0264 Toothpaste tubes and toilet seats
Why do I hate you? Let me count the ways...
Oh I could list them.... but no - not the trivialities
that drive us into impotent blind rage
committed daily by our partners, children, (parents?) , room-mates -
I, you, we, all have that list...
but I sing the joyous list of so-called 'minor' poets
who simply spell out, so uproariously
our petty human weaknesses,
domestic inadequacies, all the idiot joy
of living together while apart...
poets who'll never be on someone else's list
of 'ground-breaking' avant-garde great names
who with new neighbourings of words and sounds
expand humanity's poetic vision of the tears of things;
map out the undiscovered mind of years that are yet to be -
no - poets who, living all our lives for us,
confirm, with smiling banal truisms, this comedy,
our shared humanity; humans being humans;
wishing that we might change, but not too soon, not yet...
and as we smile and groan as poets with their skills
list that familiar daily stress and strain -
the still, mad music of humanity -
love arises.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
0005 Totally Boring Poem
I’m totally bored by:
poems that sound like other poems
poems that try to sound unlike any other poems
poets who never take risks
poets who think that taking risks
makes them good poets
poems with 'meaning'
poems with no meaning
poets who slag off other poets
as if that achieves something
poets that tell you that rhyme
is not for an age but for all time
poets that tell you that rhyme is outmoded and boring
poets who think that the poetry of 'the past'
is greater than that of 'the present'
poets who think that the poetry of 'the present'
is greater than that of 'the past'
poems that tell you the poet's the first to discover sex
poets that tell you they’re the best sex you’ll ever have
although you’ll never meet them to find out
poets that tell you they’ve been dumped
poets who've never known love and being dumped
poets who are ambitious
poets who are unambitious
poets who tell you all about higher things
poets who reject higher things
poets who think life’s just a joke
poets who think life’s no joke
poets who sit on the fence
poets who have no sense of balance
poets who despise 'the middle ground'
poets who talk about technique
poets with no technique
poets who just throw down their thoughts
poets who 'work up' their poems to a self-satisfied polish
poets who list what they like (who cares?)
poets who list what don’t like (who cares?)
poets who write about extreme states
poets who think they’re immune to extreme states
poets who tell you why they’re bored
poets who have opinions
poets who seem to have no opinions at all
poets who have boring opinions to air - why choose poetry?
poets who comment on others' poems
as if it's the last word
poets who never bother to comment
on others' poems
poets who don't love poetry passionately
poets who tell you they 'love poetry passionately'
poets who – oh I’m too bored to go on reading this,
how about you?
I suppose you have boring opinions too?
another time perhaps
and oh yes I'm most of all bored by
those who waste their precious time on this earth
being bored
well I feel better for that.
how about you?
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Good Poets and Bad Poets
Some poets get awards and think they are good poets.
Some poets never get awards and think they are bad poets.
Some poets think they are good poets only in their own mind
Some poets think they are bad poets in somebody's else mind.
Some poets think they are good poets in somebody else mind.
Some poets think others think they are good poets but they don't in their hearts.
Some poets think they are good poets in their hearts but not in anyone else's mind.
All are insecure, except those who get security from the opinions of others and that, alas, doesn't last and isn't real.
Some poets have left the entire scene and live only in their mind.
Some poets take criticism and don't mind.
Some poets avoid criticism and do mind.
Some poets write poetry to get love.
Some poets love to write poetry.
Some poets are ahead of their time, in their mind
Some poets spend a lifetime feeling like failures in their mind
Some poets live only after they die.
Some poets have much to say but can't articulate
Some poets retreat, believing others don't understand
So which one of these am I?
I guess I am all of these and none of these
and no matter what my description
I intend to keep doing what I do:
Write. Right
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Too Patient
When I began to weed through,
My priority list...
I saw some things on it,
That no longer exist.
I had placed people,
Who I considered friends on this list.
And for years they had been on it...
Doing and saying things to me as they wished.
Some don't speak to me.
But my name is on their lips.
When I began to weed through,
My priority list...
I saw some things on it,
That should not on my list exist!
Very few on my priority list,
Have me on their agenda.
And if they do,
I'm sure it's for fun, sport and gossip.
When I began to weed through,
My priority list...
I saw some things on it,
I couldn't not explain...
Why some names had hearts near them.
Did I do that?
Did I draw them in?
I use to dropp every and anything,
To be at someone's aide.
Some people I would call everyday...
Just to see if they were okay.
I've even allowed my own work to be submitted...
So folks could get their college degrees.
Joking about this,
I am not!
I have been the subject of innuendos and lies,
As if my life meant nothing at all.
To leave me to walk around with 'my' pain disguised.
Then I awakened and realized.
I am considered a fool!
Today...
When I began to weed through,
My priority list...
I saw some things on it,
That no longer exist.
And wondered to myself 'WHY'...
Is this stuff still 'there'.
Get rid of it!
This makes no sense.
Why do you have these people's lives,
Prioritized?
'That is being too patient!
Fix this and get this done quick! '
I have moments when I am completely rational.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I reckon—when I count it all
569
I reckon—when I count it all—
First—Poets—Then the Sun—
Then Summer—Then the Heaven of God—
And then—the List is done—
But, looking back—the First so seems
To Comprehend the Whole—
The Others look a needless Show—
So I write—Poets—All—
Their Summer—lasts a Solid Year—
They can afford a Sun
The East—would deem extravagant—
And if the Further Heaven—
Be Beautiful as they prepare
For Those who worship Them—
It is too difficult a Grace—
To justify the Dream—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Grown-up Christmas List
Grown-up christmas list
Do you remember me?
I sat upon your knee;
I wrote to you
With childhood fantasies.
Well, Im all grown-up now,
And still need help somehow.(can you still help somehow)
Im not a child,
But my heart still can dream.
So heres my lifelong wish,
My grown-up christmas list.
Not for myself,
But for a world in need.
No more lives torn apart,
That wars would never start,(and wars would never start)
And time would heal all hearts.
And everyone would have a friend,
And right would always win,
And love would never end.
This is my grown-up christmas list.
As children we believed
The grandest sight to see
Was something lovely
Wrapped beneath our tree.(wrapped beneath the tree)
Well heaven surely knows
That packages and bows
Can never heal
A hurting human soul.
No more lives torn apart,
That wars would never start,
And time would heal all hearts.
And everyone would have a friend,
And right would always win,
And love would never end.
This is my grown-up christmas list.
What is this illusion called the innocence of youth?
Maybe only in our blind belief can we ever find the truth.
(thered be)
No more lives torn apart,
That wars would never start,
And time would heal all hearts.
And everyone would have a friend,
And right would always win,
And love would never end, oh.
This is my grown-up christmas list.
This is my grown-up christmas list.
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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(V – 2010) The Poet’s Nature
Reflecting Nature’s various hues
Poets write colourfully.
Echoing Nature’s innate songs
Poets write musically.
Learning from Nature’s righteous laws
Poets write more sensibly.
Drawing from Nature’s spotless love
Poets write more humanely.
Living with Nature’s poetic life
Poets write living poetry.
My Grown Up Christmas List
Do you remember me?
I sat upon your knee;
I wrote to you
With childhood fantasies.
Well, i'm all grown-up now,
And still need help somehow.
I'm not a child,
But my heart still can dream.
So here's my lifelong wish,
My grown-up christmas list.
Not for myself,
But for a world in need.
No more lives torn apart,
That wars would never start,(and wars would never start)
And time would heal all hearts.
And everyone would have a friend,
And right would always win,
And love would never end.
This is my grown-up christmas list.
As children we believed
The grandest sight to see
Was something lovely
Wrapped beneath our tree.
but heaven only knows
That packages and bows
Can never heal
A hurting human soul.
No more lives torn apart,
That wars would never start,
And time would heal all hearts.
And everyone would have a friend,
And right would always win,
And love would never end.
This is my grown-up christmas list.
What is this illusion called the innocence of youth?
Maybe only in our blind belief can we ever find the truth.
No more lives torn apart,
That wars would never start,
And time would heal all hearts.
And everyone would have a friend,
And right would always win,
And love would never end, oh.
This is my grown-up christmas list.
This is my only lifelong wish.
This is my grown-up christmas list.
song performed by by Kelly Clarkson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mike Leigh encourages you to choose a person that you know to base your character on. You write a whole list of people that you know and you go through that list in great depth with him. And then he chooses one of those people from your list.
quote by Jane Horrocks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The First Poets
The First Poets hunted game in the forest and on the plains-
inventing signs and gestures; guttural sounds and mime-
and ultimately Words.
The First Poets wrote words and drew pictures
on the walls of caves
stamping their feet to drum-beats;
learning to dance.
The First Poets invented music for their words
religion, books and counting-conjuring up
in each instance-new things.
The First Poets imagined names for plants,
animals, birds and creatures of the sea;
sang songs about them-wrote poems and hymns.
creating sentiment, vows and promises-
marriage ceremonies.
Poets invented the idea of the Idea, of kindness, and visions.
Poets invented hope and the future, love of the past, community.
Poets invented the rhythm of our lives.
Poets re-invent themselves and civilization each generation.
They peer into the gauzy dream and dream what is not yet;
they peer inside themselves
reaching in
with-drawing something new
from that which had not been
there
before.
The First Poets invent and re-invent civilization each generation.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Bucket List (To Die A Happy Man)
I keep a list of things to do,
A simple list before I'm through
I have them numbered on both hands
To die a happy man
Sail down the Nile on a barge
Free fall for a mile from the stars
Parachute from an aeroplane
Have coffee with an honest man
Oh, to die a happy man
See Antarctica in spring
Gain the trust of a beautiful woman
Walk the dark side of the moon
Meet a legend of music, craft out a tune
Oh, to die a happy man
Buy a comfortable pair of shoes
See Machu Pichu's views
And drive through Paris unharmed
Oh, to die a happy man
Oh, to die a happy man
I keep a list of things to do,
A simple list before I'm through
I have them numbered on both hands
To die a happy man
poem by Colin Coplin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Love your enemies!
Should an enemy be in the friend's list?
Should an enemy be in the ban's list?
When the enemy is in the friend's list,
Either the enemy is dubious or a friend,
When the friend is in the Ban's list,
Either the friend is dubious or a foe,
When that famous enemy of someone,
Was listed in the friend's list of the same,
How many of you shocked and never asked?
As a vocal person, I never raise my voice against abuse,
As I am still confused with the traits of the artists,
Who are good at acting as predators and victims.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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A Honey-Do List (This is my attempt at a Sestina)
I wrote a long honey-do list
and handed it to my husband.
With a smile he read it and with a fold
he stuffed it in his pocket.
I'll get to this as soon as I can,
but can't you hear the cry from the dogs.
Who can't hear the cry of the dogs?
Did you not read my list?
If you won't do it I can,
I said to my loving husband
I took the list from his pocket.
And opened it at the fold.
It was closed with a fold,
because I want to hunt my dogs.
Now return it to my pocket.
I will get to the list,
Said my loving husband.
I'll get to it when I can.
I'm doing the best I can,
and he creased it at the fold.
Cried out my loving husband,
you know I love my dogs.
I'll get around to this list
and returned it to his pocket.
With my fingers I tapped the pocket,
maybe you can't but I can,
dropp you from my list.
Grabbing me he did fold
me in his arms like he does his dogs.
I am your loving husband.
I promise you said my loving husband,
with a hand on his heart across his pocket
I love you more than my dogs
I'll get to you when I can
Please return me to your fold
Because you know you head my list
Thirty-two dogs and one husband
added to my list and stuffed in a pocket
Enjoy it while I can and iron out our differences at the fold.
poem by Victoria Dame
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In the world of poetry there are would-be poets, workshop poets, promising poets, lovesick poets, university poets, and a few real poets.
quote by James Broughton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Oh These Poets And Their Sounds
OH THESE POETS AND THEIR SOUNDS
Oh these poets and their sounds
Their distant rhythms
Which take your soul away-
Oh these poets and their sounds
And the longing to be
One of them-
Oh this poet
And all his cry of loneliness-
Oh these poets and their sounds,
And he in his own small voice
Crying out lonely words
Before his own lonely page.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Grown Up Christmas List
Lyrics by Linda Thompson
Do you remember me
I sat upon your knee
I wrote to you
With childhood fantasies
Well, I'm all grown up now
Can you still help somehow
I'm not a child
But my heart still can dream
So here's my lifelong wish
My grown-up Christmas list
Not for myself
But for a world in need
No more lives torn apart
That wars would never start
And time would heal all hearts
Every man would have a friend
That right would always win
And love would never end
This is my grown-up
Christmas list
What is this illusion called
The innocence of youth
Maybe only in their blind belief
Can we ever find the truth
There'd be no more lives torn apart
And wars would never start
And time would heal all hearts
Every man would have a friend
And right would always win
And love would never end
This is my grown-up Christmas list
This is my only lifelong wish
This is my grown-up Christmas list
Hoo---, hoo--
song performed by by Natalie Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We As Poets
We as poets must command a sacred accent over a language of our choice,
We as poets must gift the minds of a failing generation,
We as poets must demand a clear explanation and a fair occupation,
We as poets must dissolve into particles and dust if we have not known enough,
We as poets must destroy the living standards of low quality,
We are to be the poetry of utmost perception and suffering.
poem by Naveed Akram
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2010/05/16 Outlawed
Psychologically preparing for returning to
work tomorrow, making lists, Production
Sheet of everything I did during the month
Month Sheet for everything we ALL did
during the month
Work-On-Hand, a list of work to be done by
me in the coming week, another list of work
to be done by the whole Section during the
coming week, sheet upon sheet, a list of
lists to be listed
By the time we are finished listing I will have
done so much soul-searching, seeking out
shortcomings in my conscience, I shall know
I am a criminal, guilty for being born, even more
guilty for living on
Guilty for breathing and dreaming of a better world
where freedom and joy, love and acceptance abound
guilty for being a flawed human being who should be
kept in the straightjacket of legislation, laws and
regulations - guilty for being
A specimen of the species homo erectus - bureaucracy
has been designed to strangle all humanity out of me -
but I learnt to love breathing because breathing
has been outlawed...
*
Let’s kill the world, let’s all die out, it’s my highest dream
to become extinct, let’s kill the world, let’s all die out,
my highest vision is one of extinction...
poem by Margaret Alice
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The List Goes On
Radio play, just depresses me today,
Why is it so throwaway?
The lists that you write just to classify this tripe,
When clearly it all sounds the same
I've heard it all done before,
100 years ago, or more,
Orginality is so passe
Just the same old politics
Through pretentious effects units,
By self obsessive slobs... the list goes on
Madia press has become an utter mess,
The opinions of failed pop stars,
They constantly try to divert the public eye,
Led by large cash advances and such
I've heard it all done before,
100 years ago or more
Originality is so passe,
Forgotten geners get re-hashed
Create the craze, create the cash,
Will you buy anything... the list goes on
And I will try, not to let this get to me,
But it goes on,
Yeah it goes on, and on and on and on...
I've heard it all done before,
100 years ago or more,
Originality is so passe,
I'll never lose my faith in you,
If nothing's good what can you do,
Just don't buy anything,
The list goes on,
On the list goes on
song performed by by Ordinary Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lay Your Ears Back and Fight
WHEN you drink of what the poets rave about as “sorrer’s cup”,
And yer mouth, in spite of laughin’, gits a curve the wrong way up,
Do not whine for help or pity; never cringe at fortunes frown—
Lay yer list’ners back and fight until you fight yer sorrers down!
Though the world on empty pockets is at times a little harsh
And the weights of care are clinging to the ends of your mustarsh,
Never let yer grief boil over; it is nothing to the town—
Lay yer list‘ners back and battle till you fight yer sorres down!
When the law of gravitation lays a hand upon yer heart,
An’ the “slings an’ arrers” fetch yer and you feel ’em pretty smart,
When you cannot find a billet, and you haven’t half-a-crown—
Lay yer list’ners hack and fight until you fight yer sorrers down!
When the gilt upon the future wears in places very thin,
Look as if there’s nothink crooked, try an’ summon up a grin;
There’s a mask that you must always wear the other way about—
Lay yer list’ners back and battle till you knock yer sorrers out.
poem by Henry Lawson
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If I Knew What Poets Know
If I knew what poets know,
Would I write a rhyme
Of the buds that never blow
In the summer-time?
Would I sing of golden seeds
Springing up in ironweeds?
And of rain-drops turned to snow,
If I knew what poets know?
Did I know what poets do,
Would I sing a song
Sadder than the pigeon's coo
When the days are long?
Where I found a heart in pain,
I would make it glad again;
And the false should be the true,
Did I know what poets do.
If I knew what poets know,
I would find a theme
Sweeter than the placid flow
Of the fairest dream:
I would sing of love that lives
On the errors it forgives;
And the world would better grow
If I knew what poets know.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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