Dairy Arms
My arms stroke absurdly,
Absentmindedly, the heads
Of people are like grammar.
This is an abbey of faults,
My objection makes clear,
Then the effort of existence is made.
Custody is a selfish sort,
Let the cutlery be known after an art
Of some knowledge, the very noise.
Customs play more than the cushion,
Dairy products sting the tongue.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Related quotes
Learning To Love The Noise And All That Stuff...
at first i hate the noise
of motorcycles passing by the house
the screeching sound of the engine
is bombarding my eardrums
to pieces,
somehow, it is the adaptability gene in me
that survives
whatever the situation is
one must easily learn to accept
lest you
perish from the face of this earth
choking yourself with
disappointments
somewhere, i dream
not of silence but of noise
noise has a role too to play
in the deletion of
whatever noisy memory we have
that keeps
wrecking our
impulsive hearts
and then i learn to love noise and everything
that comes my way
sort of
meet noise with noise instead of silence sort of stuff
learning to be what i am in whatever place i may find myself
for in truth
i can do nothing about it
and so i let it be
but nothing nobody shall never destroy me
instead i must embrace them all
and to defeat all their attempts to put an end
to my struggles
(to be free or whatever...)
i sort of
embrace every strange moment
with all the love
that i can
possible give
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Objection
objection
curled for fatal seduction
uncareful for a rash eruption
fight for a quick attention
untamed for a sleek attraction
objection
thirsty for a dew satisfaction
sober for a raw reflection
craving for a clear deflection
low for a deep penetration
objection
enticed in the short benediction
ecstacy in a romantic inclusion
known for a shaby deception
and a steady alteration
objection
he is no exception
in your rigid redemption
for a solid reception
of the product of your equation
poem by Chidubem Okeke
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None More Selfish Than I
Some humans are such selfish creatures and none more selfish than I
The World revolves around me and praise of self I do enjoy
Some call it self survival or call it what you may
And meanwhile people dying of hunger every day.
I've never known what it feels like to be hungry or known of hunger pain
Yet of my poor existence I often do complain
So many poor and oppressed people would envy one like me
It surely can be a relative thing when one talks of poverty.
I meet so many selfish people who for themselves only care
Of the sufferings of others they don't even seem to care
As well as self centred they are ignorant and without thinking they say
That poverty is self inflicted in the World of today.
I may be a selfish bugger but in that I'm not alone
And I am one not without sin so I can't cast the stone
I feel that the World revolves around me how selfish can one be
And only the best of people are blessed with the gift of empathy.
poem by Francis Duggan
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What for is money?
I thought on how could be the life
Without having to work for money.
After all this is the money which we work for.
Had we only have enough money to spend
We won’t have to toil our body or brain.
Solution also seemed very easy to me.
Just have a lot of mints to mint money.
Make as much money as may people need
Give them as much as may people want.
All problems are seemingly soon gone.
The root of all evils I thought could be
the root of happiness of all kind instead.
“How could this easy way out be overlooked? ”
Thinking furthermore I thought.
We need mints and we need paper and ink.
We need banks and a lot of ATMs.
People will get money and go for shopping
So we need ample shops. In shops we need products.
We need make shops and we need make products.
but we also need people to run them.
So some people will make paper and some ink.
Some other will work in mints and banks.
Some will work in shops and making products.
Rest all the people will only happily buy things.
Thinking up to here my thought jumbled.
People needed money so they worked.
If money was available for doing no work
Then why should there be anyone to work?
If no one works then where from comes paper and ink?
Where from comes money, banksand ATMs?
Where from then comes products?
Without products how could then we live and enjoy?
So we need products and for products we need to work,
to get people into the works we need money.
So it was that money could not be made free.
I thought 'People have already thought it before me.'
poem by Palas kumar Ray
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The Gardener XLIV: Reverend Sir, Forgive
Reverend sir, forgive this pair of
sinners. Spring winds to-day are
blowing in wild eddies, driving dust
and dead leaves away, and with them
your lessons are all lost.
Do not say, father, that life is a
vanity.
For we have made truce with death
for once, and only for a few fragrant
hours we two have been made immortal.
Even if the king's army came and
fiercely fell upon us we should sadly
shake our heads and say, Brothers,
you are disturbing us. If you must
have this noisy game, go and clatter
your arms elsewhere. Since only for
a few fleeting moments we have been
made immortal.
If friendly people came and flocked
around us, we should humbly bow to
them and say, This extravagant good
fortune is an embarrassment to us.
Room is scarce in the infinite sky
where we dwell. For in the spring-
time flowers come in crowds, and the
busy wings of bees jostle each other.
Our little heaven, where dwell only
we two immortals, is too absurdly
narrow.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Selfish
I am selfish
You are selfish
He is selfish
She is selfish
We all are selfish
To a lesser or a
Greater degree...
Let's not
Stay in denial.
Let's accept
Our selfishness
So that if people
Are selfish to us,
It hurts us less.
(Poem themed on Acceptance)
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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He and I Had Been Friends
Remember when you rejected my apology?
And I did my best...
With effort that still makes me wonder,
'Why'?
Why was I then so forgiving.
Giving you the benefit of a doubt.
And when you said 'No'...
I felt you had crushed my heart.
And you knew your response would do it!
Remember when you rejected my apology?
And I did my best...
With effort that still makes me wonder,
'Why'?
And I am wondering 'why' right now.
Why are you here,
To beg from me the same.
And 'why' do you appear to me now...
Bigger than the fool,
I could never be,
Again!
I forgave you then...
For doing what you did to me.
But I would never forgive myself...
If I allowed you,
To play with and/or use my emotions.
No!
I can not revive,
What is not alive there for you!
No!
Go back to your abusive husband.
Your lover who had once made me believe,
He and I had been friends.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Suffocated
Millie Allstruck suffocated
Her daughter. Millie held
The cushion down. Saw her
Daughter’s arms flap like
Some bird in a trap. Millie
Held her breath for as long
As she could, until the arms
Stopped flapping, until her
Bird was dead. She stood
There holding the cushion
In place waiting for sounds,
Any motion. Millie removed
The cushion, stood gaping,
Holding the cushion, breathing
In deep. Her daughter lay there
Staring into space, a sense of
Peace on her three year old face.
Millie had pushed out the cancer,
Put out the fire. She had her
Daughter back sans pains, sans
The creeping disease, sans
The long nights. She put down
The cushion, placed her daughter’s
Arms across her small chest, closed
The eyes, brushed the hair, thin
And fair. Millie Allstruck stood
And watched and saw sunlight
Touch her daughter’s head as if
The finger of God had touched
And took away. Better to have
Loved and lost than not loved at all,
Millie heard her mother once say.
poem by Terry Collett
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My Name Is
I come with out the sound of noise, but believe I'm no laughing matter! ! ! I'll make my present known in time. Because I'm no joke! ! ! ! I can live in you human and you can't see me. Who, what, when, where, why and how! ! ! ! I will not entertain that but make no mistake about it I live! ! ! to tell you my NAME and that is stroke! ! ! ! ! !
Support the battle that's in us as a people with the sound of noise to make a difference. Support the stroke foundation.
poem by Clarence Williams
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Intentional
No matter what may be done or said,
When that action in time takes place...
Someone will feel left out instead.
Not because of the action,
Done or said.
But how it was related when instigated.
Whoever made it fun for one,
To berate another with a blurting tongue...
The day will come,
When a similar deed is repeated.
With a singing of a song sung,
Or a tune heard hummed.
With no exit to ignore it to escape or leave,
The perpetrator remembered...
Will then be seeking empathy.
That no one with heart and soul intact,
Will care to release to relieve.
To set one free from memories.
This Earth is not flat,
It looks as if round.
And rotates on an axis,
To return to a place of origin always found.
And that is a fact when one sits to think,
Of those thoughts trapped to sit cemented...
In intentional inequities inflicted to sting and meant!
Inflicted to sting and meant!
What goes around...
Inflicted to sting and meant!
Comes around...
Inflicted to sting and meant!
What goes around...
Inflicted to sting and meant!
Comes around...
Inflicted to sting and meant!
It is all quite intentional.
'Never accuse me again,
Of not having substance! '
Inflicted to sting and meant!
'Never...
Inflicted to sting and meant!
Accuse...
Inflicted to sting and meant!
Me...
Inflicted to sting and meant!
Again! '
Inflicted to sting and meant!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Lesbos
curiosity drives you to open the door
go outside the fence
and enter a new territory
it is an island of women with breasts
and flowers
with heads and eyes of men
their vocabulary is made of man's terms
the grammar and syntax
muscular, yet deep within upon a close scrutiny
as you see it clearly
their hearts are still soft and fragile
they bleed real blood
when you remind them of their
births, their childhood, and how they grow
to be always alone
they do not show the signs of a sigh &
as you enter their circle you are met with nothing
but their own woes
you speak
and then they throw you stones
definitely, there is no place for you here
the one with the short curly hair
shortsighted and emaciated
makes it very clear
now you are back in your own world
and you realize
things are just perfect
and the air is not as cold as ice.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Grammar is a piano I play by ear. All I know about grammar is its power.
quote by Joan Didion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Uncomprehending the Healing Aspects of Listening
Starting all over again to make things better,
Will do...
What?
Make things better?
And for who?
The very same people who allowed destruction?
Those responsible for the creation of conflict?
People refuse to identify themselves,
As the culprits!
Or deny they hand picked their own enemies.
To refer to them as terrorists.
Who began the outsourcing of jobs?
To send them away,
At the expense of cheaper labor.
Whose products were deemed inferior made?
So other products would be savored.
Who began the marketing of decadence?
To find money easier to be had and spent!
Who stood by to watch unruly children?
As disrespect was ushered in...
With a greeding of deceit,
Making a mockery of discipline!
And the rise of racism is on their own land.
The affects of this,
They themselves began.
What is it they wish to do?
Make things better?
And for who?
Aren't these the same people who made it clear...
Their way of life was much endeared.
Aren't these the same people,
Who had values and standards...
Better than those they now say they fear?
What is it they wish to do?
Make things better?
And for who?
A self examination has of yet for them to begin.
This should be prioritized as a revelation for them.
But they remain in denial.
Uncomprehending the healing aspects of listening.
A mindset rehabilitated,
Is what people need.
A mindset rehabilitated,
Is what people need.
A mindset rehabilitated,
Is what people need.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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In my own life, I decided to leave meat off my plate in medical school, but was a bit slow to realise that dairy products and eggs are not health foods either.
quote by Neal Barnard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I should have no objection to go over the same life from its beginning to the end: requesting only the advantage authors have, of correcting in a second edition the faults of the first.
quote by Benjamin Franklin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Misery Machine
Man in the front got a sinister grin, careen down highway 666
We wanna go, crush the slow, as the pitchfork bends the needles grow
My arms are wheels, my legs are wheels, my blood is pavement
Were gonna ride to the abbey of the ema, to the abbey of the ema
Blood is pavement
The grill in the front is my sinister grin, bugs in my teeth make me sick sick sick
The objects may be larger than they appear in the mirror
My arms are wheels, my legs are wheels, my blood is pavement
Were gonna ride to the abbey of the ema, to the abbey of the ema
Blood is pavement
When you ride youre ridden, when you ride youre ridden
I am fueled by filth and fury
Do what I will, I will hurry there, there
My arms are wheels, my legs are wheels, my blood is pavement
Blood is pavement
song performed by by Marilyn Manson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This was a dairy cow, and dairy cows have IDs on them. The ID was traced back to the farm in Washington. It's a dairy farm. And that farm now has been quarantined, and the owners have been very cooperative in doing that.
quote by Ann Veneman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Number two, we're going to play with a lot of effort. Our guys are going to be in such good shape that fatigue is not going to be a problem. We're going to play with full effort from snap to whistle on every play the entire game.
quote by Steve Spurrier
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet 138
When my love swears that she is made of truth,
I do believe her, though I know she lies,
That she might think me some untutor'd youth,
Unskilful in the world's false forgeries.
Thus vainly thinking that she thinks me young,
Although I know my years be past the best,
I smiling credit her false-speaking tongue,
Outfacing faults in love with love's ill rest.
But wherefore says my love that she is young?
And wherefore say not I that I am old?
O Love's best habit is a flattering tongue,
And Age, in love, loves not to have years told.
Therefore I'll lie with Love, and love with me,
Since that our faults in love thus smother'd be.
poem by William Shakespeare from The Passionate Pilgrim (1599)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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God Is The Law!
God is law, o Soul listen,
God is behind, that beauty around,
His presence makes flowers beautiful,
His presence brings
Fragrance to it,
Nature is green and full of life,
because he dwells there!
God is the one behind beauty of children,
God is present in beauty of woman,
God fills the strength in arms and chest of a man,
God's presence, makes the nightingale sing,
God is the Law who makes peacock dance,
God is the Law who make every one fight or work,
God is the Law who makes write read and sing,
as a law make everyone strong and good and talented!
Look at the death of a man,
He dies in three stages,
One when is limbs and legs become cold,
And then the tongue fails to say some thing,
Eyes that tries to see some one,
Ears to hear somthing from someone,
Finally with deep sigh God in him withdraws his last breath!
All animals and plant take birth and die as God is that law!
God is the Law, bring one into life,
God is the Law who make one enjoy and smile,
God is the Law of life or death,
God is law of love and likes,
God is law of mortal journey, God is the Law of happiness,
God is that immortal law,
God is full of immortal ideals and knowledge,
God is the Law of cause and effect,
God is that immortal law of all existence!
Ah! God is that grand law of all subtle laws and gross ones!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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