Lyricon 1
I the being of pure deceptions
Hide the hair from solitude
The hair the evening was silent about
I by the desert thirst cracked
Patchwork the edges of time
A universe flat on my own forehead
I push into the last heart beat
(Lyrical icon 2005)
Lirikon 1
Ja bić e č istih zabluda
Od osame skrivam kose
Što ih je ć utalo več e
Ja od žeđ i pustinje ispucala
Rubove vremena krpim
Svemir poravnat na svome č elu
Guram u posljednji otkucaj
(Lirska ikona 2005)
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Lyricon 2
Right from the sky
Merging with the blue
To whom the dwelling lost its track
Into the whispering pillows
Through the autumn eyelids
In blueness it was foretold
Long before life
With your eyes
Settling in the nests
It missed the point with both fire and stone
Long before Prometheus
With your hands
Made silent in an embrace
The world was being created
And stories were born
Long before history
With your hair
Out of fear, with hopes that bloomed
And freedom endless
Chiseled in the nests
You fed eagles within your eyes
(Lyricon icon 2,2005)
Iz neba srastao s plavim
Kome je stanište u jastuke šaputave odlutalo
Kroz jesenje kapke
Modrinom predskazivano dugo
Prije života
Oč ima tvojim
Gnijezdima nastanjeno
Vatrom i kamenom promašivano
Dugo prije Prometeja
Rukama tvojim
Zagrljajem utihnut
Gradio se svijet
Rađ ala povesma dugo
Prije istorije
Kosama tvojim
Iz straha – izniklim nadama
I slobode beskrajne
U gnijezda uklesan
U oč ima orlove hranio si
(Lirska ikona 2,2005)
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Hair
Wide cheeks? Let the hair hide the ears.
Broad forehead? Let the hair spills in front.
Dwarf neck? Let the hair in knot be up.
Lanky figure? Let the hair falls on shoulders.
Hair being dense is an asset to woman
27.03.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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If I could raise my hand... [Să pot întinde mâna...]
If I could raise my hand to gently touch your brow
The hair strands lying there I'd put aside right now,
I'd make it clear and pure as lilies white, sublime,
An icon of sweet love to worship all the time.
But like an evening star you sparkle far away
And just for a short while from there you come my way,
Then vanish in thin air; however, in my mind
I worship every day your vision dear and kind.
poem by Veronica Micle, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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I'm working on my new album right now. Hopefully to get that out at the top of 2005, January 2005.
quote by Obie Trice
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Human Shape
Racially pure European and Asian
men have straight hair growing
from their heads.
Some other men have hair that's
curly, growing from their heads.
But hair shape is not the shape that
really matters.
Because it's the shape of the human
forehead that makes you a man.
Rather than a chimpanzee.
Whether your skin color is white,
brown or bread-crust tan.
poem by Philip R. Garges Jr.
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Heraclitus Fr.30
The world is becoming the bruise in my heart
The desert skin wearing the burns of the dark
The burns of the light
It’s placed in the accords of infliction
The thought of the rain and wind the volcano and the grain
A re-creation of endless circles
The spheric cages of the sky and earth
Dressed in moss my chilly waitings are
The soul of the north freezes my breath
Reality swallowed in a piece of question
Infinitely pushes the edges of the fall
The finite stuck within a dream
Where have I heard the eternal rhythm of the tribe
The beating of the earth within its step
The breathing of the water dripping down
The walls of the caves
Where have I seen the volcano lava
From the centre of nothing into the infinite
The flame was singing instead of me
From secret to secret lit up died out
Peaceful fires of order
Among which I burned
Written in 1995.
Svijet mi postaje modrica na srcu
Koža pustinje sa opekotinom od mraka
Sa opekotinom od svjetla
Staje u akorde stradanja
Misao kiše i vjetra vulkana i grumena
Ponovno stvaranje beskrajnih kružnica
Kružni kavezi zemlje i neba
Obrasla mahovinom ledna mi č ekanja
Sjeverna duša ledi mi dah
Pod kriškom pitanja progutana stvarnost
U nedogled gura rubove pada
Gdje se u konač nost sabija san
Otkud sam č ula vječ ni ritam plemena
Otkucaj zemlje u njegovim stopama
Disanje vode u iskapavanju
Sa zidova peć ina
Otkud sam vidjela lavine vulkana
Iz grotla nič eg u beskraj
Umjesto mene pjevao je plamen
Iz tajne u tajnu palila se gasila
Mirna svjetla poretka
Izmeđ u njih gorjela sam ja
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The Immediate Life
What’s become of you why this white hair and pink
Why this forehead these eyes rent apart heart-rending
The great misunderstanding of the marriage of radium
Solitude chases me with its rancour.
poem by Paul Eluard
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Want More Hair?
I'd love
I think
more hair
more hair
like a big
old grizzly bear
more hair makes
you manly
more hair
makes you tough
more hair feels
like carpet
more hair keeps
you rough
more hair
for pretty ladies
to rub their faces on
more hair for
guys to jealous of
and more locks that can
be flung
I think more hair would be awesome
but I wouldn't wanna overdo it
because too much hair would make
me like a little furry blanket
and I couldn't cover both of us
just you and that ain't fair
more hair!
poem by John W. McEwers
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When have I been open?
I hide my love
When I love women across.
I hide my hate
When I work with my rivals
I hide my contempt
When I move with the low beings.
I hide my jealousy
In my brothers’ glory.
I hide my displeasure
When I yield to the power.
I hide my reservation
In my wife’s parental affinity.
I hide my inconvenience
When unwanted guests disturb.
I hide my selfishness
When I deal with my siblings.
I hide my bias
When I treat my sons and daughters.
When have I been open
When I have been with others?
25.10.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Experiencing the hell
Having lost your pride,
Having lost your value,
Also teeth, hair, lust,
And then soon memory,
Must you live far beyond
To experience the very hell,
With the God blessed longivity?
11.02.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The confidence
Confidence is the one
That edges you up
Inch by inch
Till you slip and
Plunge down the bottom.
06.12.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Foreign Aids
The little girls with music in their hair
Are collecting mice in tiny tins for Jesus;
They fall asleep in the armpits of despair
And die all at once of desperate diseases.
What shall we do to slake their drowning thirst?
They don't want the waters of our pity, that's for sure!
Look at them as they beat their fists on the stubborn earth,
Collecting old sins for Jesus with Mozart in their hair!
Perhaps you should carve their solitude out of anger;
You can't eat poems or live on propaganda!
The Church of God will split the world apart
Before it feeds these little girls with ashes or moonlight.
Will anyone forgive us for our lust
As we twiddle our thumbs in air-conditioned offices?
The little girls had begged for truth or happiness
But we robbed them of their virginity and buried them in dust.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Shapley Supercluster
Found a shapely theory: The Seven Samurai’s
Great Attractor was replaced by the more
massive Shapley Supercluster
In 2005 the X ray CIZA survey, Clusters in the Zone
of Avoidance, revealed the Milky Way is not drawn
towards the Great Attractor
But to a more massive region behind it, The Shapley
Supercluster, four times the distance to the Great
Attractor,500 million light-years away
The CIZA team demoted the Samurai’s Great
Attractor to only a tenth of the mass
originally estimated
I feel quite deflated, though Shaply Super
is shapely enough in theory…
(IFA press release; Maggie McKee, New Scientist,
December 15,2005; Kocevski and Ebeling,2005;
and Kocevski et al,2005) .
http: //www.solstation.com/x-objects/greatatt.htm
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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Solitude In Desert
Nobody is left alone
All are accompanied by spirits
That takes no forms
That pervade the universe!
The sea is not alone
She is keeping in her womb
As much children count innumerable
She talk to sun
Even at the hot-point
And delight him at dawn and dusk!
The ocean never meditate
As she violates the silence
And keep lamenting always
Worried over the yet to born
Children in her large womb.
The desert never complain
Of the scorching sun
But like to converse all along
To ease his tension!
The desert keep company
With the wind, sun, moon
And the stars and horizon
Who never break the silence
And so the desert has solitude!
The rivers run down
To the depths of the oceans
Not listening
The gestures of ravines
As she is running
With rush to evaporate
To the heavens to take shape
Of weeping clouds to rain
Again and again to continue
The incessant mission assigned!
The desert lay silent
And pray in solitude
To bring solace to souls!
poem by Vadakkumpurath Ramesan
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An odd to a man from a woman.
Why must I like to entertain you?
Why must I long for your presence?
How’s that we speak nonsense with a sense?
Is it love? Mixed with sex? Be it.
I don’t want to betray it though it is.
Let us meet and talk to leak our thirst.
You must know a woman swims in knee deep.
Much is at stake; don’t push her to hip deep.
I love you; yes, I do, sexually.
Let it blossom like jasmine, not fruiting.
Dignity at stake, passion suffers.
Lust must live, not to suffocate.
Don’t put me to test, instead ease me out.
Let us be outwardly friends to sustain love
Do love me in fantasy as I do.
Take my heart and spare my flesh, my dear!
03.6.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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To Much Hair
There is thin hair,
heavy hair,
There is gray hair,
and red hair,
then there is no hair,
I will be hair
for you forever,
every hair you go,
I will go hair to.
(4-11-07)
A Boy's Trials
When I was but a little lad
One thing I could not bear,
It was to stand at mother's knee
And have her comb my hair.
They didn't keep boys' hair as short
As it's kept now-a-days,
And mine was always tangled up
In twenty different ways.
I'd twist my mouth and grit my teeth,
And say it wasn't fair-
It was a trial, and no mistake,
When mother combed my hair.
She'd brush and brush each stubborn curl
That grew upon my pate,
And with her scissors nip and clip
To make the edges straight.
Then smooth it down until it shone,
While I would grin and bear,
And feel a martyr through and through,
When mother combed my hair.
She'd take my round chin in her hand
And hold it there the while
She made the parting carefully,
Then tell me with a smile:
'Don't push your cap down on your curls
And spoil my work and care;
He is a pretty little lad
When mother combs his hair.'
I'd hurry out and rumple up
That mop of hair so thick-
A vandal, I, for she had worked
So hard to make it slick-
And wish I were a grown-up man
So nobody would dare
To put a washrag in my ears,
Or comb my tangled hair.
Heigho! now that I'm bald and gray,
Methinks I would be glad
To have her smooth my brow and cheeks,
And whisper, 'Mother's lad!'
A longing for the care-free days
Doth take me unaware;
To stand, a boy, at mother's knee
And have her comb my hair.
poem by Jean Blewett
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Learn from animals
Chicks and calves having grown up,
Would desert their mothers,
Who, however, bear no ill will.
Must we, when we are deserted?
13.12.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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One Lifes Enough
Theres a scene
Theres a scene
Indelible, it hangs before my eyes
Indelible, it hangs before my eyes
In our teens, incredibly
In our teens, incredibly
Together with no ties.
Together with no ties.
That was a life enough for me
That was a life enough for me
One lifes enough for me.
One lifes enough for me.
Throw back your heard
Throw back your heard
Let yout body curve
Let yout body curve
Into the long grass of the bed
Into the long grass of the bed
Pull me down into your hair
Pull me down into your hair
And Ill push and swerve
And Ill push and swerve
As we both gasp in the evening air
As we both gasp in the evening air
Yeah -- -- -- -- --
Yeah -- -- -- -- --
Throw back your head
Throw back your head
Ley your body curve
Ley your body curve
Into the long grass of the bed
Into the long grass of the bed
Pull me down into your hair
Pull me down into your hair
And Ill push and swerve
And Ill push and swerve
As we both gasp in the evening air
As we both gasp in the evening air
song performed by by Who
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The barbar down the lane
Most time as much a scissor talk
Call for long legs and hair walk
A thing that happens all the time
To every pocket that has least a dim
The man change a hair one
With smile and happiness morning in line
A hair enters and 'voom' disappears
The man inside with hair on repairs
Our barbar down the lane
Is a man with no shame
My hair I dedicate to him
And mine is down with all vim
The everday I wish to enter
And embrass the comb in my hair
This then I know it him
The barbar down the lane
poem by Henry Nii Ayi Cobblah
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