0342 Like me, like you
Landing airplanes form a high queue;
Busy ants all form a low queue;
Salespersons should pretend they like you;
But only poets can form a haiku.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Related quotes
Ant's Queue
ANTS’ QUEUE
A demon garbed as human
Raped a lame and naive woman
The earth didn’t crack
Maimed was a common man
When for justice he raised slogans
Heavens didn’t go down
Goes on the long ant’s queue
Even when one ant is trampled
Under savage hooves
No stopping; no looking back
No nerve to swerve; to rebel
They yearn to live; to survive
As long as they can with no strife
No airs about their ancestors
Who together slew a vile serpent
Care not of what they can attain
United when they retaliate
Plead they, with dour candour
“Ants cannot fight wild beasts”
Goes on the long ant’s queue
poem by Sathya Narayana
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The War
There is a sound of thunder afar,
Storm in the south that darkens the day,
Storm of battle and thunder of war,
Well, if it do not roll our way.
Form! form! Riflemen form!
Ready, be ready to meet the storm!
Riflemen, riflemen, riflemen form!
Be not deaf to the sound that warns!
Be not gull'd by a despot's plea!
Are figs of thistles or grapes of thorns?
How should a despot set men free?
Form! form! Riflemen form!
Ready, be ready to meet the storm!
Riflemen, riflemen, riflemen form!
Let your Reforms for a moment go,
Look to your butts and make good aims.
Better a rotten borough or so,
Than a rotten fleet or a city of flames!
Form! form! Riflemen form!
Ready, be ready to meet the storm!
Riflemen, riflemen, riflemen form!
Form, be ready to do or die!
Form in freedom's name and the Queen's!
True, that we have a faithful ally,
But only the devil knows what he means!
Form! form! Riflemen form!
Ready, be ready to meet the storm!
Riflemen, riflemen, riflemen form!
poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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Wrote For Luck
I wrote for luck.
They sent me you.
I sent for juice.
You give me poision.
I hold the line.
You form the queue.
Try anything hard.
Is there anything else you can do?
Well not much - I've not been trained.
I can sit and stand, beg n' roll over.
I don't read.
I just guess.
There's more than one sign.
But it's getting less.
And you were wet.
But you're getting dryer.
You use to speak the truth.
But now you're liar.
You use to speak the truth.
But now you're clever.
And I wrote for luck.
And they sent me you.
And I sent for juice.
You give me poision.
I hold the line.
You form the queue.
Try anything hard.
Is there anything else you can do?
And you were wet.
But you're getting dryer.
You use to speak the truth.
But now you're clever.
You use to speak the truth.
But now you're clever.
And when it's hot.
You start to melt.
'Cos you're not made of jean.
You're made of chocolate.
And when it's cold.
You tend to crack.
You keep on piling out.
Not puttin' back ...
song performed by by Happy Mondays
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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W F L (Vince Clarke Remix)
I wrote for luck.
They sent me you.
I sent for juice.
You give me poision.
I hold the line.
You form the queue.
Try anything hard.
Is there anything else you can do?
Well not much - I've not been trained.
I can sit and stand, beg n' roll over.
I don't read.
I just guess.
There's more than one sign.
But it's getting less.
And you were wet.
But you're getting dryer.
You use to speak the truth.
But now you're liar.
You use to speak the truth.
But now you're clever.
And I wrote for luck.
And they sent me you.
And I sent for juice.
You give me poision.
I hold the line.
You form the queue.
Try anything hard.
Is there anything else you can do?
And you were wet.
But you're getting dryer.
You use to speak the truth.
But now you're clever.
You use to speak the truth.
But now you're clever.
And when it's hot.
You start to melt.
'Cos you're not made of jean.
You're made of chocolate.
And when it's cold.
You tend to crack.
You keep on piling out.
Not puttin' back ..
song performed by by Happy Mondays
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Sparrow's Thoughts.... (Number Six)
you can send the lie in the form
of the unemployment check, in the
form of food stamps, in the form
of Medicaid, in the form of new
policies, in the form of charity...
but the truth is you dont give a damn
until you are willing to share all
you have with fairness, until you're
willing to put your shoulders to the
load, until you're willing to get
involved in the work of equality!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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~ OLoLoLouuud! ! ! ~
~ OLoLoLouuud! ! ! ~
Ms. Nivedita
UK
18 March 18,2012
Am I: ~
A form without a from?
OR
A from without form?
OR
Mosaic?
OR
None?
Then what I'm?
by Jove: ~
I'm unmistakably
Weeny Wisdom
Unmanifested yet.
Without queue quandary
Solicit ev'ry plausive punditry.
Till then in Uranus
Join Uzume
In chorus
OLoLoLouuud! ! !
Pliss! ! !
===
Glossary: With humility I'm giving what I tried to express:
Uzume: The Japanese Goddess of cheerfulness &c.
~~~
Copyright reserved by author.
poem by Ms. Nivedita Bagchi Spc. Uk.
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Q
I join the queue
We move up nicely.
I ask the lady in front
What are we queuing for.
'To join another queue,'
She explains.
'How pointless,' I say,
'I'm leaving.' She points
To another long queue.
'Then you must get in line.'
I join the queue.
We move up nicely.
poem by Roger McGough
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One of the aspects of form that I have been very interested in is stasis - the concept of form which is not so directional in time, not so much climactic form, but rather form which allows time, to stand still.
quote by La Monte Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The rudimentary forms
Rivalry is the rudimentary
Form of enmity.
Solidarity is the rudimentary
Form of fear.
Sports and games are the rudimentary
Form of fight
Friendship across sex is the rudimentary
Form of sexual love
04.10.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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He was the first to conceive of movies as an art form. His belief was that if the traditional art form would not find room for him, then he would make an art form of his own.
quote by Richard Schickel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Some Poets
Some poets pen Horatian odes,
While others write in epic modes.
Some love the rousing roundelay
(Though most consider it passé) .
Some like the tightly-packed haiku,
And villanelles still please a few.
Some think the sonnet form sublime.
But me, I just want shit to rhyme.
poem by Bridgid Patrick
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Peace
AH, that Time could touch a form
That could show what Homer's age
Bred to be a hero's wage.
'Were not all her life but storm
Would not painters paint a form
Of such noble lines,' I said,
'Such a delicate high head,
All that sternness amid charm,
All that sweetness amid strength?'
Ah, but peace that comes at length,
Came when Time had touched her form.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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0266 This one's only for those who like it
Did Jesus, as a baby, cry?
For was there aught to cry for?
Or were His tears from God’s own holy font,
knowing, what He was here for?
The story speaks of one
who’s seldom seen in Christmas cribs –
one of the first of animals to make praise:
the inn’s pet tabby cat, who, woken strangely
by the faintest sound – yet, not a mouse who stirred –
yawned, stretched, strolled slowly down to check
that in the stable, all was peace…
and it was peace, as peace was ever known.
What could a tabby do but purr?
The Christ Child woke; his lips seemed almost
to form some first and holy word;
gazed at the tabby cat, strange creature
of this strange new world; saw it was good;
and smiled.. and Mary, seeing this, and
hearing in that purr, Creation’s praise,
leant down and with her hands, till then
pressed in her world-bearing humility -
and on the tabby’s forehead
as some mark of christenings yet to come,
fingered the initial ‘M’ – not as some believe,
her name – though happy coincidence, but
the nearest human beings may come
to praising godly human, human God,
with perfect purr of peace. And so and ever since
the tabby bears upon its forehead that sacred
M. You didn’t know? Well, take a look…
And you may wonder why
this god or goddess of the hearth
is not so honoured in the Christmas crib?
Not as some unimaginative people think,
in case it smothered inadvertently
the Christ Child – well, is that likely?
No – it was as peaceful messenger
outside the stable, marshalling in its holy role
the birds and animals who’d first picked up
even perhaps before the shepherds, that
cosmic sound: ‘The stable’s full right now – please form
an orderly queue’ – and I’m sure
I needn’t tell you that this orderly queue, of two by two,
followed the same order as they embarked
and later, disembarked, from – yes, you guessed it -
The Ark.
So this Christmas, if you still have your loved
but battered Noah’s Ark
with all (well, mostly, now) its precious cargo –
line them up around the crib, in an orderly
queue of praise.
How quiet and peaceful,
now, they are!
poem by Michael Shepherd
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It is a peculiar art form, but I think it's a necessary art form - and I do believe it's a noble art form.
quote by Paul Conrad
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Of Ants and Life
…guess me correct
of ants and life they connect
causing a traffic jam on their trails I cannot forget
of ants as they swam from tree barks to get
a source of existence cannot let
the ants in drought to starve
for food is what they have once collected
and stored;
that which none has never rejected
nor objected
of ants and life
the futuristic species
that know when to pick up the pieces
of anything,
and the guard ants making sure nothing misses
from whence it were piled and stored
of ants and life ‘am never bored
as I observed how they nod
in respect and honor on board
as they pass each other a hustle they accord
of ants and life as they seek to conform
to a life in all its form
if ants can manage their own
why can’t we not of our own?
poem by Onalethuso Petruss Ntema
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Forms (A Serious Side)
Just think of all the paper
that is used to create a form.
Think of all the trees
that have to be cut down,
And all the rainforests
that disappear, each year.
So when you get another form to fill in.
Just remind the sender
of all the wildlife they destroy
and ask when they are planting more trees.
Because this form has taken
just one too many trees
from our wonderful world.
poem by David Harris
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The British ballads became a new kind of form in their hand. And out of them came the blues, a new kind of song of commentary and satire, a song form which, after all, has become the main musical form of the whole human species.
quote by Alan Lomax
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Reflections
i
a certain garden is in flames
i wonder
who put one of the leaves on fire
she calls it
my garden of wonder
ii
she continues
that her heart can take any form
a grazing grass for goats
a nunnery for spinsters
for the caterpillars, a big leaf
a cradle for a baby
dinner table for two
a handkerchief for tears
iii
he says he only believes in
love
hate is only its absence
where a queue ends
it always ends in the love
of humanity
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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4. Elements – Fire
The element of fire
Constructive, destructive
The bright light of fire
The slight of fire
The all consuming fire
Does not exist
In its natural form
Exists by consuming
Another form
It transforms from one
Form to another form
Fuels our passion
Leaves everything ashen
Duels the darkness
Heaves on compassion
Fire, constructively destructive
Fire, destructively constructive
Fire, living death
Fire, dying life
poem by Anand Dixit
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