Collection
I collect drunk fish and hunting dogs.
Shoot of rust, pheasant mallard ducks.
Mountain where I harvest bow of petrol.
For trout's wars
Zodiac ship fired by shooting lighthouse.
Killing blue lizards' skies.
Mystery forest of monkey trees
Celebrate creations of...
Don Chisotte visions, animal games, butterfly lovers.
Watch woman, wreck metal
Collection of holes
Hallow display.
poem by Luca Menin
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Related quotes
Any woman can consume.
No woman to a man is failing.
As matter to fire is not failing..
Some, like petrol, catch instantly.
Some, like wood, catch in time.
Some, like coal, do with time.
Some, like iron, at least, rust.
Petrol to metal, a woman can be.
Time given, no love is unborn.
No love is out of burning.
21.04.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Lectric Daze Buzz
I sit here in smoke in the
Realm of the Wallow where
green sky has frogs and the
birds that dive down from
the cliffs and the trees in a
valley where dogs chase the
lizards all day and kids hear the
songs of a red ice cream monkey
that sometimes turns blue.
poem by Rick Stokes
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Shock The Monkey
Shock the monkey to life
Shock the monkey to life
Cover me when I run
Cover me through the fire
Something knocked me out the trees
Now Im on my knees
Cover me, darling please
Monkey, monkey, monkey
Dont you know when youre going to shock the monkey
Fox the fox
Rat the rat
You can ape the ape
I know about that
There is one thing you must be sure of
I cant take any more
Darling, dont you monkey with the monkey
Monkey, monkey, monkey
Dont you know youre going to shock the monkey
Wheels keep turning
Somethings burning
Dont like it but I guess Im learning
Shock! - watch the monkey get hurt, monkey
Cover me, when I sleep
Cover me, when I breathe
You throw your pearls before the swine
Make the monkey blind
Cover me, darling please
Monkey, monkey, monkey
Dont you know youre going to shock the monkey
Too much at stake
Ground beneath me shake
And the news is breaking
Shock! - watch the monkey get hurt, monkey
Shock the monkey
Shock the monkey
Shock the monkey to life
song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Butterfly Butterfly
Butterfly butterfly, fly high to the sky,
Let everyone see how beautiful you are,
Among thousands you stand out, why lie,
Flutter those wings till everyone says “Wah”!
Butterfly butterfly, you are so elusive,
For a moment i think you are mine,
But i just find myself in love delusive!
When i stretch my hand to hold you,
Away from me you fly to the tallest pine!
To give up, or to give up not i have no idea,
But it’s all good to watch you in the skies so clear,
Without you to fly nothing would be the blue azure sky,
But if you ever tire from flight, come to me butterfly butterfly! !
poem by Charles Wamuti
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Who’s afraid of the Big Bad Wolf?
Or it is “Who’s afraid of Virginia Wolf”?
Anyway, Palin and lip-stick coated pit bull persona is being attacked again,
From Ashley Judd, for Palin’s defense of aerial hunting of wolves.
Palin has encouraged hunting for wolves that she made a $150 bounty,
For each severed left paw,
What gall!
The hunters fly in airplanes or helicopters to bag their prey,
How daring!
With high powered rifles with scopes they shoot to kill,
I would have them much more on the ground, on foot, if dare I say.
Then I would consider that a hunt.
Not shooting fish in a fish barrel, a barrel with a bunch dead pickled herring.
(2-5-09)
poem by Joe Rosochacki
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The Catch
You take me to the restaurant where one
plays God over a fish tank. The fat trout
pace their green cage, waiting to be taken
out of an element. Who knows what they know?
There are thirteen in a tank meant
for goldfish. I don¹t care which one I eat.
But the waiter expects a performance,
con brio. This is a ritual
solemn as wine-tasting or the Last Judgement.
Eating is never so simple as hunger.
Between the appetite and its satisfaction
falls the net, groping blindly in dark water.
The fish startle and thrash. You make your catch,
flourishing a bit for the waiter
so as not to be thought a peasant. You force
air into the trout's gills as if he were Adam,
and send him squirming toward the kitchen
to be born. Then it's my turn. I surprise
myself with my dexterity, almost
enjoying the game. A liter of wine
later, the fish return, foppishly dressed
in mushrooms and pimentos, their eyes
dreamily hazed. Darling, I am drunk. I watch you pluck
the trout's ribs out of your perfect teeth.
poem by Erica Jong
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Animal Boy
Gonna kill and destroy
I'm not an Animal Boy
Why don't they understand
I'm not an ape man
Don't have brain damage
I'm not an a wild savage
Don't push me around
Don't bring my head down
Animal Boy
Animal Boy
Animal Boy
I'm not an imbecile
Don't treat me like an animal
I'm not a creature in the zoo
Don't tell me what to do
Animal Boy
Animal Boy
Animal Boy
You don't know what it's like
You don't know how I feel
I don't have a monkey's brain
I'm not an animal
You can't lock me in a cage
This ain't the Stoneage
Better get out of my way
Someone's gonna have to pay
Animal boy
Animal boy
Animal boy
Animal boy
song performed by by Ramones from Animal Boy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Haunted Hollow
The hollow is a group of trees,
whose branches intertwine to form an arch.
A column of noble trees,
standing tall and erect.
However the hallow is haunted,
by ghostly lovers who died there,
on one stormy night,
walking arm in arm
underneath a cloudy moonlight.
Now when the north wind blows,
and clouds drift across the moon.
You can see the ghostly lovers
in the shadows of the hallow,
where they walk for eternity,
linked arm in arm.
Their love has lived beyond the grave,
for everyone to see.
Two ghostly lovers
simply called you and me.
poem by David Harris
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Blue Skies Bring Tears
Unleash the armageddon
So all the children go to heaven
I sit by quiet still
With their pictures on my eyes
You'll draw the guns your given
Write down the words as written
And never disturb the presense
Of resurrection touch
And it's about time
It's about drawing near
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Descend the darkened stairway
Make hate with plastic playmates
And fire out remaining traces
Of your self esteem
Mainline the deepest secrets
Lick clean the dirty fingers
I am a stranger to you
As you are to yourself
And it's about time
It's about fear
Blue skies bring tears
Don't you want me (don't want you)
Cause I await cityside
We'll watch the seas start to die
Blue skies bring tears
Take me inside your body
Blue skies bring tears
Cover me with your soul
Blue skies bring tears
To the darkest reasons
Blue skies bring tears
Is where I wish to go
Blue skies bring tears
You are the sweetest flower
Blue skies bring tears
That I have ever devoured
Blue skies bring tears
I ask for nothing given
Blue skies bring tears
For nothing in return
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
Blue skies bring tears
song performed by by Smashing Pumpkins from Machina: The Machines Of God
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Visions Of Sorrow
In this hall of marbled walls in another
Dimension where time heeds no calls
It's neither day it's neither night, eternal
Twilight away from the light
Traveling through time and through space
Blinded by the grace
Shooting stars guide my way,
Cosmic tide cannot lead me astray.
Seen the signs so many times,
Stones turn to vapour and life declines.
A flash of light and all turns black,
Mountain falls and bursts with a crack.
travelling through time and through space
blinded by the grace
Visions of sorrow fill my eyes, always the
Same as i travel on through time.
Blackbrowed memories hides in the skies,
They travel inside me as
I watch another crime.
Visions of sorrow fill my eyes, always the
Same as i travel on through time.
Blackbrowed memories hides in the skies,
They travel inside me as
I watch another crime.
Shooting stars guide my way,
Cosmic tide cannot lead me astray.
In ancient tales forgotten by now,
Priests and kings pledged their vow.
So i send my curse to earth,
Forced to create a new rebirth
Traveling through time and through space
Blinded by the grace
Visions of sorrow fill my eyes, always the
Same as i travel on through time.
Blackbrowed memories hides in the skies,
They travel inside me as
I watch another crime.
song performed by by Zonata
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Duck! Don't Stick Your Neck Out
How many quacks does a quack quack quack
before he ducks for fish?
How many ducks does a quack quack duck
before his fish is fished?
How many geese's goose is cooked
because they ate up all the fish?
How many cooks cook geese
before their goose is cooked?
How many fowl fall foul
of fowl hunting cooks?
How many fowls' geese are cooked
before they flew from a foul hunting cook?
How many ducks' goose is cooked
because he didn't duck duck duck
when a fowl cook reached for his neck?
poem by David Taylor
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Love The Fish
The fish wither away in a week,
Wobbling like jelly of fire;
Water is weak, strong men are like fish,
As chickens feed on us
Like the birds of flight.
While wishes mend the hearts,
Whimpering dogs collect tears
As their owner smacks them
For barking and being.
The fish are united,
Inside the sea watching.
But we wobble like them
Inside our homes with pity.
This pretty sense wishes me
To be like a moon of fishes.
I circle the sea and demand
The love of an animal.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Fire Coming Out Of A Monkey's Head
Once upon a time at the foot of a great mountain,
There was a town where the people known as Happyfolk lived.
Their very existence a mystery to the rest of the world,
Abscured as it was by grey clouds.
Here they played out their peaceful lives,
Innocent of the litany of excess and violence
That was growing in the world below.
To live in harmony with the spirit of the mountain called Monkey was enough.
Then one day Strangefolk arrived in the town.
They came in camouflage, hidden behind dark glasses,
But no one noticed them: they only saw shadows.
You see, without the Truth of the Eyes, the Happyfolk were blind.
Falling out of aeroplanes and hiding out in holes,
Waiting for the sunset to come, people goin' home.
Jump out from behind them and shoot them in the head,
Now everybody's dancing the dance of the dead,
The dance of the dead, the dance of the dead.
In time, Strangefolk found their way into the high reaches of the mountain,
And it was there that they found the Caves of Unimaginable Sincerity and Giving.
By chance, they stumbled upon the Place Where All Good Souls Come to Rest.
The Strangefolk, they coveted the jewels in these caves above all things,
And soon they began to mine the mountain, its rich seam fueling the chaos of their own world.
Meanwhile, down in the town, the Happyfolk slept restlessly,
Their dreams invaded by shadowy figures digging away at their souls.
Every day, people would wake and stare at the mountain.
Why was it bringing darkness into their lives?
And as the Strangefolk mined deeper and deeper into the mountain,
Holes began to appear, bringing with them a cold and bitter wind that chilled the very soul of them up.
For the first time, the Happyfolk felt fearful for they knew that soon the Monkey would soon stir from its deep sleep.
And then came a sound.
Distant first, it grew into castrophany so immense it could be heard far away in space.
There were no screams.
There was no time.
The mountain called Monkey had spoken.
There was only fire.
And then, nothing.
O little town in U.S.A, your time has come to see
There's nothing you believe you want
But where were you when it all came down on me?
Did you call me now?
song performed by by Gorillaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hunting Season
hunting season
Every Saturdays and Sunday there is a war going on in the woods,
man against birds and rabbits. On my lemon tree sparrows and
hawks sit and wait for Monday. In my garden rabbits seek shelter
from shoot gun pellets, eat my flowers and dig holes. My dog is
desperate its instinct is to go out and kill them. Killing for sport, is
like bullfighting without spectators, grown men, sneaking about
amongst trees slaughtering the innocent; not unlike the Settlers
behaviour against the Palestinian olive pickers and goat herders.
Monday morning I shovel wheel barrow’s full of bird droppings
from the ground that is also full of holes. Something got to be done
with these awful animals, why do they not move to neighbouring
woods and seek shelter there?
poem by Oskar Hansen
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What Makes You A Petrol
u r a petrol
know what for
ur turning the car
when you drive on the roo road
dont need water
to satrt up
being the petrol ur
is ennn enuf
everyone else on the road can see it
everyone else but you
petrol u start up my car
like nothing else
the way that you smeel in the air
gets me over dizzy
but when you leak on the ground
it aint hard to tell
you dont know that your a petrol
woh woahh
thats what makes you a petrol
if only you smelled what i can smell
youll understand
why i hate you desperatly
right now im selling
in ur petrol tank
and i cnt belive
u dun knw ur a petrol
poem by Raabia Tabassum
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Old School Shirt
Im just mad about my old school shirt
*the tales they are embossed
The things of all those kids and that old center school
*all those kids are last/lost
*them kids are last/lost
*theyre last/lost
Im just mad about that old radio
The tunes that it used to play
How come you aint singing now well
Did our voices get away
Well did they get away
Get away
Ill be shooting holes in the sky to make it rain, make it the same
Shooting holes in the sky once again.
Im just mad about all those people
Who came but did not stay
They sit so quietly my memories
Gone but not on me
Shooting holes in the sky to make it rain, make it the same
Shooting holes in the sky once again.
Shooting holes in the sky to make it rain, make it the same
Shooting holes in the sky once again.
Caught in a headlock, I wanted to be the same
Caught in a headlock, I wanted to be the same
Caught in a headlock, I wanted to be the same
Caught in a headlock, I wanted to be the same
Again.
song performed by by Gomez
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As We Sail By
We float
Through purple-velvet skies
Out where black holes are born
And the Milky Way lies
We fly
Through purple-hazed skies
Out where nebulae fade
And an apricot sun spies
We coast
Through purple-blue skies
Out where the platinum moon sits
And supernovas explode as we sail by
* Reprinted from 'Love Letters the Select Collection by Mekael'
© July 29,2009 by Mekael
poem by Mekael Shane
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The Hunters Of Men
HAVE ye heard of our hunting, o'er mountain and glen,
Through cane-brake and forest, — the hunting of men?
The lords of our land to this hunting have gone,
As the fox-hunter follows the sound of the horn;
Hark! the cheer and the hallo! the crack of the whip,
And the yell of the hound as he fastens his grip!
All blithe are our hunters, and noble their match,
Though hundreds are caught, there are millions to catch.
So speed to their hunting, o'er mountain and glen,
Through cane-brake and forest, — the hunting of men!
Gay luck to our hunters! how nobly they ride
In the glow of their zeal, and the strength of their pride!
The priest with his cassock flung back on the wind,
Just screening the politic statesman behind;
The saint and the sinner, with cursing and prayer,
The drunk and the sober, ride merrily there.
And woman, kind woman, wife, widow, and maid,
For the good of the hunted, is lending her aid:
Her foot's in the stirrup, her hand on the rein,
How blithely she rides to the hunting of men!
Oh, goodly and grand is our hunting to see,
In this 'land of the brave and this home of the free.'
Priest, warrior, and statesman, from Georgia to Maine,
All mounting the saddle, all grasping the rein;
Right merrily hunting the black man, whose sin
Is the curl of his hair and the hue of his skin!
Woe, now, to the hunted who turns him at bay!
Will our hunters be turned from their purpose and prey?
Will their hearts fail within them? their nerves tremble, when
All roughly they ride to the hunting of men?
Ho! alms for our hunters! all weary and faint,
Wax the curse of the sinner and prayer of the saint.
The horn is wound faintly, the echoes are still,
Over cane-brake and river, and forest and hill.
Haste, alms for our hunters! the hunted once more
Have turned from their flight with their backs to the shore:
What right have they here in the home of the white,
Shadowed o'er by our banner of Freedom and Right?
Ho! alms for the hunters! or never again
Will they ride in their pomp to the hunting of men!
Alms, alms for our hunters! why will ye delay,
When their pride and their glory are melting away?
The parson has turned; for, on charge of his own,
Who goeth a warfare, or hunting, alone?
The politic statesman looks back with a sigh,
There is doubt in his heart, there is fear in his eye.
Oh, haste, lest that doubting and fear shall prevail,
And the head of his steed take the place of the tail.
Oh, haste, ere he leave us! for who will ride then,
For pleasure or gain, to the hunting of men?
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Fox Hunting Is Banned In Britain
A so called sport of the upper class that inspired the bards to rhyme
Fox hunting is banned in Britain everything has it's time
For nothing last forever it had passed it's use by date
And in chasing down and killing a frightened creature what is to celebrate?
John Masefield's long poem 'Reynard the Fox' I readily can recall
One of the best on fox hunting if not the best of all
But that aside fox hunting was cruel or to me 'twould seem that way
For to be hunted down and mauled to death by dogs not what you'd call fair play.
I read in the Newspapers how those for fox hunting protested long and loud
But there was nothing in this so called sport of which they could feel proud
For to watch a creature torn to shreds could hardly be much fun
It seems a far more painful way to die than the quicker death by gun.
The day is near when all blood sports will be things of the past
For all things have their use by date and nothing seems to last
Some may see the fox as vermin but the fox warrants a fair go
And empathy for wild born creatures not too much to ask to show.
Fox hunting is banned in Britain such good news is good to hear
News well worth celebrating to that I'll drink a beer
To be torn to shreds by a pack of hounds seems an awful way to die
And to this very cruel blood sport good riddance and goodbye.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Apparition of a Butterfly
Upon a fuzzy vista – vision blurred –
I tried to focus; nothing ever solid
Came to view, but undeterred, I blinked
An eye to try again. Through the mist
A coloured hue; polychromatic flames
Had flickered at a whim; a rhythm bore
A thrumming too: a naturalistic hymn.
Behold! Were I to find a synonym to
Reproduce or recreate
The apparition of a butterfly,
Evolving through the waning vapour,
Drawing on a sigh from this romantic.
Glory be! The raging sun above
Had fired his furnace, flaming off
The hangers on. Now I saw the flare:
His time has come. He spread a tortoiseshell –
A scene of Mother Nature at her best.
I lay in peace in knowing I was blessed.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly
Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly fly
Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly Butterfly fly
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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