An Adult Stares
A baby or adult stares at the air force,
Keeping books of bibles and baths;
We are fed by beds, bees arrive,
And birds be bottles of vice.
What angers await the diamond places?
There is commotion of hundreds,
Already a drill is based on the site.
Let drums be hazards in our realm,
Let the dung of camels happen every day.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Related quotes
Baby vs Adult
Baby is dumb
Adult has wisdom
Babies are small and crawl
Adults are tall and fall
Baby demands
Adult commands
Baby yearns to walk
Adult learns to work
Baby weeps
Adult sleeps
You carry a baby
You marry an adult
Baby chokes
Adult smokes
Baby stays at home to play
Adult brings home the pay
Baby cries
Adult sighs
Baby spikes milk
Adults like silk
And I saved this for the last
Baby at birth
Adult at death
Baby vs Adult becomes a thing of the past
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Drill Baby Drill
DRILL BABY DRILL
“Oh-oh say can you see”
Any beach-sand oil free
This pollution debris
A gift from corporate B P
DRILL BABY DRILL
This sea-borne disaster
Oil hardened like plaster
Needs a plug-the-leak master
To stop the oil gushing faster
DRILL BABY DRILL
Beautiful pelican creatures
Once with beautiful winged features
Now bogged down in oily slime
No longer enjoy their flying time
DRILL BABY DRILL
B P drilling for profits and dividends
Caused havoc with too many of natures friends
Along with much of the seafaring life
Who share the pelicans’ oily strife
DRILL BABY DRILL
The Gulf of Mexico now in distress
Is due to B P’s preventable oil laden mess
We’ve only one planet so we better beware
No more DRILL BABY DRILL-give Earth its due care
poem by Stanley Cooper
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Only One Mother
Hundreds of stars in the pretty sky,
But only one mother to dry your eyes,
Hundreds of shells on the shore together,
But only one mother to have forever
Hundreds of birds that go singing by,
But only one mother to help you try
Hundreds of lambs in the sunny weather.
But only one mother to treat us like treasure
Hundreds of dewdrops to greet the dawn,
But only one mother to help us move on
Hundreds of bees in the purple clover,
But only one mother the world wide over
Hundreds of people to tell apart
But only one mother to give us her heart
poem by Kaitlin Skelding
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Rivalry only yields fruits.
Plants vie with each other
To give flowers in different colours.
They have to catch eyes of bees.
Bees vie with each other
To imbue force with their breeds.
They have to be early birds.
Flowers are colourful.
Bees are black moors.
A perfect combination.
Woman, mind your face.
Man, mind your force.
25.04.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Woman’s Agenda
Flowers long to be visited by bees.
Ripe fruits long to be eaten by birds.
All trees house birds and animals for dung.
Women for men have their own agenda.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Bottles And Diapers
Bottles and diapers soon I will have to have
When this baby will come
It will be a necessity for this baby
I will have to have plenty of bottles and diapers around
Because they run out fast specially the diapers
I don’t want to run out of the diapers when the baby is around
Bottles and diapers have to be around where I can reach
Bottles and diapers the baby will use it every day
Until he is a child
And when he gets to be a child
I won’t have to worry about bottles and diapers again
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Before My Eyes
I see before my eyes the wonderful words,
Speak them around the mouth to sustain,
So that meanings are clear to the birds.
I saw so many reasons to master and also afterwards,
Seen so many sessions of praise of this book to attain,
I see before my eyes the wonderful words.
Created and longed for, the books and pages are blizzards,
Looking for times so tight with sin again,
So that meanings are clear to the birds.
May we attain longevity when we read books backwards,
Leaning against the wall to hasten the air plane,
I see before my eyes the wonderful words.
Pleasing us one way is like living a way of life with hazards,
Leading is a disease of words, so frightening for after pain,
So that meanings are clear to the birds.
Can the heraldry of our country be the same innards,
Liking this sign captures the books’ meanings from the brain,
So that meanings are clear to the birds,
I see before my eyes the wonderful words.
poem by Naveed Akram
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A Child's Even-Song
The sun is weary, for he ran
So far and fast to-day;
The birds are weary, for who sang
So many songs as they?
The bees and butterflies at last
Are tired out, for just think too
How many gardens through the day
Their little wings have fluttered through.
And so, as all tired people do,
They've gone to lay their sleepy heads
Deep deep in warm and happy beds.
The sun has shut his golden eye
And gone to sleep beneath the sky,
The birds and butterflies and bees
Have all crept into flowers and trees,
And all lie quiet, still as mice,
Till morning comes-like father's voice.
So Geoffrey, Owen, Phyllis, you
Must sleep away till morning too.
Close little eyes, down little heads,
And sleep-sleep-sleep in happy beds.
poem by Richard Le Gallienne
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Beat! Beat! Drums!
BEAT! beat! drums!--Blow! bugles! blow!
Through the windows--through doors--burst like a ruthless force,
Into the solemn church, and scatter the congregation;
Into the school where the scholar is studying;
Leave not the bridegroom quiet--no happiness must he have now with
his bride;
Nor the peaceful farmer any peace, plowing his field or gathering his
grain;
So fierce you whirr and pound, you drums--so shrill you bugles blow.
Beat! beat! drums!--Blow! bugles! blow!
Over the traffic of cities--over the rumble of wheels in the streets:
Are beds prepared for sleepers at night in the houses? No sleepers
must sleep in those beds; 10
No bargainers' bargains by day--no brokers or speculators--Would they
continue?
Would the talkers be talking? would the singer attempt to sing?
Would the lawyer rise in the court to state his case before the
judge?
Then rattle quicker, heavier drums--you bugles wilder blow.
Beat! beat! drums!--Blow! bugles! blow!
Make no parley--stop for no expostulation;
Mind not the timid--mind not the weeper or prayer;
Mind not the old man beseeching the young man;
Let not the child's voice be heard, nor the mother's entreaties;
Make even the trestles to shake the dead, where they lie awaiting the
hearses, 20
So strong you thump, O terrible drums--so loud you bugles blow.
poem by Walt Whitman
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A cruel beast
Corruption,
A vice so loved.
The voiceless,
Suffer in its hands.
The powerful,
Feast its fruits,
Corruption,
A vice so evil.
Land,
From it emanate.
Mansions,
Like mushroom they sprout.
Cars,
Like bees they swarm.
Corruption,
A vice so evil.
Poverty,
A son to it has become,
Who,
A by-product is,
Corruption,
A vice so evil.
Mercy,
To it is rubbish,
Prosperity,
In its mind constantly dwells.
Corruption,
A vice so evil.
poem by Michael Wamalwa
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The Great Man Who Ate Cow Dung All His Life (secretly)
everyday
he feeds himself
with cow dung
but this is done
discreetly
for who in this
normal world
would like
to satisfy
himself with
dung
who in this
society would
love a man
who eats and
smells like
cow dung?
of course, he
feared
that soon if
society knows
he shall be
another ostracized
ostrich
electrically fenced
and monitored
and segregated
at Ward 8
for social
rehabilitation
he didn't like dung
reason and logic
so tell him well
but he couldn't resist
the smell of dung
even if it is kilometers
away
there is simply this
obsession for
cow dung
and he begins
to salivate even
for the word
dung
and for so many nights
he prayed
that his mind-set be
changed
so that he can prefer
steak
medium rare
than watery cow
dung
life has its own
idiosyncrasies for
he prefers dung
than barbecue
despite his
genius for good
food
and so
not to deprive
himself of what he
really loves
in his whole life
he eats cow dung
stores them in his
refrigerator
and eats cow dung
regularly
savoring every
fiber and enjoying
that rotten
sticky smell of
rotten grass
and leaves or
hay
how he wishes
that the shrink can
teach him to hate
dung
but this never
happened
he never referred
the matter
somehow
for fear of information
leaks
for modesty aside
he is
a great man
in his field of
endeavor
no one knows this
this is his secret
and i have known this
only about a year & a half
after he died
when i found his
black diary hidden
under the
old creaky bed
because it
smells dung
itself
in his
luxurious house
beside
a river
you know him
he is one of the greatest men
in our history
a philosopher
writer
philanthropist
scient ist
artist
sculptor
a genius
who ate cow dung
all his life
well adored by history
a hero for all humanity
the Renaissance man
as they dub him to be
the man who ate
and secretly loved cow
dung all this life
do not bother
let us keep his greatness
history is always right
do not argue
great men
revered the cow
ate cow dung
and become
famous
throughout the life
of history
their names
written in the pages of books
like sticky
piece of dung
but shits
unknown
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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God's drums - Ears
ears they are drums
god plays in this realm
eyes they are lenses
he places to magnify
his creations
tongue are channels
to his kingdom - adam
missed the right apple
and lost his right to an eternal home
my nerves are rivers
god fashions to help me
sail in his world to admire him
my mind, his inspiration as
to how extensive his creation is
you cannot reach its end nor beginning
my soul a repository for god to wine and dine
when his drums stop beating, lenses were covered
riverway closed and the mind waned in a mortal frame
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Drill
WHEN day's hard task's done,
Eve's scant meal partaken,
Out we steal each one,
Weariless, unshaken.
In small reeking squares,
Garbaged plots, we gather,
Little knots and pairs,
Brother, sister, father.
Then the Word is given.
In their silent places
Under lowering heaven,
Range our stern-set faces.
Now we march and wheel
In our clumsy line,
Shouldering sticks for steel,
Thoughts bitter as brine!
Drill, drill, drill, and drill!
It is only thus
Conquer yet we will
Those who've conquered us.
Patience, sisters, mothers!
We must not forget
Foiled dead fathers, brothers;
They must teach us yet.
In that Hour we see,
The Hour of our Desire,
What shall their slayers be?
As the stubble to the fire!
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
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Following the Force
Going to force is following force,
Gears of talking can allow us,
Huts of pleasure will revisit
After the hazards are eased.
Merely we are human, human as most beings
In this world and existence.
Gone to hellish places, an exactly ugly being
Caned his older self, and worst pleasures became.
Huts of pain are paid by the caning of an evil man,
Men do not speak, merely they argue,
Quick is the conversation we find,
Arguing is resented, arguing will commend
The argument and nothing else.
Forces are like danger, and when hells are won
We design a more dangerous abode
For the soul, encasing with mind.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Scholarship was one thing, drudgery another. I very soon concluded that nothing would induce me to read, let alone make notes on, hundreds and hundreds of very, very, very boring books.
quote by Simon Raven
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Twelve Days of Christmas – Walking
One fall while walking a path beside the Snake River I spotted a baby's pacifier hanging on a tree limb just over our heads. It caused me to start singing these words to the 12 Days of Christmas tune.
On the first day of Christmas my true love gave to me
A pacifier in a bare tree
On the second day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree
On the third day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Three baby rattles
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree
On the fourth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Four Lysol bottles
Three baby rattles
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree
On the fifth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Five baby bibs
Four Lysol bottles
Three baby rattles
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree
On the sixth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Six baby booties
Five baby bibs
Four Lysol bottles
Three baby rattles
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree
On the seventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Seven hours of bawling
Six baby booties
Five baby bibs
Four Lysol bottles
Three baby rattles
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree
On the eighth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Eight baby blankets
Seven hours of bawling
Six baby booties
Five baby bibs
Four Lysol bottles
Three baby rattles
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree
On the ninth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Nine burps a burbling
Eight baby blankets
Seven hours of bawling
Six baby booties
Five baby bibs
Four Lysol bottles
Three baby rattles
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree
On the tenth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Ten baby bottles
Nine burps a burbling
Eight baby blankets
Seven hours of bawling
Six baby booties
Five baby bibs
Four Lysol bottles
Three baby rattles
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree
On the eleventh day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Eleven diapers piled up
Ten baby bottles
Nine burps a burbling
Eight baby blankets
Seven hours of bawling
Six baby booties
Five baby bibs
Four Lysol bottles
Three baby rattles
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree
On the twelfth day of Christmas my true love gave to me
Twelve fifths of brandy
Eleven diapers piled up
Ten baby bottles
Nine burps a burbling
Eight baby blankets
Seven hours of bawling
Six baby booties
Five baby bibs
Four Lysol bottles
Three baby rattles
Two diaper pails
and a pacifier in a bare tree
poem by James L. A. Huetson
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Mystery Train
(herman parker/sam phillips)
Train arrive 16 coaches long
Train arrive 16 coaches long
Well that long black train
Took my baby back home
Train train rolling round the bend
Train train rolling round the bend
Well it took my baby
Away from me again
Went down to the station
To meet my baby at the gate
Ask the station master
If her train is running late
He said no if your wait
On that old 44
I hate to tell you son
But that train dont stop her anymore
Train train rolling round the bend
Train train rolling round the bend
Well it took my baby
Away from me again
Heard that whistle blowing
It was the middle of the night
When I got down to the station
The train was rolling out of site
Mystery train rolling round the bend
Mystery train rolling round the bend
Well it took my baby
Away from me again
song performed by by Emmylou Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fooling The Boys
Shhh, the boys think I'm in the tub,
Here I am again, doing what I love,
If they catch me they gonna fuss,
Momo spend some time with us,
Hehe....they didn't used have time for me,
The tables DO turn you see,
Before I stumbled onto this site,
I was alone most every night,
Now they notice Mama missing,
Who's butt now may need kissing?
I have to sneak to lose them now,
Serves em right anyhow,
Its funny to me NOW they know,
How they really need to show,
That they want my time and company,
Things will be better than they used to be,
They always had my full attention,
Tried to get theirs more times than I care to mention,
It's funny this is called a site,
It opened up eyes that were shut tight,
So after the homework, supper and baths,
We'll watch cartoons, have some laughs,
And be the way we should have been,
Before this site, way back when,
And as soon as I have them all tucked in,
I'll be back on, say o around 10,
And I will have the best of both worlds,
Ain't it funny how life unfurls?
poem by Vallerie Lobell
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Drilling For Oil
flesh colored ghosts
walking through the
oil fields... carrying
mannequin babies
on their shoulders.
draped in American flags,
carrying Bibles, and
pearl handled revolvers.
past rusted out chevrolets,
stepping on books that
were banned....
singing the songs of Jesus
to corpses that cant hear....
past tomblike houses
where strangers lived and
died... pictures of dead presidents...
empty Jim Beam bottles in
the windows, covered with soot!
drilling for oil...
poem by Eric Cockrell
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The fact is that we cannot drill our way to independence. We cannot drill our way to freedom, and we cannot drill our way to create jobs in this country.
quote by Jay Inslee
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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