Related quotes: A ceremony where hidden absurdities,...

Walima (Wedding Dinner)

A ceremony where hidden absurdities,
Underneath the rustling dresses, coated skin,
Painted lips, combed hair and shaved faces,
Come up shamelessly to jump at the opportunity.

A competition of filling the big containers,
With sweet spicy warm dainty dishes,
Of chicken, beef, mutton, rice with salad.

How gluttonous participants stuff the bellies,
The leg in mouth wing in hand, chest in plate,
Avaricious eyes stare around to have more!
And how frantically like horses they eat,
When they are let loose in the lush green corn,
They eat less and spoiling pillage more,
As if the doomsday will cease the world tomorrow.

Ah! The simpletons move with empty plates.
With huge yellow greasy spots in front,
The uninvited seem happier than the invited,
Trace out they far fetched thread of propinquity.

Oh! Man! Behave like Man, if thou are a man.
Gentility lies but underneath the surface,
In presence of the opportunity springs up,
Whatever is hidden in flesh, blood and bones.

poem by Muhammad Shanazar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Skin

Underneath my skin, is another skin

Underneath my bones some other bones

In which you have walked

And still walk

Underneath this tree grows another tree

In which you have grown

In which your roots have sewn

These shoots that rise up

Carry me nearer to you

I walk into your past

Breathe inside of your days

And your heart holds mine

Each beat

A sign that you are still living

Underneath these stones

Are your living stones

That will not die

I walk into your past

And live always in your presence

I carry you under my skin

Shaped by the dust of your bone

Born from the seed of your love

Carried on the wind

I carry you under my skin

Into the skin of another

Into the flesh and the blood of a lover

And you will live on

In the root of the tree

In the fruit of the flower

On and on

Held in the heart on another

I carry you under my skin

And always you are here, with me

poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Scratch The Surface

Scratch the surface serve a purpose
scratch the surface don't waste my time

Such empty life Such simple sheep night after night
herd to the creeps all hidden faults beauty is null
such shallow sight barely skin deep

What is the force that drives the superficial
tell me what keeps their minds remaining little
so afraid of what they'd see underneath the fantasy
so afraid to actually scratch the surface.

All mirrors hide Big money lies faillure inside
big lying eyes that's maybe why eyes are the soul
they take so much time big dollar signs

song performed by by Sick Of It All from Scratch The Surface
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bonescraper

There is no future for us to suture
Your life ill-fated, beat down and hated
Shot in the head, walking undead
Numb to the world, around your head
Rip my skin from my bone, I won't bleed
Rip my heart from my chest, I won't scream
Hide in the shadows, deep black, and hollow
Empty void of light cuts clean, like a knife
Damaged and torn, punctured by thorns
I've felt nothing since I was born
Rip my skins from my bones, I won't bleed
Rip my heart from my chest, I won't scream
My flesh <-> Your flesh
Your eyes <-> My sight
My pain <-> Your shame
We are the same ...
Rip my skin from my bones, I won't bleed
Rip my heart from my chest, I won't scream
Rip my skin ...

song performed by by Fear Factory
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Am A Piece Of Broken Man

do you see me? what do you really see?
do you see this piece of broken man?

his spine bowed to the earth
because it has a huge burden on his back
his face with rugged lines, his jaw somehow dislocated,
the bones of his body unsymmetrical,
his flesh rotting, his skin unable to hold some parts of his
broken body, his nose does not smell the sweet perfume
of the good life, his tongue attuned to the bitterness of his past,
his lips crack with the present catastrophies,
it has not defined the kiss of life,
he cannot look up now to the bright skies
and marvel upon the wonders of creation,
the nature of green and red
the scent of peach and apples and roses
the taste of honey,

look at him, look at me, this piece of a broken man,
i am not your imagination

i am you. you must look at me again, stare at me.
give me your hand, so i can be warm again,
so my blood starts to run again, it is you, and you alone,

who can make me rise.
i am no other man. I am you.

help me. help yourself.
this is the real picture of the man
in the mirror of your eyes
in that secret chambers of your heart.

help yourself. help me.
we shall rise.we are one.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Whether You 'Declare' THAT Heard, Read or Not

The best opportunity humanity has,
To better strenghten communication...
As an unnatural devastation,
Approaches the Gulf, the East...
And eventually the Western coasts.
Is the one God sends.
That began by the feeding,
Creating a greed to satisfy the needs...
Of selfish, wealthy and gluttonous men.
For OIL.
That has always been in abundance.

If ignorance does not teach...
How the spreading of racist beliefs,
Can bring all of life to a frightening standstill.
Nothing so idiotic that man today has done ever will.

And actively praying on knees needs to cease.
With an urgent embracing of your fellowman...
Encouraged to physically increase.
Before the presence of this opportunity,
Forever disappears to have us all eternally sleep.
And, that's from my lips to your ears.
Whether you 'declare' THAT heard, read or not...
Will not alter my opinion nor its origin.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Preparing Dinner

I watch the pot on the stove

Water is overspilling

The rice is cooking

With bubbles galore

I smother chicken in sauce

Sauce that is made up of green pepper, black pepper and onions

Accompanied with that is the All in one spice.

Watch out for the toilet paper

The spices start talking

The chicken gets fried

The smell of breyani echoes through the house

I chop the potatoes as well as the carrots

I open up McCain veggies

And distribute it with the food

I put more spices in and the McCain veggies

Gets assimilated into the food

The pot is filled with colours

The steam fills the house

The brown chicken starts talking to the yellow potatoes

So does the carrots

The rice is strained

It rises to the core

I use tastic rice

Because it is the best out of them all

I set the table with plates

And it is ready to be filled

One by one they get dished out

First the rice (centered) and then the potatoes and chicken

Ice cream is served as desert

Coca-Cola is poured into glasses

The sweet taste bubbles in my mouth

The hot food burns my mouth

While the cold drink soothes its pain

I smother tomatoes and onions with vinegar

And serve them next to the food

The sauce gives the tongue extra kick

And goes down with a good drink

poem by Lee John Siebritz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Green-Hand Rouseabout

Call this hot? I beg your pardon. Hot!—you don’t know what it means.
(What’s that, waiter? lamb or mutton! Thank you—mine is beef and greens.
Bread and butter while I’m waiting. Milk? Oh, yes—a bucketful.)
I’m just in from west the Darling, ‘picking-up’ and rolling wool.’
Mutton stewed or chops for breakfast, dry and tasteless, boiled in fat;
Bread or brownie, tea or coffee—two hours’ graft in front of that;
Legs of mutton boiled for dinner—mutton greasy-warm for tea—
Mutton curried (gave my order, beef and plenty greens for me.)

Breakfast, curried rice and mutton till your innards sacrifice,
And you sicken at the colour and the smell of curried rice.
All day long with living mutton—bits and belly-wool and fleece;
Blinded by the yoke of wool, and shirt and trousers stiff with grease,
Till you long for sight of verdure, cabbage-plots and water clear,
And you crave for beef and butter as a boozer craves for beer.

Dusty patch in baking mulga—glaring iron hut and shed—
Feel and smell of rain forgotten—water scarce and feed-grass dead.
Hot and suffocating sunrise—all-pervading sheep yard smell—
Stiff and aching green-hand stretches—‘Slushy’ rings the bullock-bell—
Pint of tea and hunk of brownie—sinners string towards the shed—
Great, black, greasy crows round carcass—screen behind of dust-cloud red.
Engine whistles. ‘Go it, tigers!’ and the agony begins,
Picking up for seven devils out of Hades—for my sins;
Picking up for seven devils, seven demons out of Hell!
Sell their souls to get the bell-sheep—half-a-dozen Christs they’d sell!
Day grows hot as where they come from—too damned hot for men or brutes;
Roof of corrugated iron, six-foot-six above the shoots!

Whiz and rattle and vibration, like an endless chain of trams;
Blasphemy of five-and-forty—prickly heat—and stink of rams!
‘Barcoo’ leaves his pen-door open and the sheep come bucking out;
When the rouser goes to pen them, ‘Barcoo’ blasts the rouseabout.
Injury with insult added—trial of our cursing powers—
Cursed and cursing back enough to damn a dozen worlds like ours.

‘Take my combs down to the grinder, will yer?’ ‘Seen my cattle-pup?’
‘There’s a sheep fell down in my shoot—just jump down and pick it up.’
‘Give the office when the boss comes.’ ‘Catch that gory sheep, old man.’
‘Count the sheep in my pen, will yer?’ ‘Fetch my combs back when yer can.’
‘When yer get a chance, old feller, will yer pop down to the hut?
‘Fetch my pipe—the cook’ll show yer—and I’ll let yer have a cut.’

Shearer yells for tar and needle. Ringer’s roaring like a bull:
‘Wool away, you (son of angels). Where the hell’s the (foundling) WOOL!!’

Pound a week and station prices—mustn’t kick against the pricks—
Seven weeks of lurid mateship—ruined soul and four pounds six.

What’s that? waiter? me? stuffed mutton! Look here, waiter, to be brief,
I said beef! you blood-stained villain! Beef—moo-cow—Roast Bullock—BEEF!

poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wanting

She can't help it
The wanting of him
A simple glimpse
Across a crowd
She hides her smile
As her imagination
Goes
Into
Overdrive
Goosebumps rise
Along her flesh
Somewhere deep
A quickening begins
Her heartbeat accelerates
Her blood warms and
Begins to pulsate
As she
Holds on
Always
Yearning
Wondering
If he kissed her
Would she moan
As his mouth consumed her
Enslaved her
As his hands touched her
Caressed her flesh
His nearness makes it difficult to breathe
All of her wishes
To melt into him
Reach out and
Touch
A glimpse of her
Across a room
Leaves
Him
Wanting
Wanting to
Reach out and touch
To hold her face in his hands
Brush the tip of his thumb
Across her soft lips
Caress her skin
Let his hand travel
Travel
Across her throat
Feel her pulse
As it glides
To the back of her head
Grab a fist full of raven hair
Tilt her head back
Look into her languid eyes
Her parted lips
And trace kisses along her flesh
As she forgets
How to breathe
Their wanting of each other
Is hidden well
In the ease and flow
Of a crowded room
Maybe neither knowing
Neither certain
Both aware of the other
Both
Wanting.

poem by Rabia Minhas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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BBC NEWS (AN internal reflection)

THERE will be wars in this world,
many lies like masks on the faces of diplomacy
agenda are hidden like
cockroaches in those dirty cabinets
what they say on TV
mislead everyone
guffaw
the terrorists wear suits
silk tuxedos
armed with international resolutions
in effect
destroying the right of each nation
to self-determination
freedoms smashed like glasses and plates
after a toast and
party

WHATEVER, the lies are hard to figure out
the experts know how to package them well
like statutes of David
like the Trojan Horse

THERE are more victims
Triumphant less
Exploiters myriad
There are excuses on the death of innocent children
and strangled women and silenced men
of this World
The collateral damages are buried
underneath those shattered facade of mosques
and markets

The gates are interfered upon
AT night the moon bleeds blood
The air at dawn sighs
A morning is broken again
People have no choice like native now
Rejoicing over a new master

The frogs has not started yet
To worry about their numbers
The greedy white Heron eyes
Its next prey.....

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Have hues a role?

Grass lends beauty to ‘green’;
Tooth lends beauty to ‘white’;
Sky lends beauty to ‘blue’.
So do lips to ‘red’.

Red lips excel red blood;
Brown horse excel brown ass;
Yellow gold excels yellow brass.
So does black hair, black skin.

Black hair yields to white hair;
Green meadow yields to gray one.
Brown curls yield to fallen leaves
So does tender skin to one wrinkled.

The stuff rules; the merit rules;
The young rules. Have hues a role?
13.03.2007

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Do Not Expect

Do not expect that if your book falls open
to a certain page, that any phrase
you read will make a difference today,
or that the voices you might overhear
when the wind moves through the yellow-green
and golden tent of autumn, speak to you.

Things ripen or go dry. Light plays on the
dark surface of the lake. Each afternoon
your shadow walks beside you on the wall,
and the days stay long and heavy underneath
the distant rumor of the harvest. One
more summer gone,
and one way or another you survive,
dull or regretful, never learning that
nothing is hidden in the obvious
changes of the world, that even the dim
reflection of the sun on tall, dry grass
is more than you will ever understand.

And only briefly then
you touch, you see, you press against
the surface of impenetrable things.

poem by Dana Gioia
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Skin

This is someone elses story
Someone that I never knew
This is someone elses body
Am I getting through to you
If you peel away the armor is something underneath
If you look below for hidden treasure underneath another layer
Are you hiding underneath the skin
Chorus
If you peel away the skin is there anybody there
If you peel away the skin is there anybody there
If you peel away the armor is it too late to begin
Is there anybody hiding if you peel away the skin
Now a spark has passed between us now
A momentary recognition
Something lost and something gained
And something shared that feels strange
Something cold that will not go away
Theres a heart as cold as ice
In a vault thats made of stone
Over years the walls got higher
Over years the walls have grown
Is there anybody in there in this self inflicted tomb
If you peel away the layers is there someone in this room
If you peel away the skin, if you peel away the skin
This is someone elses story
Someone that I never knew
This is someone elses body
Am I getting through to you

song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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