23 (skidoo)
Moldy grows the fig.
I will eat it anyway,
the moldy old fig.
poem by Morgan Michaels
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Related quotes
D12
i agree
that if from the moldy
bread they
produce penicillin
what more from
'out of you '
can they bring?
you are not
the moldy bread
i supposed
i wish i am.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stinky, Moldy Cheese
In my house there is a slice...
Of stinky cheese
In my house there is some chedder
Though staying far from it might be better
In my house there's a piece
Of stinky, moldy mozzarela cheese
In my house there are many things
But nothing can top stinky, moldy cheese
There is a whisperer who tells me many things
'Hey miss...'
'Don't go near the swiss! '
You're so lucky this cheese...
Isn't yours
poem by Kristy Wisser
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Its Moldy Now
[parody of hold me now by the thompson twins]
I had a pizza,
Covered with cheese.
I wrapped it all up in aluminum foil,
Stuck it back in the freeze.
Look at my crust now,
See what I mean.
Its getting all wrinkled,
And my pepperoni is hairy and green.
Ah, cause its moldy now,
It got moldy fast.
How can i
Make leftovers last, make leftovers last?
I was so hungry,
What could I do?
I finished the pizza
And topped it all off with some mystery stew.
Now I feel kinda queasy,
Yeah, yeah, what can I say?
So I called my physician
To wish him that hed make a house call today.
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Woman Is Fire
There was a time when Woman went out of house, house of wax was left by Woman, Woman with waxen complexion I was, I was fiery Woman, Woman's body was a wax, Woman's eyes a flammable paraffin, what Woman's mouth was: withered red apples when Woman was fired out of house. House was invisible when Woman took a fire lamp and went to cheer in the smell of fallen apples, scattered around house, our moldy house. In the cold night Woman molded her body in a candle mould to revive old fire and saw Man that gathered apple stalks from moldy apple trees. It was a lonely man, Man that made a fire with waxed paper and moldering apple stalks. Man that sat outdoors on a moldy wooden bench by that fire and drunk applejack.
Woman saw Man, Man that felt Woman's looks through apple shaped embers bursting out of fire when wet apple leaves dried. Fire was a necessity for Man, for Man made his living being a fire-eater. The fire-eater wanted fire that gives birth, of fireworks, exploding fire. Man moved a long green apple stalk through fire to burn fire more. Man took a dropp and swallowed it. Man took another dropp and spat it into the fire. Suddenly Man realized what he needed and waxed on a piece of paper: fire must drink applejack for fire is becoming moldy, and he spat what he drunk mingled with apple-tasting spit. House is moldy too, Woman remembered and woman's heart became a rotten apple.. Fire was quenching as Woman closed her eyelids, apple peels, longing for house. House may be moldy, but house is not empty. Woman molded house the like, house full of candle lights and fireflies. Woman left Man's fire quenched and remained an apple scented candle. House melts easily and hardens quickly, Woman too. Woman abandoned Man not to be melt. That is old fire in Woman, as she stalks on apple waxed earth toward house.
poem by Afrodita Nikolova
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It's a Tim sandwich. The meat is fresh, but the bread is moldy.
quote by Daniel Craig
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Brains are like sponges... If allowed to remain moist for too long they become moldy.
quote by Angela White
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Seek truth in meditation, not in moldy books. Look in the sky to find the moon, not in the pond.
Not Mine But Yours...
Nothing grows except the grass.
Nothing leaps into sight except some stone
and what the stone contains and protects.
Here, far from the beach,
far from the place where the water
returns every so often
rusted metal, moldy wood,
the corpse of a dolphin or a turtle.
The wind does not blow with the force
to propel us as far as the promised then.
The minutes that pass become hours
but never days, they become nights
that never agree to be years,
and centuries in which somebody dies
and someone else, who does not know it, yawns.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Bad Day
burnt toasted
bread
beside a
moldy
marmalade
bland coffee
and bad news
on tv
welcome
a world in recession.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Every few thousand years some shepard inhales smoke from a burning bush and has a vision or eats moldy rye bread in a cave and sees God.
quote by Kerry Thornley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Attic
Its just an old moldy attic.
You'll not see anything crazy or dramatic.
Its all just a real mess.
Take it from me its all just a bunch of stress.
I have to clean it from bottom to top.
Everytime I look around me the work is just begging me to stop.
Its hard trying to decide what has to be given away.
Everything just disappears any way.
Box after box and I still did not find my drawings all day.
Justice
justice allegedly is not arrogant
when it proclaims that
no stone shall be left
unturned
neither is it so inefficient
to take the pacing of
a snail
how do you like a blind
woman to decide your murder case?
how unupdated is the sword?
how rusty are the scales?
and how long can the hands of time
stop the moldy motion of madness?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Realists are, as a rule, only men in the rut of routine who are incapable of transcending a narrow circle of antiquated notions. But their adverse opinion does carry some weight and can do great harm to a new project — at least until the innovation is strong enough to push the "realists" and their moldy notions aside.
quote by Theodore Herzl
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Harriett
Your sweet love budded and blossomed,
And it came to me with an aroma;
So, i am nearer to you like the hill of Moreh.
Your love is like the vintage harvest of Abiezer,
And of a moldy loaf of barley to share with;
But you are encamped in the valley of Yezereel.
Oh Harriett my love, I only ate a little of your honey;
And now, i have found out that it is sweeter than money!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Emptyness
I make my way to the house,
where you once existed,
windows are all moldy,
and the paint has diminished.
Without you there,
the house was forsaken,
no life, no soul
it just felt empty and distant.
Once upon a time,
this house held my memories,
now when I look at it,
it holds my sorrow and heartache.
I have to walk away now,
Can’t walk the path to the door,
Remembering you formerly lived here,
But you don’t no more
poem by Karissa Bristow
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Losing Hope
the pulp of my past
decays in the lines of my palm
and if my mouth shuts up
because of somethings unswallowable
such as bitterness and unbearable sourness
i then think of you
nights of unease
as frequent as the rain of december
and because of coldness and feelings of
wet rags and moldy shoes on the rack
because of all these
and in a few steps towards a line of bushes
a few glances of clouds and horizons
my hopes are lost as clumsily and
irreparably as
a stone rippling its way to the sea
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Look At Me!
Look at me!
Go ahead.
Look at me.
I only exist...
To have your eyes on my lips,
Legs, butt and thighs.
Wherever you decide to probe.
And...
From my head to my toes,
You analyze regardless of my discomfort felt.
I only exist...
For you to criticize.
Look at me!
As if to read a book you skim through quickly.
To find if there is dirt to discover,
Smothered under the surface.
And not fresh dirt.
You like your dirt old and moldy.
Look at me!
Look at me to examine each hair I have.
And where that hair is,
On my path as I pass.
Look at me!
And if your findings should disappoint...
I am sure,
Something that is not there to see...
Will be!
If you have anything to do with it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Anybody home? Anybody there?
You sent emails
And there is no reply
You sent pics and
There is nobody
Acknowledging
You sent a lot
Of poems
And you
Keep on doing
These things
Repeatedly
For what
Crazy phenomenon
You can’t just
Simply stop
Missing breakfasts
Skipping snacks
Little sleep
No exercise
Canceled walks
Refused Parties
You are
Simply engaged
In nothing
But intellectual
Masturbation
Rubbing your
Brains against
The monitor
Self strangulation
Self beatings
Inflicting a
Punishment that
You do not deserve
That
you cannot
Explain yourself
Hey, hey
Is there anybody
There?
Is there
Anybody home?
Are you there?
Answer me
I am tired.
like one mashed potato
just mashed
uneaten
unliked
moldy
and will be thrown to the garbage can.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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