Space odyssey
The politician is one of the candidates
who was short listed for the spacecraft.
He insisted on his henchman accompanying him.
'I am not qualified Sir' henchman replied.
'Your political knowledge is more than enough,
do not worry I'll do arrangements and you get ready'
Politician assured.
The following day henchman explained the matter to his wife.
She was angry and said 'I don't mind wherever you go
but before you leave buy all these things for me'.
She gave a long list and the things available only in the moon.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Related quotes
Age and Its Henchman
Age and its henchman capture victims galore;
Matter not strong or meek… neither rich or poor.
No one has a chance since age will always win,
But the henchman will decide how bad it has been.
Though age is generic its henchman depends
Some experience its curse and rage that it sends.
Others traverse life with ner a touch of its scourge;
Age can welcome its entry as waning moments surge.
This henchman is complex like two sides of a story.
One forces suffering, but the other deserves glory.
So is the tale of age and its henchman called pain.
Without its warnings many an age would be in vain.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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Orang-Utan
A large ape disappeared from a Zoo
And he has been to one of his friends a former retired politician.
He complains his friend that he wants to extract a tooth.
They went to a dentist and extracted the tooth.
Then the ape said 'I want to see an ophthalmologist.'
On the way the politician said' Don't spend so much money and I have my old spectacles which I used for my whole political career.'
'Better buy a new one that is much corrupted.' Ape replied angrily.
I dedicate this poem to Mr.Nadarajah.Raviraj a popular Sri Lankan/Tamil politician and his bodyguard who were Assassinated in the broad daylight today by unidentified gunmen. The Government has already called the Scotland Yard Police for the Investigation.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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I Am No Politician
I am no politician.
I am direct.
Every blemish and flaw I have,
I accept without regret.
I am not trying to win your approval
To represent your requests.
Nor will I disappoint you...
With deceit to later confess.
I am no politician.
Seeking a way to line my pockets.
I find that disgusting!
And I observe those who can not stop it!
Your quality of life...
With standards you behold.
Isn't my fault at all!
That your best interests,
They have sold!
You selected them to dismiss me.
To keep me and mine in check!
You elected them to suppress my dignity.
To keep my indentity distressed.
You chose them to divide and conquer.
By rules and laws
They clearly defied...
You now regret!
Why me...
You despise?
I am no politician!
My priorities are my happiness.
Not to masquerade with pretentions...
For purposes to make promises,
With intentions to forget.
I am no politician...
To trap you like prey.
And dangle you to capture...
As I make arrangements with others,
To take away the safety from your nests.
To portray in false charades.
I am no politician.
So voice your anger,
To those you believed...
Would come to your aid.
While on your knees you plead.
I am no politician!
I sleep at night.
In peace and at rest!
I am no politician...
Nor a hypocrite you will find,
Who will say something other
Than what is on my mind!
You can bet,
With respect...
I am direct.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Politician’s Plane crash-land in Wonderland
The plane landed in an emergency.
The politician was surprised in the air port as lot of women with garlands greeted him.
A woman said “You are the first delegate politician who visited our country.”
“Really is it? How do you know I was in the plane? ” He replied.
“Our radar says when a corrupted human being lands to our country.”
He was taken to Quarantine and found positive to HIV virus.
In wonderland there is a remedy for the infection and they gave an injection the patient forgets his past.
He was surprised by seeing this magical country.
The citizen is very happy and there are no jails, Courts, Police, Armed forces, sick people and all are well off.
For the first time in Wonderland’s history they made a special jail for this politician and he was sentenced to jail lifetime.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Purgatory
They are in queer,
A thief, doctor, murderer, king & queen, liar,
politician and etc.,
A soldier is questioning them about their past sins
before they enter the two pathways.
One is to heaven and the other to hell.
'I theft a bible' thief replied.
'then you can go to the right path'
'I did hundred abortions' doctor said.
'turn to left'
'we did adultery' king and queen replied.
'left please'
'I killed a politician' murderer said.
'right ahead and the liar can go back.
'before you go to the left path visit the pathologist for an aid test'
soldier shouted to the politician.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Epitah on the Politician Himself
Here richly, with ridiculous display,
The Politician's corpse was laid away.
While all of his acquaintance sneered and slanged
I wept: for I had longed to see him hanged.
Another on the Same
This, the last ornament among the peers,
Bribed, bullied, swindled and blackmailed for years:
But Death's what even Politicians fail
To bribe or swindle, bully or blackmail.
On Another Politician
The Politician, dead and turned to clay,
Will make a clout to keep the wind away.
I am not fond of draughts, and yet I doubt
If I could get myself to touch that clout.
On Yet Another
Fame to her darling Shifter glory gives;
And Shifter is immortal while he lives.
Epitah Upon Himself
Lauda tu Ilarion audacem et splendidum,
Who was always beginning things and never ended 'em.
poem by Hilaire Belloc
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The news of any politician's death should be listed under ""Public Improvements.""
quote by Frank Dane
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A politician is a man who understands government. A statesman is a politician who's been dead for 15 years.
quote by Harry S. Truman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The reality is an indispensable start for the skilful politician. The awkward politician turns it into a terminus.
aphorism by Hasier Agirre, translated by Dan Costinaş
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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My Retirement Years' (For everyone over 62!)
Has anyone else noticed
the new working standards and means?
for those of retirement years, is this what it seems?
That if your able bodied to still work
your employer makes your job harder and act like jerks?
They take you aside and tell you your doing bad
this makes for your day, to be unproductive, quite empty and sad!
You've given them, some of the best years of your life!
So you could have two and a half children, a home and a wife.
But now the environment, your working in cause
walking through your humble abode
with your hands, in outstretching of claws!
I'm over the hill they say, not wanted anymore!
they'd like to have me get so upset
That I would walk out their door!
I thought at the end, retierment, would be my choice to make?
and not that done by some hired henchman
doing companies, pain in the butt heart breaks!
I didn't give all my best years
so I would be treated like crap!
I'll stand my ground, if I have to take it to the TOP!
And then they'll all see, just where
this so called old bucks going to stop!
No company is so big, that they can treat me like this!
I am an American who fought, so this company could even exist!
If they have a profit to make, don't take it out of me!
I fought for this country, so all people could have choices and be FREE!
Don't mess with me, I'm an American retirement age man!
And when I'm darn good and ready!
I'LL CHOSE, when I blow this pop stand!
poem by Linda Winchell
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If you have passion, a chip on the shoulder, a sense of humor, and you can explain what you do very well, it doesn't matter if you're a plumber or a singer or a politician. If you have those four things, you are interesting.
quote by Larry King
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A politician wouldn't dream of being allowed to call a columnist the things a columnist is allowed to call a politician.
quote by Max Lerner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No man can be a politician, except he be first a historian or a traveller; for except he can see what must be, or what may be, he is no politician.
quote by James Harrington
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blood on His Hands
A politician told a lie
Which meant a soldier had to die -
His blood is crying from the ground
But the politician hears no sound,
He's safe and cosy far away
And hopes that they'll increase his pay.
You probably gave him your vote,
But this is not a time to gloat.
He told us he was 'a straight kinda guy'
And that he'd never tell a lie.
You may forget the soldier's name,
But his parents know just who to blame,
Their son will never see Tomorrow
And nothing can assuage their sorrow,
Life and death are not a game,
They're sick of Tony and his fame....
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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Politician
Chorus
Mr. politician please dont deceive us.
Mr. politician youre there to relieve us.
Just how can we tell, mister,
When to believe in you.
Oh wont you tell me oh who were lookin out for?
Mr. politician could be perfect but people its doubtful.
We want a leader wholl fight for the people.
We want somebody to take us to the steeple.
Wed like to point him out to you people,
But dont look now.
Chorus
We want a leader of the people,
We want him honest, not deceitful.
We want an angel in the public eye,
And we wont give it up lord until we die.
Chorus
song performed by by Grand Funk Railroad
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beowulf (Episode 03)
THUS seethed unceasing the son of Healfdene
with the woe of these days; not wisest men
assuaged his sorrow; too sore the anguish,
loathly and long, that lay on his folk,
most baneful of burdens and bales of the night.
This heard in his home Hygelac's thane,
great among Geats, of Grendel's doings.
He was the mightiest man of valor
in that same day of this our life,
stalwart and stately. A stout wave-walker
he bade make ready. Yon battle-king, said he,
far o'er the swan-road he fain would seek,
the noble monarch who needed men!
The prince's journey by prudent folk
was little blamed, though they loved him dear;
they whetted the hero, and hailed good omens.
And now the bold one from bands of Geats
comrades chose, the keenest of warriors
e'er he could find; with fourteen men
the sea-wood he sought, and, sailor proved,
led them on to the land's confines.
Time had now flown; afloat was the ship,
boat under bluff. On board they climbed,
warriors ready; waves were churning
sea with sand; the sailors bore
on the breast of the bark their bright array,
their mail and weapons: the men pushed off,
on its willing way, the well-braced craft.
Then moved o'er the waters by might of the wind
that bark like a bird with breast of foam,
till in season due, on the second day,
the curved prow such course had run
that sailors now could see the land,
sea-cliffs shining, steep high hills,
headlands broad. Their haven was found,
their journey ended. Up then quickly
the Weders' clansmen climbed ashore,
anchored their sea-wood, with armor clashing
and gear of battle: God they thanked
or passing in peace o'er the paths of the sea.
Now saw from the cliff a Scylding clansman,
a warden that watched the water-side,
how they bore o'er the gangway glittering shields,
war-gear in readiness; wonder seized him
to know what manner of men they were.
Straight to the strand his steed he rode,
Hrothgar's henchman; with hand of might
he shook his spear, and spake in parley.
"Who are ye, then, ye armed men,
mailed folk, that yon mighty vessel
have urged thus over the ocean ways,
here o'er the waters? A warden I,
sentinel set o'er the sea-march here,
lest any foe to the folk of Danes
with harrying fleet should harm the land.
No aliens ever at ease thus bore them,
linden-wielders: yet word-of-leave
clearly ye lack from clansmen here,
my folk's agreement. -- A greater ne'er saw I
of warriors in world than is one of you, --
yon hero in harness! No henchman he
worthied by weapons, if witness his features,
his peerless presence! I pray you, though, tell
your folk and home, lest hence ye fare
suspect to wander your way as spies
in Danish land. Now, dwellers afar,
ocean-travellers, take from me
simple advice: the sooner the better
I hear of the country whence ye came."
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Norembega
THE winding way the serpent takes
The mystic water took,
From where, to count its beaded lakes,
The forest sped its brook.
A narrow space 'twixt shore and shore,
For sun or stars to fall,
While evermore, behind, before,
Closed in the forest wall.
The dim wood hiding underneath
Wan flowers without a name;
Life tangled with decay and death,
League after league the same.
Unbroken over swamp and hill
The rounding shadow lay,
Save where the river cut at will
A pathway to the day.
Beside that track of air and light,
Weak as a child unweaned,
At shut of day a Christian knight
Upon his henchman leaned.
The embers of the sunset's fires
Along the clouds burned down;
'I see,' he said, 'the domes and spires
Of Norembega town.'
'Alack! the domes, O master mine,
Are golden clouds on high;
Yon spire is but the branchless pine
That cuts the evening sky.'
'Oh, hush and hark! What sounds are these
But chants and holy hymns?'
'Thou hear'st the breeze that stirs the trees
Though all their leafy limbs.'
'Is it a chapel bell that fills
The air with its low tone?'
'Thou hear'st the tinkle of the rills,
The insect's vesper drone.'
'The Christ be praised!--He sets for me
A blessed cross in sight!'
'Now, nay, 't is but yon blasted tree
With two gaunt arms outright!'
'Be it wind so sad or tree so stark,
It mattereth not, my knave;
Methinks to funeral hymns I hark,
The cross is for my grave!
'My life is sped; I shall not see
My home-set sails again;
The sweetest eyes of Normandie
Shall watch for me in vain.
'Yet onward still to ear and eye
The baffling marvel calls;
I fain would look before I die
On Norembega's walls.
'So, haply, it shall be thy part
At Christian feet to lay
The mystery of the desert's heart
My dead hand plucked away.
'Leave me an hour of rest; go thou
And look from yonder heights;
Perchance the valley even now
Is starred with city lights.'
The henchman climbed the nearest hill,
He saw nor tower nor town,
But, through the drear woods, lone and still,
The river rolling down.
He heard the stealthy feet of things
Whose shapes he could not see,
A flutter as of evil wings,
The fall of a dead tree.
The pines stood black against the moon,
A sword of fire beyond;
He heard the wolf howl, and the loon
Laugh from his reedy pond.
He turned him back: 'O master dear,
We are but men misled;
And thou hast sought a city here
To find a grave instead.'
'As God shall will! what matters where
A true man's cross may stand,
So Heaven be o'er it here as there
In pleasant Norman land?
'These woods, perchance, no secret hide
Of lordly tower and hall;
Yon river in its wanderings wide
Has washed no city wall;
'Yet mirrored in the sullen stream
The holy stars are given
Is Norembega, then, a dream
Whose waking is in Heaven?
'No builded wonder of these lands
My weary eyes shall see;
A city never made with hands
Alone awaiteth me--
''_Urbs Syon mystica_;' I see
Its mansions passing fair,
'/Condita caelo/;' let me be,
Dear Lord, a dweller there!'
Above the dying exile hung
The vision of the bard,
As faltered on his failing tongue
The song of good Bernard.
The henchman dug at dawn a grave
Beneath the hemlocks brown,
And to the desert's keeping gave
The lord of fief and town.
Years after, when the Sieur Champlain
Sailed up the unknown stream,
And Norembega proved again
A shadow and a dream,
He found the Norman's nameless grave
Within the hemlock's shade,
And, stretching wide its arms to save,
The sign that God had made,
The cross-boughed tree that marked the spot
And made it holy ground
He needs the earthly city not
Who hath the heavenly found.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Rose-bud advises man…
I asked a rose-bud, ‘who gave you your beauty? ’
And it replied, ‘my mother’s sap gave me! ’
I asked again, ‘who gave your mother plant, its sap? ’
It said, ‘the soil and rain by roots, the sun through leaves! ’
I asked the rose-bud, ‘who gave the soil, sun and rain such abilities? ’
It replied, ‘the One who made all things, and you and me! ’
And now the rose-bud asked me, ‘But why do you ask such questions?
Are you not made beautiful too by the same One,
Who made me, the moon, sky, soil and sun?
And yet, like you, we cannot walk or run! ’
It continued, ‘we plants feel sad we cannot move like how you do! ’
‘We buds grow bigger by each dawn;
The Maker feels so happy when we’re born,
And smiles on seeing us each morn,
Turning ecstatic, when we blossom on,
The landscape to perfume and to adorn –
By morrow, most of us are almost gone! ’
I asked the rose-bud, ‘are the dew-drops then because you cry? ’
And it replied, ‘they are the tears of joy and sadness of God on high,
Who knows we are born to sooner die.’
But tell me man, such questions, you ask, ‘why? ’
The rose-bud went on:
‘God gave you man, woman, a long life-span;
And do many things, you surely can! ’
God made you far more beautiful!
Be satisfied and be dutiful;
God is our Master One, most wonderful!
Praise Him, thank Him for all His gifts to you, bountiful! ’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-2-2010
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Filipino Politician
When he finds his wife in bed with another man--
The conservative politician feels an ache in his stomach,
remembers the longanisa and the tapa he had for breakfast.
He doesn't know whether to get the doctor or Cardinal Sin
on the phone. He calls one of his bodyguards, tells him
to shoot the man and then, his wife. He takes his .38 magnum
from his brief case, shoots his bodyguard in the back.
The liberal politician pours himself a glass of Courvoisier,
remembers a passage from an Anais Nin story.
He is suddenly the one they call the Basque. He removes
his Dior tie, his Armani shirt, his Calvin Klein boxer shorts.
He puts on a black beret, whispers, tres jolie, tres jolie,
que bonito, muy grande my petite amore. He joins them
in bed, begins his caresses on the man's calves,
kisses his way up the man's thighs.
The communist politician does not call his wife a puta,
nor does he challenge the man to a duel with balisong knives.
He stays calm, takes out a book of poems by Mao Tse Tung.
Inspired, he decides to advance the Revolution.
He takes a taxi to Roxas Boulevard, he begins to curse
and throw rocks at the American Embassy.
poem by Nick Carbo
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Show Tune II
That's the long and short of it
now you know
how I've been waiting all these years
where I'm coming from
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
now you see
just how hot hot jazz was
how it turned about, my bookcase
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
now you know
that my arrest record's
not my best record
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
now you see
how the Past's like a love
you can neither leave nor live
that's the long and short of it
That's the long and short of it
now you know
it was no gun in my pocket
it was a rocket
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
and you're wond'ring dear
how I kept so pure
hull, it was easy
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
now you see
so bounce your head
into bed
that's the long and short of it.
That's the long and short of it
read the blues
in these tattoos
make a song of it
that's the short and long of it.
How I wish
there was a bridge-
then I could burn it;
or the train
of a refrain
then I could board it
but there isn't
no there isn't, so...
poem by Morgan Michaels
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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