The Hair
The ritual evanesced when we observed it,
The ritual completed when our lice grew.
The head was full of lice, I hear them and saw each of them,
Restraining the children with feet, the arms also.
Inexorable lice swayed in the hair of our heads
Until the ritual was entire.
What is this ritual?
The ritual is of the dressing of hair,
Or the cutting of hair by the hairdresser.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Related quotes
The Reason And Cause For Their Pain
Everyday!
Everyday as if a ritual,
Someone is complaining...
About being misunderstood.
Everyday as if a ritual,
Fault is being made...
About someone else.
Everyday as if a ritual,
People are accused...
For something they didn't do.
Everyday!
Everyday as if a ritual,
Some believes they have the right...
To excuse themselves of responsibility.
And everyday,
Someone is left to feel alone...
Still not getting the connection,
Between their misdeeds...
Aches and pains.
And those heartbreaks they receive,
They have come to perceive...
No one else has known!
And everyday without fail,
As sure as the ticking of a clock is heard...
These people will not see themselves,
The reason and cause for their pain.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Ritual is the way you carry the presence of the sacred. Ritual is the spark that must not go out.
quote by Christina Baldwin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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But, you know, they don't enjoy the dinner hour together. It's just not as much of a ritual at night and it's interesting. I think the ritual is taking place perhaps more in the morning.
quote by Katie Couric
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Rituals
Doing with spirit is spiritual.
Doing without it is just ritual.
Spiritual one is of inspiration.
Ritual one is of superstition.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Ritual gives
Ritual give no fruit
This is not new.
My words are old
Presentation new
That make you
Understand easy.
Ritual give no fruit
Engaged not yourself
To kill vluable time
Use the rhyme.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Between The Maternity Ward And The Morgue
a ritual sex
a bottle of wine
a spray of semen
and a woman gets pregnant
a ritual death
a car bomb explosion
a woman screams
and she bleeds to death
the sun is mute
why should there be an elegy
between the maternity ward
and the morgue?
poem by Suchoon Mo_
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Staring Head
Her eyes are staring into your head,
See it this time, your work of beholding is gone!
I am discouraged, by the infants and children of the world,
For what we meet on this day is an abusing venom.
My letter is written of an ugly ritual,
The time of itself is short but long, old and strange is the ritual.
May eyes of the sort bedazzle me more than my children,
They are mere infants, not only mere mortals,
But I have averted my eyes before time is up,
And the headache and pangs have disappeared resentfully.
My eyes are so normal, but my children are not.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Any religion...is for ever in danger of petrifaction into mere ritual and habit, though ritual and habit be essential to religion.
quote by T.S. Eliot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ritual
the ritual is simple
a little bird is
trapped in the fingers
of your hand
you decide
to open your fingers
and let free
the little bird
it is you
on that little moment
on that ritual
that has been
set free
you inhale
and then exhale
and feel
a relief
deep in the chamber
of your heart
where your
soul sings
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Love Is The Ritual (Calgary 2000)
Little sister
She got a lot of time she got a lot of money
Don't you know that ain't enough
Pretty thing
All dressed up for the main attraction
Like a baby doll looking for love
And she doesn't need a reason
She just hears a calling to the wild
God gave man the breath of life
To grow up strong to take a wife
To change the world and love is the ritual
You learn to walk & talk & laugh & cry
Work your fingers to the bone til the day you die
And above it all love is the ritual
Little man
Beating his chest & flexing his muscles
Gun for hire, he shoots for a star
Like a handsome prince
Walking down the streen in his shining armor
Romeo in search of his heart
There's a method to this madness
And a message calling to the wild
God gave man the breath of life
To grow up strong to take a wife
To change the world and love is the ritual
You learn to walk & talk & laugh & cry
Heart & soul til the day you die
And above it all love is the ritual
Come on dance little sister, little sister wants to dance
All night looking for true romance
When in a black leather jacket walks little brother
To rock her world, to be her lover
So signal all the children
Send a message calling to the wild
song performed by by Styx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Unwise Wise
Proudly, fiercely, they guarded wisdom;
wisdom that had outlasted fashion,
the cults, the sects, the mass conversions,
the messaiahs, and the promises;
They had gathered this knowledge
in the days of garnered wisdom
250 years before that guy from Galilee;
and then around twice his lifetime upon earth
as numbers dwindled, they stored this knowledge
in a cave not so far from Jericho,
near the sea that died into a lake.
Discipline, ritual, held them together;
and cleanliness; the communal latrine
was 1,000 cubits or a little more, say half a mile,
from the city where they lived; I guess
some walked, some ran
there from Qumran
– except on Saturdays, when
they were not allowed to leave the town
and therefore did not defecate that day..
then on return from the latrine, their faeces neatly buried,
a ritual, totally immersed bathing was required.
Alas, if these wise men had asked the Arab Bedouins
they would have known that, had they left their faeces
uncovered in the sun, it would have killed
the roundworms, tapeworms, whipworms, pinworms,
which, walked back on their feet and thriving in the ritual bath, slowly
killed this community of wise men from inside,
so that only 6 percent lived beyond forty years;
eventually depositing their wisdom on scrolls
(how few men left to place them there, that solemn day?)
to be uncovered after nearly two millennia
darkly in a cave.
That is the story of Qumran. I guess it's one
for those who say, what you live by, that, you die by;
in this case, ritual.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Prison As Metaphor
The time was almost right
for the recitation of a poem
when the judge asked me
if I had anything to say before sentencing.
I wanted to say Yes – why the 'anything to say' ritual?
To make me squirm
before the varnished gavel comes down?
Oh, and why the gavel ritual?
But I said No.
I am guilty
so there is nothing else you need to know about me,
My crime, not me,
sits in a cell with green walls
When I arrived I would not lie down
Because that would make it my home
A voice on the radio says
“My life feels like prison.”
I want them to use a different metaphor.
One that doesn’t suck my life up
and turn it into a little diorama with plastic figurines
in aluminum foil chains
Behind bars made of pretzels
As if I could eat my way out of here
poem by Michael Philips
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Love Is The Ritual
Written by glen burtnik, plinky
Lead vocals by glen burtnik
Little sister
She got a lot of time she got a lot of money
Dont you know that aint enough
Pretty thing
All dressed up for the main attraction
Like a baby doll looking for love
And she doesnt need a reason
She just hears a calling to the wild
God gave man the breath of life
To grow up strong to take a wife
To change the world and love is the ritual
You learn to walk & talk & laugh & cry
Heart & soul til the day you die
And above it all love is the ritual
Little man
Beating his chest & flexing his muscles
Gun for hire, he shoots for a star
Like a handsome prince
Walking down the streen in his shining armor
Romeo in search of his heart
Theres a method to this madness
And a message calling to the wild
God gave man the breath of life
To grow up strong to take a wife
To change the world and love is the ritual
You learn to walk & talk & laugh & cry
Work your fingers to the bone til the day you die
And above it all love is the ritual
Come on dance little sister, little sister wants to dance
All night looking for true romance
When in a black leather jacket walks little brother
To rock her world, to be her lover
So signal all the children
Send a message calling to the wild
song performed by by Styx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Grandma
Knots and tangles in my hair,
grandma sitting on her chair,
me in front on a stool so low,
brushes and combs all in a row.
Grandma would wash it every day,
Saying 'We do this first, then you play.'
Waiting for the feel of every pull,
this became our ritual.
I anticipated every tug.
When we finished we would hug.
But before I'd leave she'd make a bow,
all different colors she'd use to show
that my hair was something she loved to see.
It was long and shiny black, like ebony.
I treasure her looks and the moments spent,
the combs, the brushes and her looks of content.
My grandma made me feel like a queen,
like the prettiest thing she'd ever seen.
Now as my hair is turning gray
I remember the words she used to say,
'Sit down dolly and I'll comb your hair.'
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Pukllay Inter-Community Awareness
Pukllay harmony stresses
it is important to ritual fight
to reinforce separate entities
purpose entire point
of ritual conflict
is to resolution meet
together afterward
to united celebrate
union as one people
to embody
the complementarity
of opposites
distinction between
two communities
is clearly defined
then brought
together to form
a single entity
sense inter-community
awareness respect
emerge in wisdom tolerant
the purpose to create
tinkuy a sense of unity
among the participants
in survival Andes
wise encounters
of differing energies
like ‘Yawar Mayu' rivers
of symbolic blood offerings
ensure tinku social harmonies
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Your Man Demands Virginity
a chain of daisies on your hair
crowning you
like a queen
and at the end some nail-like flowers of
white champaca
perfumed
now he must kiss you
and you do not refuse this ritual
on a chain
of love
somehow not to offend him
you must
produce
not just sweat and tears of joy
but blood
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Poor
By constantly tormenting them
with reminders of the lice in
their children's hair, the
School Physician first
brought their hatred down on him.
But by this familiarity
they grew used to him, and so,
at last,
took him for their friend and adviser.
poem by William Carlos Williams
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Pukllay Harmony Restoration Blood Battles
sport many sports
embody a ritual of combat
trial by body muscles
instead of blood
letting battles in times
of repetitive wars
Andean festival of Pukllay
incorporated a time of ritual battles
between neighboring communities
‘Yawar Mayu' offering river of blood
in restored harmony cleansed a years
ill will between neighboring communities
conquering Spanish outlawed
community ritual battles of Pukllay
continued in remote Andean regions
battles were held at boundaries
between neighboring communities
men from the two communities
gathered to ritual battles fight
while women would sing songs
encouraging their local men
to stand to be brave to not
fear the river of blood
as battle took various forms
two opposing neighboring sides
might throw hard unripe fruit
or men might form opposing lines
strike neighboring men
with their warak'a slings
or fight close with staffs
what was aim important
some blood must be spilt
as an offering to Pachamama
blood offerings
to the great Being
who is mother earth
blood offerings
to the Apus
the Beings
who are majestic
mountain peaks
to Sacred Sites
what if a man died
during ‘Yawar Mayu' fight
a ritual rare event
his body was buried
as further offering on site
to the sacred Beings
in many modern sports skill
courage endurance even blood
is offered up in necessary games
there is a human need to vent
frustrations disharmony ill will
community balance restored
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Cocktails with Tashi
Cocktails with Tashi
A ritual Marcia started
for she never drinks alone
she has cocktails with Tashi
in her Palm Beach condo home
Marcia drinks a semi sweet French wine
Tashi has her cocktail of broken bar of unsalted rice
Everything is very fine around five five thirty dinner time
Tashi won’t eat dinner until her cocktail is gone
By then Marcia’s toes are lit and she’s singing a happy song
“Cocktails with Tashi is the song she sings
Marcia has this ritual with Tashi, it’s a wonderful bonding thing
poem by Christina Sunrise
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Critical lice are like body lice, which desert corpses to seek the living.
quote by Theophile Gautier
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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