and sleepiness
Of the blizzard that raved night and day.
Now the night is calm. Bright and frosty night.
Like a puppy suckling, still blind,
With the whole of their darkness-the palisade
Drinks the sparkle of stars through the pines.
Seems-it drips from them. Seems they're glimmering.
Seems-the night is brimming with wax
And the pad of one fir warms another pad
And one hollow traces the next.
Seems-this stillness, this height's an elegiac wave,
A concern of a soul for a mind,
The expectancy after an anxious 'respond'!
Or an echo of different kind.
Seems it's dumb, this enquiring of needles and trees.
And the height is too deaf or too blue,
And the shine on the frozen swerve of the road's
A reply to that pleading 'Helloooo…'
Bitter frost. The night, as a decency,
Is observing the icy cold.
In his armchair the ghost mumbles endlessly,
Still the same, in his winter coat-
Oh-his lips-he is squeezing them horribly!
Face in hands-shaking-ready to choke!
Whirls of clues for the gifted biographer
In this pattern, as dead as chalk.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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0013 And, Friend...
and if you wonder, friend, why I begin
a poem thus – you are to understand
that it’s as if
we have been close friends all our life,
friends, as Kabir defined a friend
as if no-one ever tried to speak of friend before –
friends, who share the silences between their words
as much as sharing their most inward thoughts;
so, our conversation’s just as much
a continuation of our friendship,
wasting no time in speaking passing things,
sharing some new thought in turn
and asking more for listening
than easy agreement for politeness’ sake;
for, we’re listening to the allness of the all -
all that has been said and
all that cannot yet be said
but thought in silences, in pauses between speech,
all that we might say
when we find words in which to say it,
and because
there’s not much time, to say what we would say
and so, we speak of that which time
can never steal; so there is always time
to speak, and hear the silence
out of which speech comes;
listening for the unspoken
bringing miracles
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Sweet Talking
It's dusky and smoky in the room.
People are talking too loudly,
laughing at a joke of which
the punch line was lost in the din.
I shift my weight on the stool -
the dimensions not quite fitting my shape.
My skirt rides up my thighs.
I leave it there and pick up a stare
from across the room.
Not quite sure if it was meant for me,
I notice the slumped punter
lift his glass in a salute.
I nod and turn reluctantly back
to my half empty glass on the counter.
A cautious tap on my shoulder
quickens my pulse.
It is late and my head is fuzzy
from the G & T's, but this attention
is most definitely meant for me.
He mumbles sweet nothings.
Well, that is what it sounds like
through his whiskey breath slurring.
He picks up my flimsy summer wrap
and drapes it over my shoulders.
The touch from another human being
feels good on my naked skin.
I let him kiss me on the lips
and do not protest
when he calls for another round.
I cannot remember when last
someone has sweet talked me.
It is getting very late.
poem by Suzette Crous
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The Same Story, The same History
...and so the same story is told
the same history is made....
why always speak of descrimination
why always speak of war
why always speak of class
why always speak of injustice
why always speak of poverty
why always speak of rebellion....
why not speak of equality
why not speak of peace
why not speak of respect
why not speak of wisdom
why not speak of production
why not speak of working together...
...and so the same story is told
the same history is made.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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To A Fellow...
i am reading every writing on the wall
the letters are so cold, like the arms of a dead man
defeated,
nothing interests me really, except myself, after having gone into same wars with you,
the self above self, that seems to be the golden rule now for survival
the mind must circumnavigate its own world,
convoluted upon its intestines
its own trails
it is you that i am worried about, the moron, the destitute,
the loquacious duck on the pond,
there is no map, and so you have no direction at all,
circular in motion, arriving at
no train station
i give you time, a cup of hours, we drink it,
i watch every syllable that your mouth is mumbling
because i am worried about what the child in you is saying
i hear every vowel there and pay attention to the power of
your consonants,
that which you cannot say, or that which cannot be ever said
fool, God's fool,
we are, and you the moron that mumbles what you cannot really understand
is king,
the wise man, that baby crawling under the bed
in the middle of the bridge as we watch
the tilt
if you fall, we all die.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Laughter echoes
Laughter echoes
Giggles, chuckles, snigger's
He's in hysterics
Laughter echoes
Blood trickles
Oozing, seeping, gushing
His beautiful broken skull
Laughter echoes
Cold voice whispers
Mutters, murmurs, mumbles
He won't stop laughing
Laughter echoes
poem by Fedora Wearing Biggins
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For DIONY
dO NOT BE like god
who must speak in crooked lines
i am not your
loyal servant and i have less time
now to
analyze what you really want to mean
to me
speak clearly
for i am listening
do not murmur
do not eat your words like supper
lest i suffer
and do what you do not want me to do
i am far
you are 12 thousands miles away from me
she is married
and her husband is crazy
buying a gun and bullets
speak clearly now
tell me about the story of your true love
her being lonely
this Helen of Troy of Yours
and the impending game of death and pain
teach me now
how not to sow the apple of discord
the envy and sorrow
the death of morality
the crucifixion of integrity
speak clearly now
or i will be the one to end this
poem.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Coaches Favorite
A sport is a sport
No matter what you play
Just don't think
It's any safer today
The mind may be rejected
For keeping one on the bench
While a coach plays his favorite
Striking out thrice, while the rider of the pine
Smells the whiffer and his stench
He mumbles to himself
Just give me a chance
For I'll nail that ball to the outside wall
'Round them bases and touch 'em all
So when you need me
I'll be ready to play
Go a head play your favorite
I'll be patient and be your hero one day
poem by Matt Mondschein
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Young Poets
You speak for the lakes, the trees and the birds
You say what they'd say if they had the words.
Make PEACE and be proud, choose well every choice
Speak HOPE and speak loud, you are Nature's voice.
Speak with respect now, for jungles and streams,
Speak for all wildlife and dream giant dreams.
Speak with great courage, speak up and speak out,
Write with a whisper or write with a SHOUT!
Stand up young poets for clean air and rivers,
Free verse or lyric; your message delivers...
Truth to the future citizens of earth,
Speak of your freedom your friends and self worth.
Speak for tomorrow and though you're still young,
Speak for the Forest, your pen is her tongue.
The world waits to hear your songs still unsung
Words posses power, you can write the wrongs
Teach us and lead us with Poems and with songs.
Speak now for nature, for trees and for birds,
Defenders of Earth choose carefullly your words!
poem by ToddMichael St. Pierre
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Speak The Word
Unsettled hearts
Promise what they cant deliver
Bring me the wine
And the cold night air to clear my head
Gray matter memory house
Master of this trembling flesh
Steady still my doubts
Let me speak the word that precedes bliss
Let me speak the word
Let me speak the word
Love love love love love love love love
Let me speak the word
Let me speak the word
Love love love love love love love love
Let me speak the word
Let me speak the word
Let me speak the word
Let me speak the word
These weakened knees
Have not touched ground or pew in ages
I havent bowed my head
I offer thanks to any God or to ask for favors
But watch me now
Im falling down
Praying
To speak the word that precedes bliss
To speak the word
To speak the word
Love love love love love love love love
Let me speak the word
Let me speak the word
Love love love love love love love love
Let me speak the word
Let me speak the word
Let me speak the word
Let me speak the word
song performed by by Tracy Chapman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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How Do You Speak To An Angel
A son who is cursed with a harridan mother
Or a weak simpering father at best
Is raised to play out the timeless classical motives
Of filial love and incest
How does he speak to a
How does he speak to the prettiest girl
How does he talk to her
What does he say for an opening line
What does he say if hes shy
What do you do with your pragmatic passions
With your classically neurotic style
How do you deal with your vague self-comprehensions
What do you do when you lie
How do you speak to a
How do you speak to the prettiest girl
How do you speak to her
How do you dance on the head of a pin
When youre on the outside looking in
How do you speak to a
How do you speak to the prettiest girl
How do you speak to a
How do you speak to the prettiest girl
How do you speak to a
How do you speak to the prettiest girl
How do you speak to a
How do you speak to the prettiest girl
How do you speak to a
How do you speak to the prettiest girl
How do you speak to a
How do you speak to the prettiest girl
You just say, hello, (hello) baby (hello)
...
Baby, angel, how do you talk to the prettiest girl, you say
Hello baby, hello baby, angel, angel, pretty little girl
Angel, angel ....
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Shall Speak
I shall speak of rivers
and I shall speak of streams,
And I shall speak of how they flow
and seep into my dreams.
All the waters pure and clean
purify my thought.
I think how marvelous that I've seen
that which can't be bought.
I shall speak of hillsides
and mountains as they rise.
And I shall speak of how they look
and brighten up my eyes.
All the rises grand or small
expand just how I feel.
I think how wonderful that I've known
what no one can conceal.
I shall speak of beauty
and I shall speak of love.
And I shall speak of how they mix
and take me far above
the ordinary happenings
and events that fill my day.
I think how fortunate I have been
when my breath was taken away.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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