Nearer To Trees
This is nearer to the trees, fully awkward,
An award has reshaped my mapped life;
Like the touch of breakfast, the forming meal
Of the paper-like day, rocky hills stagnate the time.
Away from wonder is the delight,
The sun stood in the sky of silver
To complain erroneously and abhorrently,
With a yellow shine and silvery line.
My forest beside the vegetables bends to the side,
My ripe path branches separately, to even worry
Like our souls that hurt due to presentations,
That heavily hang on the wrapped boxes, the breakfast.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Related quotes
Breakfast In Bed
(eddie hinton / donnie fritts)
Youve been cryin
Your face is a mess
Come in baby
You can dry the tears on my dress
Shes hurt you again
I can tell
Oh, I know that look so well
Dont be shy
Youve been here before
Pull your shoes off, lie down
And I will lock the door
And no-one has to know
Youve come here again
Darling it will be
Like its always been before
Come on over here
Breakfast in bed
And a kiss or three
You dont have to say you love me
Breakfast in bed
Nothing need be said
Aint no need
Whats your hurry?
Please dont eat and run
You can let her wait, my darling
Its been so long
Since Ive had you here
You will come again
Darling it will be
Like its always been before
Hey child
Breakfast in bed
And a kiss or three
You dont have to say you love me
Breakfast in bed
Nothing need be said
Breakfast in bed
And a kiss or three
You dont have to say you love me
Breakfast in bed
Nothing need be said, yeah
You dont have to
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hang On Your IQ
Chinese masseuse,
comes between us talks in haikus,
plastic venus.
Got a headrush,
in her pocket two rubbers two lubes,
and a silver rocket.
Hang on,
hang onto your IQ,
to your ID hang on,
hang on to your IQ,
to your ID I'm lonely Every morning,
my eyes will open wide I gotta get high,
before I go outside.
Roll another,
for breakfast burning clouds around,
and in my solar plexus.
Hang on,
hang on to your IQ,
to your ID hang on,
hang on to your IQ,
to your ID I'm lonely Legs eleven,
makes me stay up late two fat ladies on my back,
and now it's 88.
I'm a fool,
whose tool is small it's so miniscule,
it's no tool at all.
Hang on,
hang on to your IQ,
to your ID hang on,
hang on I'm lonely Oh
song performed by by Placebo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Busy Signal
By: dolly parton
Busy signal
Thats what I get when I call you
Busy busy
Talking to someone new
I wish I knew
I shouldnt worry cause its probably his mother
Or then again it could even be his little brother
On the line
Making me lose my mind
Hang up hang up hang up hang up
Come on hang up hang up hang up
Gotta talk to my baby
Gotta tell him Im sorry
Busy signal
How can I tell him Im sorry
When I said I didnt care
I didnt mean a word I said
Talking outta my head
Ive got to reach him now and tell him that I love him
And from now on Ill stay right by his side and love him
All the time
So please somebody quit tying up the line
Hang up hang up hang up hang up
Come on hang up hang up hang up
Gotta talk to my baby
Gotta tell him Im sorry
I didnt mean to hurt you baby
I really really love you baby
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Breakfast
A dinner party, coffee, tea,
Sandwich, or supper, all may be
In their way pleasant. But to me
Not one of these deserves the praise
That welcomer of new-born days,
A breakfast, merits; ever giving
Cheerful notice we are living
Another day refreshed by sleep,
When its festival we keep.
Now although I would not slight
Those kindly words we use, 'Good night,'
Yet parting words are words of sorrow,
And may not vie with sweet 'Good morrow,'
With which again our friends we greet,
When in the breakfast-room we meet,
At the social table round,
Listening to the lively sound
Of those notes which never tire,
Of urn, or kettle on the fire.
Sleepy Robert never hears
Or urn or kettle; he appears
When all have finished, one by one
Dropping off, and breakfast done.
Yet has he too his own pleasure,
His breakfast hour's his hour of leisure;
And, left alone, he reads or muses,
Or else in idle mood he uses
To sit and watch the venturous fly,
Where the sugar's pilëd high,
Clambering o'er the lumps so white,
Rocky cliffs of sweet delight.
poem by Charles Lamb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Making Breakfast - a study in consciousness
Breakfast. Slick operation. You could
make it in your sleep..
you’ve refined the quantities,
the cooking and the timing
like a pro..
and eating it – you’re even more
brilliant at that – you can
eat breakfast, read the paper,
listen to the radio or tv,
half listen to the wife and kids,
make and take those cellphone calls;
then bestow a salty bacon,
sweet marmaladey kiss on several lips
or cheeks – and off..
But today something gotten to you:
the sun is shining; all’s well with the world;
this isn’t Monday breakfast, this is
Saturday breakfast…
You find yourself making breakfast
as if you’d never made it in your life before;
you hear the cereal on its way
from the packet to the bowl;
smell the coffee before drinking it;
never has the toast been browner, crisper,
eggs more eggy, tomatoes so.. well, tomatoey;
sweet meeting salt in tasting mouth..
the world’s made new today; and
somehow, you feel as if
you know that much more about yourself;
some sure sense of direction
seems to fill your heart and mind;
you’re on good terms with
the Creation as of now.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Forest Of Souls
The path was dark and shadowed,
They walked as their children followed.
Through the forest to the feild,
For time they shall not yeild.
Lost souls on their paths to fate,
As the reach eternals gate.
The path was dark and shadowed
They walked on as their children followed
The darkness is overcoming
As if to bow before what they are becoming.
They walk with their eyes ahead,
with nowhere to go but where they are lead.
They walk with family, with lovers,
As the mist lightly huvers
The path was dark and shadowed,
As they walk on with more coming to follow.
Their souls are lost, their hearts are gone,
As they walk through the woods as they walk on.
They carry the memories with them,
They leave all their feelings behind them.
Now they walk as one,
Until all but an empy shell is gone.
The path becomes dark and shadowed,
As more people come to follow.
The souls of men, of people,
As they all come, all the people.
They walk through the forest, through the wood,
Down the path of fate, past where they once stood.
The path is dark and shadowed,
As more and more people follow.
They walk past trees,
And plants and bushes, past all of these.
They walk, an empty shell, their emotions and their being...gone.
The souls walk on.
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Elis Song
This song was first released on the spirit album. it is the only album it has been released on.
Born in the month of june
No silver spoon to help you out
Your mother had you naturally
Naturallys the way you came out
You know your your own mind
And you show it to me
Give me the high sign
When you want to be free
And open up my eyes
To the wonders that you see
See the airplane fly
See the trees rush by
Be brave and strong when you hurt yourself
And dont you have a worry in the world
For the love thats been given you
Is the one thing time cant erase
And evryday its growin
Like the knowin smile upon your face
Youre startin out strong
You get a kick out of life
You like to sing songs
Be in the spotlight
And when everybodys watchin you
You shine so bright
See the airplane fly
See the trees rush by
Be brave and strong when you hurt yourself
And dont you have a worry in the world
You know your your own mind
And you show it to me
Give me the high sign
When you want to be free
And open up my eyes
To the wonders that you see
See the airplane fly
See the trees rush by
Be brave and strong when you hurt yourself
And dont you have a worry in the world
Words and music by jack williams
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Exile
These hills are sandy. Trees are dwarfed here. Crows
Caw dismally in skies of an arid brilliance,
Complain in dusty pine-trees. Yellow daybreak
Lights on the long brown slopes a frost-like dew,
Dew as heavy as rain; the rabbit tracks
Show sharply in it, as they might in snow.
But it’s soon gone in the sun — what good does it do?
The houses, on the slope, or among brown trees,
Are grey and shrivelled. And the men who live here
Are small and withered, spider-like, with large eyes.
Bring water with you if you come to live here —
Cold tinkling cisterns, or else wells so deep
That one looks down to Ganges or Himalayas.
Yes, and bring mountains with you, white, moon-bearing,
Mountains of ice. You will have need of these
Profundities and peaks of wet and cold.
Bring also, in a cage of wire or osier,
Birds of a golden colour, who will sing
Of leaves that do not wither, watery fruits
That heavily hang on long melodious boughs
In the blue-silver forests of deep valleys.
I have now been here — how many years? Years unnumbered.
My hands grow clawlike. My eyes are large and starved.
I brought no bird with me, I have no cistern
Where I might find the moon, or river, or snow.
Some day, for lack of these, I’ll spin a web
Between two dusty pine-tree tops, and hang there
Face downward, like a spider, blown as lightly
As ghost of leaf. Crows will caw about me.
Morning and evening I shall drink the dew.
poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I write these lines upon a sheet of paper
I write these lines upon a sheet of paper
That someone made from what was once a forest
Without much thought (as I suspect) for nature:
Does this not fill my heart with guilty sorrow?
Or is its lifeblood more akin to water
That runs in rivers under cloud and sunshine?
Why am I so affected by the sunshine?
All that I do - whether I read the paper,
Or, being thirsty, drink a glass of water,
Or walk amid the tall trees of the forest,
If there's no sun, my mind is fill'd with sorrow,
And if it shines, gladness is in my nature.
But gladness is not always in the nature
Of all terrestrial things, whether the sunshine
Dispels from my own mind some part of sorrow
For many men and creatures, as the paper
I read informs me, live within a forest
Of woe, and some have not a dropp of water.
One dropp of that mysterious liquid, water,
Would save a living animal, by nature,
Whether it dwelt in pasture or in forest,
However little it received of sunshine,
It cannot be exprest by lines on paper
How marv'llously that liquid quenches sorrow.
How much may we, the lucky living, sorrow,
For those who have been drown'd by cruel water,
The greater part of whom are not on paper
Recorded: but the cruelty of Nature
Alone knows. May their souls in heavenly sunshine
Be rested, and walk peaceful through that forest.
I think that life itself is like the forest,
A dark one, where one knows not whether sorrow
Will come, or else a glade o'erspread by sunshine,
That suddenly becomes a fall of water
That patters down in raindrops, in its nature.
Will those trees bloom or turn to crumpled paper?
I'll use no further paper from the forest:
My nature does not wish for you to sorrow,
But sit by flowing water in the sunshine.
poem by David Mitchell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mrs Hutchinson
Well mrs. hutchinson, youre looking healthy (huh)
But just in case,
Heres a pill a remedy.
Well mrs. hutchinson, this is something,
That little upset, I thought Id diagnosed,
Well not to worry, its not what I supposed.
You better sit down son your mothers very ill (ah)
We may have to operate its more than just a chill.
But dont you worry, its all in competent hands,
We believe its under the ribs or one of the glands.
Well mrs. hutchinson, eat up your breakfast (come on)
Dont smoke, it stunts your growth,
Stick to your diet, lets hope that youre insured.
(come on eat your breakfast !)
Well mrs. hutchinson, you must be very pleased to know youre leaving here.
Were going to miss you so (hold on)
Here comes your son again.
Are you thirsty son, I think youll need a drink.
Theres been some complications, shes very near the brink.
I have to tell you, its my duty to speak.
Your mother will not last a week.
Shame !
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Need Time
Five to nine
Early sunday morning around breakfast time
I heard a sudden tapping at the kitchen door
Oh and there was more
Well it was you I saw
No mistake
I knew youd come around that sad look on your face
Then you begged me to come in and I said yes
Oh what a fool I am
I should have turned away
I need time
To turn the time around
To let it all hang out
To fight my fear and fight my doubt
I need time
To turn the time around
(get ahold) of love
Spoken words dont mean enough
No mistake
Remember not to break the promise that you make
Ill meet you fifty fifty in the middle now
And I wont back out
Thered better be no doubt
I need time
To turn the time around
Little did I know that love would bring you to my door
I need time
To turn the time around
Little did I know that love was on our side
I love you you know i
You know I always will love you now
I know I do love you
You know Ill always be true to you my love
Here you stand
Torn up yellow t-shirt and guitar in hand
I wanna love you now
Oh forget the past
I wanna make love last
I need time
To turn the time around
Let it all hang out
Love will bring you back again
I need time
To turn the time around
Little did I know that I love will bring you back again
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Breakfast In Malaysian Stalls
Listening to the radio DJs,
Driving through the traffic
This match is quite all right,
When these guys poke fun,
At one another and with public,
The sun is just awake,
Chasing the darkened thoughts,
Bright yellow spike, so soft,
The arrival of another morning,
As the windows start to open,
To allow the fresh air in,
The smell of freshly brewed coffee,
Fragrant coconut rice with fried anchovies,
Sliced cucumber, sambal and egg,
That is served under the cool trees.
The early birds drive to these haunt,
To have their breakfast,
Under the pleasant sun,
The breeze move around them,
To bring the heaven to earth,
Young and old, rich and poor,
Everyone wants to sit in the open air,
To have their breakfast and dinner,
On this land, where my mother was born,
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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After The Bombing Of The Small Village
after the bombing of the small village
by the insurgents
some flesh still hang on the
branches of mahogany trees
some eyeballs of women left to stare
to the skies
some toes are scattered on the grass
shrapnel reigns like the
pebbles on the shore
that morning she looks over the window
she finds ripe guava fruits
on the branches surrounded
with green leaves
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Secret of the Sun
Raised by the bare bones of nature’s grace,
my home held hands with the feral forest,
where nature hid her gold.
I have heard palm trees whisper their stories
I have listened to the silent full moon quietly teach
lessons of those who had lived.
I know of the green secrets of the earth
Soft voices of searching roots that sprout forth, cluster
around my hut to tell.
I am from the bowels of Africa,
I understand the tongue of the wild.
I have swayed to the blue songs of humming birds that fill the
tree branches with their nests.
I have had breakfast plucked ripe off the tree
and lunch caught right from the river.
I have aimed a stick in the forest and secured supper.
I am from the bowels of Africa,
where nature’s breast milk flows from palm trees
and every suckle leaves a smile on wrinkled ebony faces.
I am from the bowels of Africa,
I have seen rains held up at the summons of wooden carved gods.
women foretell events of the next day, and men
hear voices of elders long dead.
I am from the bowels of Africa
I am carolled to dreamland by
crickets, frogs and fireflies
that mime nature’s song at night fall
I am from the bowels of Africa,
I am the dark secret held by the sun
Finally
Finally daylight enters the room
Like a shy virgin
Undressing for the first time
And you are urged
To get out of bed
And begin the new day
But the bed is rather warm
And the outside air is cold
And so you lay awhile
And think of those cold mornings
You had to get from bed
And go get his breakfast
And get the kids up
And dressed
And breakfasted
And off to school
And still he’d lay there
Snoring and you bringing
His breakfast and saying
Here’s your breakfast
I’ll leave it on the side
And he’d turn over
And mumble sure ok
Now go leave me
In my quiet and peace
And keep those darn kids
From making so much noise
And off you’d go
Tip toeing from the room
And closing the door
With a nervous click
Not wanting to raise his anger
Or feel his fists
And hushing the kids
And making sure
They were ready for school
And trying not to think
On him lying there
As you began
The house chores
And now looking
At the window
Sensing the warmth
Of the bed
And the kids
Grown up and gone
And him rotting some place
Knifed by you
Some years back
Dead.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A good breakfast cannot take the place of the evening meal.
The Truth Is........
I do not like hamburger for breakfast
I do not like eating apples
I do not like the snow
I do not like to be put in this freezing situation
I do not like to eat wheaties for breakfast
I do not like so many chocolates
I do not like Nike shoes
I do not like the Golden Gate Bridge
I do not like to be a citizen of the United States
Of America
I like it here in the Republic of the Philippines
I like being brown and small and chinky-eyed
I like the tropical climate and the white sandy-beaches
Of Boracay, I like the chocolate hills of Bohol
I like the stalactites and stalagmites of Palawan
I like the SM malls and the Jollibees
*(When the truth is,
The consul denied him a US visa)
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Rocky Top
Wish that I was on ole rocky top,
Down in the tennessee hills.
Aint no smoggy smoke on rocky top,
Aint no telephone bills.
Once there was a girl on rocky top,
Half bear the other half cat.
Wild as a mink, sweet as soda pop,
I still dream about that.
Rocky top, youll always be
Home sweet home to me.
Good ole rocky top,
Rocky top tennessee, rocky top tennessee.
Once two strangers climbed on rocky top,
Lookin for a moonshine still.
Strangers aint come back from rocky top,
Guess they never will.
Corn wont grow at all on rocky top,
Dirts too rocky by far.
Thats why all the folks on rocky top
Get their corn from a jar.
Rocky top, youll always be
Home sweet home to me.
Good ole rocky top,
Rocky top tennessee, rocky top tennessee.
Now Ive had years of cramped up city life,
Trapped like a duck in a pen.
Now all I know is its a pity life
Cant be simple again.
Rocky top, youll always be
Home sweet home to me.
Good ole rocky top,
Rocky top tennessee, rocky top tennessee.
Rocky top tennessee, rocky top tennessee.
Yeah rocky top tennesee eee eee eee.
song performed by by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For the Love of Swine
Breakfast without bacon,
Seems like no breakfast at all.
Without Italian sausage roasted or baked...
In spaghetti.
It would be like having a milkshake,
Without milk.
Or Easter without ham.
With leftover sandwiches to make.
And those porkchops are delicious.
Especially fried.
And if they are seasoned just right to eat...
Some can be cooked to bring tears to eyes.
Smoked shoulder, and pickled pigfeet.
Neckbones and hamhocks.
With hotsauce on pork rinds.
A meal with neither of these,
On many Southern tables...
Is worse than committing the most horrendous crime.
For the love of swine,
People the world over can not resist.
Some relationships have ended...
Over spareribs and chitterlings,
If they were not properly fixed.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Untouchable
The black trouseau with its silvery sparkles
Inspires me to roll on.
But ho, i can't touch it.
A luminous silver coin charms me
Happily to use it.
But ho, i can't touch it.
A painted yellow plume with smudgy rouge
Ashed around desires me.
But ho, i can't touch it.
Dip dip, says a saphire stream
For me to feel replenished.
But ho, i can't touch it.
A glassy white spread burns me to blister.
I want to remove it.
But ho, i can't touch it.
Now this rain seeks to connect me
With those sky-clad scenarios.
But ho, they've bid me bye, bye.
Ho ho, untouchable welkin ever so, ever so.
poem by Indira Renganathan
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