The Parsing of Senility
The names go first. That’s not
uncommon, and even among those who
are younger.. psychologists say
(how discomforted this couch, Professor Freud..)
it’s sheer selfishness; we don’t want our friends
to know our other friends..
The names go first. One learns the dodges –
‘You’ll all know each other, of course…’;
names, they’re nouns; so how far will it go?
how well can I live well, when without nouns?
Spirit lives in all things; the self exists in all;
perhaps I’ll manage with this thought.
Then, what will be next to go ? (The nurse sighs
as the impatient patient cries, ‘..want..THAT…’)
Ah, there’s the clue: pronouns simply stand for names;
first person, second, third, will merge
into one selfish self – ‘want.. that! .. hungry..! fetch!
no.. not that… that… when shall see…? ’
I’ll need a patient nurse…
So in the this nameless world, where all things are as One,
what then, the next to go?
Conjunctions would be no great loss –
no ifs or buts, as Nanny said, when an all too similar
frowning plaintive child tried bargaining…
re-punctuation, editing, those shorter sentences
which editors would beg of me – yes,
‘conjunctivitis’ was my writing’s curse…
Prepositions have had a chequered history
in languages: sometimes on the end of words,
sometimes going before them with a flag;
immigrants were never very strong on them;
I’ll pretend I’m fresh from Ellis Island…
And Mediterranean and Near Eastern hands
could learn to play their part; who would spot
if adverbs, or those adjectives so dear to poetry
turned into grand, expansive gesture? ‘Such
an effusive man..’ they’d say.. maybe I’d turn
into an opera star; the words a little blurred…
And like the poet Elisabeth Bishop, I’d have to learn
how to surrender things, with joy… and read, maybe,
with ecstasy, every printed word as new, unspoken, magical…
…And the last age, lean and slippered in
those hospital pyjamas and blankets with that rough kiss
that Rupert spoke about; ruthless, toothless age,
sans words, sans lips, sans native tongue, sans…
..now, what was that word … Oh, Nurse! Nurse! …
oh damn, damn, damn.. oh yippee! .. can still curse…
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Unusual Cradle Of Fun
'school is fun', seemed
weird coming out of a
4th grader.
ask why and you'll have
it crisp, 'i have friends
and teachers are game'.
she reaches 8 grade and
fights over petty issues
then her friends come up
and provide her, with tissues.
think, this is cool?
but now thats the end
friends leave school
and she is left alone
they changed her class
they altered her interest
the one who cut classes
, now sat in those rooms
sans friends, sans fun
sans company, sans everything
from fun and learn,
it changed to bore and learn
inspiration is worth nothing
family gave her something,
probably the last hope to survive,
to learn and adjust;
now fun was only family;
'school is not fun', now seemed
weird coming out of a 10th grader.
poem by Taanya Khanna
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
All the World's a Stage
All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances,
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first, the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse's arms.
Then the whining schoolboy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slippered pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank, and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
poem by William Shakespeare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Shot (intro)
phones ringing babies crying]
white guy: Hi how ya doin' ?
nurse: Doctor's office could you hold please? Yes sir can I help you?
white guy: Yes I have a four o'clock appointment I'm here to get my shot.
nurse: Okay come right with me.
white guy: This isn't gonna take too long is it?
nurse: Here we are here have a seat right here.
white guy: Oh great thanks thanks.
nurse: The doctor will be right with you, and can I get you anything?
white guy: Uhh maybe a glass of water would be great.
nurse: Okay great.
[door shuts]
white guy: Damn, what is taking so long?
[door creaks open, funky music in the backround]
doctor Ice Cube: Yo wussup?
white guy: Hi how ya doin' ?
doctor Ice Cube: Alright, let's see what we got here uhh, Mr. White huh?
white guy: Yes sir that's me.
doctor Ice Cube: heh, I heard you don't like shots do ya?
white guy: No I sure don't.
doctor Ice Cube: Aww you're a big boy uhh this won't hurt a bit,
jus' uhh turn your head...
white guy: Let's get this over with.
doctor Ice Cube: yeah uhh, rub a little alcohol on there, right here,
for you, and uhh brace yourself!
[click]
[BANG
song performed by by Ice Cube
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Writer's Disposal
Hurt and tense are writer's slaves
So she'll slash through page by page
Burning holes with vivid tongue
Still the feeling strikes as young
Through and through this time again
Misery welcomes her like a friend
Slash and slash and through and through
She spells her feelings as if they're new
Instead of skin she beats a page
A healthy cure, sure, lest she names
These demons, the things that she writes about
That she names other names to give them doubts
Things like this she knows all too well
Her hurts and pains often etch the spell
Before she even thinks to open her eyes
She's solved her feelings with a metaphor for cries
These nameless names named through and through
She possibly could be writing of you
And name you a snake; what harm is there in that?
Proof, invalid; your name is intact
These nameless things she knows all too well
You might not know but help etch her spell
Because intended or vicious, her works are neither
You'd ask what they're about; but she might not know either
poem by Dayna Mortimore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Satan and God
Sans sound, silence is not there.
Sans darkness, light is not there
Sans man, woman has no value.
Sans Satan, the God has no role.
24.12.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Night Nurse
Tell her try her best just to make it quick
Woman tend to the sick
Because there must be something she can do
This heart is broken in two
Tell her its a case of emergency
Theres a patient by the name of mickey
Night nurse
Only you alone can quench this here thirst
My night nurse oh god
Oh the pain is getting worse
I dont want to see no doc
I need attendance from my nurse around the clock
Because theres no prescription for me
Shes the one the only remedy
My night nurse
Only you alone can quench this here thirst
My night nurse
Oh the pain is getting worse
Im hurt my love
I dont want to see no doc
I need attendance from my nurse around the clock
Because there s no prescription for me
Shes the one the only remedy
Night nurse
Only you alone can quench this here thirst
My night nurse
Oh the pain is getting worse
Im hurt my love
And Im sure no no doctor got a cure
My night nurse
My night nurse
My night nurse
song performed by by Simply Red
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Shot
[phones ringing, babies crying]
White guy: hi how ya doin ?
Nurse: doctors office, could you hold please? yes sir can I help you?
White guy: yes I have a four oclock appointment, Im here to get my shot.
Nurse: okay, come right with me.
White guy: this isnt gonna take too long is it?
Nurse: here we are, here have a seat right here.
White guy: oh great, thanks, thanks.
Nurse: the doctor will be right with you, and can I get you anything?
White guy: uhh maybe a glass of water would be great.
Nurse: okay great.
[door shuts]
White guy: damn, what is taking so long?
[door creaks open, funky music in the backround]
Doctor ice cube: yo wussup?
White guy: hi how ya doin ?
Doctor ice cube: alright, lets see what we got here uhh, mr. white huh?
White guy: yes sir thats me.
Doctor ice cube: heh, I heard you dont like shots do ya?
White guy: no I sure dont.
Doctor ice cube: aww youre a big boy uhh this wont hurt a bit,
Jus uhh turn your head...
White guy: lets get this over with.
Doctor ice cube: yeah uhh, rub a little alcohol on there, right here,
For you, and uhh brace yourself!
[click]
[bang!]
song performed by by Ice Cube
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Not Every Poem Knows How To Say Its Own Name Properly
NOT EVERY POEM KNOWS HOW TO SAY ITS OWN NAME PROPERLY
Not every poem knows how to say its own name properly-
There are poems that have no name
And poems that are named by others who have not written them-
There are poems whose names make them what they are
And poems whose names contradict and belie them-
Many poems have their first lines as their names
And these poems often are as memorable as one line only-
Great poems and good poems can be nameless
Or can have unforgettable names.
Not every poem knows how to say its own name properly -
Poems are poems are poems
And names are names are names
And sometimes they meet and are one
And live happily ever after-
But there are times when perhaps
They never should have met each other at all.
Poems have their names
And names have their poems
But sometimes they love each other
And truly are one.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Words And Words
let us have an illusion of words
mesmerize ourselves with the movements of its verbs
and pretend about the beautiful feeling of its adjectives
let nothing be too personal about nouns
let us not be too excited about some interjections
let us shy away from so many questions
no orders, no imperatives no coercions
for tonight let there be only demonstrative pronouns
lips kissing, arms embracing, neck petting,
thighs making on top of each other hands entwine
fingers running, abdomens ebbing
let all be not just wishes, let it not just be on subjunctive moods
let there be verbs of romance, let there be sentences of lust
let us forget for once the word much abused by all:
i do not wish to utter it, let not love be feigned.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
First words in a book
My first book
of this ridiculous,
that ridiculous cat, wearing the hat,
was so laid back,
dead relaxed, and smiling
in black, yes black, in that hat.
And so absurd,
spoke fantastic words,
from that cat talking in the red hat.
Said I. 'I'm lost for words.'
'No! Never! I've decided'
Said that nerd of a cat in that hat.
'Go turn that page
and we can see. Go on, turn.'
Demanded that cat with it's hat.
'Quickly now and read
and read quicker then that.'
Laughed at me this cat in that hat.
'Look how words do, they do,
they have you.'
Shouted that damn cat and in it's hat.
'And I won’t and they won’t,
these words won’t, won't ever let go.'
Barked, really, damn cat in that damn hat.
'I think you think you've got the bug
but its that bug that has you. Nothing new.
Tell the world, its old news.' Said that hat cat.
'Now you’re an addict,
meow.'
Said that smiling cat in that hat.
poem by by unknown author
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Jaques: All the world‘s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players:
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse‘s arms.
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress‘ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon‘s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lined,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper‘d pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side,
His youthful hose, well saved, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.
line from As You Like It, Act II, Scene 7 by William Shakespeare (1599)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
Vote! | Copy! | In Romanian
Vicious Games
I never knew
How much I loved you
I never knew
How much I cared
So I played
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
I was afraid
To go under
Afraid to see
When I closed my eyes
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
I never knew
How much I loved you
I never knew
How much I care
I just played
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
Now that youre gone
And you have left me
I had to learn
I had to learn how much it hurts
To play those vicious games
Vicious games, vicious games
Different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
Different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
Different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
Different names, different names
song performed by by Yello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Vicious Games
I never knew
How much I loved you
I never knew
How much I cared
So I played
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
I was afraid
To go under
Afraid to see
When I closed my eyes
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
I never knew
How much I loved you
I never knew
How much I care
I just played
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
With different names, different names
Now that youre gone
And you have left me
I had to learn
I had to learn how much it hurts
To play those vicious games
Vicious games, vicious games
Different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
Different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
Different names, different names
Vicious games, vicious games
Different names, different names
song performed by by Yello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Redemption
He thought that he would die alone
when he entered hospice care.
Folks wind up in Calvary
who haven’t got a prayer.
Long estranged from his first wife
And the two children that she bore him.
He only sought a refuge
from pain and death before him.
The nurse on duty saw his name
And hope combined with fear.
Could this be her father that was lost?
Could fate have brought him here?
She asked the patient if he had
some family about.
He mentioned his two daughters’ names
“-but they must be grown up now.”
“I’m Wanda, I’m your daughter.”
She said, choking back her tears.
He begged for her forgiveness
For being gone for all those years.
Of course he’d missed her wedding day
and never held her child.
He’d missed so many Father’s Days.
Still, she made him proud.
Perhaps it was a twist of fate
Perhaps the Angels’ plan
That when this man had breathed his last
He held his daughter’s hand.
.
The story of the reunion of Wanda Rodriquez, hospice nurse with her estranged father, Victor Peraza, at Calvary Hospital in the Bronx.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Writting
When i feel lost lonely and have nowhere to go,
the words keep me company and im a loner no more,
Letters come together in my minds free flowing from my
heart,
Two letters one letter many letters make up words,
Long words short word
bring up sentences that form up,
my concious wades throught them picking seeking to join
short and long and make it work,
No rules to my word play anything u want can stay a
concortion a work of art,
Am lost in emotions,
lost in expressions,
pronouns adjectives and nouns,
Lay them straight,
hang them down they still are need a flow to make a sweet
sound,
The rhyme,
the time is put into consideration when iplay with all my words,
My best friend is my pen, my paper and my head there is no limit to what i can,
Its a poem am at it a work of art in progress i love the work
of my hands...
poem by Kennedy Musyoka
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Pearl, Merle and Earl
Pearl, Merle and Earl are an unlikely crew…
The two girls are 87; the ol’ man 92.
They say they live alone, but hardly true
Their cavalcade of caretakers is always in view.
There’s the day nurse and night nurse
And the two for weekends.
Then the stock boy who buys the food
And a healthy dose of Depends.
Pearl, Merle and Earl can still get around
With jaunts getting shorter with less of a sound.
They love everybody, but one thing all hate;
Why can’t folks keep their simple names straight?
“I’m Pearl with one “e” not at the end of my name.
“I’m Merle with two “e’s”, but pronounced the same.”
“It’s Earl. My one “E” is a capital letter at the start.”
This spry crew will tug at the strings of your heart.
poem by Gregory Huyette
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Rencontre
Passant mêle à ta vie l'orgueil et la bonté
Surmonte l'ennemi et bois à sa santé
Honore ton outil sans le laisser inerte
Brise-le par amour au moment de ta perte
Et méprise ceci Jouir sans en pleurer
La vigne sans ivresse et le champ sans ivraie
poem by Guillaume Apollinaire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The seer and the beggar.
Ego battered, bereaved of kith and kin,
Bereft of worldly things, a beggar dies
With no wish, no curse and no regrets;
That amounts to detachment of the world.
Ego nursed, blessed with devotees,
Proud of being humble, can a seer die
With no wish, no curse and no regrets,
To confirm to detachment of the world?
More than the seer, it is the beggar
Who is fit to dispense with rebirth.
Can you follow the path of the beggar?
Is there salvation sans humiliation?
A seer is proud he leads you to God.
You are proud you follow him to God.
You both want to leave your names behind.
With the love for the world after your exit,
Can you hope that you avoid rebirth?
26.03.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Words
I write there, and then you write they’re
I write who, and then you write whom
I misspell my words, too me you then curse
Then you call me a stupid loon.
You call me names, from which I refrain
Then I am off to a different room.
I forget punctuation's, It gives you frustrations
I don't use a contraction, you give me verbal action
Then I misspell a word, you call me absurd
I give you my silence it’s my only reaction.
You call me a name, my innocence I proclaim
My humility is seems, is your only satisfaction.
I sit at my typewriter, I still am a fighter
As I close my eyes, words still materialize
Words are my friends, rhyming is my sin
Maybe someday that, you will realize.
I finish another poem, to the world I show them
I write another verse, it becomes my universe.
You are my inspiration, my poems your creation
You correct what I write, it gives you such delight
You enjoy to respell, at words which you excel
You tell me they are wrong, I know you are right.
But you still are my friend, I hope it will never end
I am the poet, your a wordsmith and you show it.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet- Things Change In Life
The more we climb, the more we leave behind;
To gain virtues, we must give up vices;
Each stage, we must maintain our peace of mind;
Good deeds, more temptations sure entices.
The more we climb, the fear of fall is more;
So, reinforce yourself at every stage;
Effort is more to open heavier door;
Sometimes, life's challenges, we must engage.
Sans sacrifice, great feats can't be achieved;
Sans risks and challenges, we can't do things;
Sans analgesics, pain can't be relieved;
Sans struggle, Life not much advancement brings.
The state of mind must change from woe to joy;
We ought to change some day to man from boy.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!