Tadpoles swarm in the Graduate's Pond
He quitted the Socioeconomic further studies
And looked for a job.
His raving resume nobody accepts
And he decided to open a Tadpole farm
At the backyard isolated pond.
He breeds the Tadpoles
And when they become frogs
He sell them to the Scientists
They do research for various matters.
I heard the downright cry of dozy frogs
That's similar to Slaughter House screams!
It's really breathtaking
How the ridiculous educated Man turns to be a criminal?
I read the Encyclopedia and stumble in the Socioeconomic gap!
*How great a Simpleton among the Intellectuals?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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I raised frogs every spring in our house from tadpoles and by end of summer our house was overrun with frogs.
quote by William Joyce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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With Me Now Just A Memory
With me now just a memory but memories with us remain
In the heavy rains of late Winter the female frog lay in the drain
Her eggs like crystal lumps of jelly from which her tadpoles hatched out
And all around their watery home they wriggled all about.
For to grow into adult frogs not many would survive
For many tadpoles had to die for one predator to stay alive
To the taste buds of a grey heron a plump tadpole tasted sweet
As one of the favourite water dwelling things that a heron loves to eat.
But a few avoided the sharp beak of the lanky bird of prey
For to grow into adult frogs for that is Nature's way
Of insuring species survival in such Nature a huge part does play
Survival of the fittest as some are known to say.
With me now just a memory of times that are long gone
And though the past it is behind us the memories live on
And I retain the memory of the croaking of the frog
On their breeding time in late Winter in the drain beside the bog.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Frogs in Love
The bogs are damp with almost too much rain -
By night, the frogs have returned once again,
For November; it is the time they mate,
But why O why our backyard populate?
Perhaps they feel it's romantic: the smoke,
The chill, the wet; relentlessly they croak!
Dear God! Why let the bogs with tall grass grow?
Or teach a colony of frogs to Love?
poem by Dinesh Sairam
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Two Frogs
two frogs
agree to take shelter
on a lone leaf
under a heavy rain
they swear
to croak together
after a storm
they swear
to always live
and love
together
what is perfect
is just between them
on a very small pond
just fit for the two
of them
and they both
live happily ever after
and then
the tadpoles
come
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Signs That Will Never Change
Leaves come falling on a winter's day.
Robins weep and watch them sail away.
Floating on the water is autumns last farewell.
These are signs that will never change,
signs that will never change.
Rivers once were frozen now they're free
Showing winter's going rapidly.
Tadpoles turning into frogs in winter's last farewell.
These are signs that will never change,
signs that will never change.
The changing faces of the seasons
are those that cannot be compared
Except in love it sometimes happens
love grows but all too soon it dies.
Tadpoles turning into frogs in winter's last farewell.
These are signs that will never change,
signs that will never change.
signs that will never change
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Yaa
Suffering is an ineradicable part of life and,
You don't have to give up easily in life;
For the morrow comes and success awaits you.
Encyclopedia Britannia,
Encyclopedia Judaica,
Encyclopedia Americana,
Renew your strength to move on in life always;
For at the front lines of hope,
There is success for those who kept on the faith.
Do face the facts of life as they come your way and,
Do not eat frogs and snakes;
And try to visit the land of Ararat on this vision.
Yaa, you have to learn very hard to succeed!
For Rome was not built in a day.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Do Not Give Poetry A Bad Name
The frogs should not have croaked a lot
when everyone is fast asleep
Aristophanes after all is right
These frogs should not live like the Clouds.
On the other hand
THe Philosophers should cling to being
Philosophers
Stay with the embrace of Reason and Not
Embrace the Strong Arms of Emotions
For Emotions belong to nothing but the
Realm of Poetry
aH! Lysistrata shall now wage her own
War against the Men
Claiming as she does
Her sole right to Eroticism
Honestly, i still love to hear the frogs croaking
In the Pond
I for the meantime loves to Keep
The Philosophers dwell in their Own
Cloud Point of view.
If Lysistrata obliges
One night with Her would be enough
After which, I shall work hard to
Give Poetry its Own Right Name.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Sound Of The Rain
do not mislead me with the
point-of-view of the frog
you croak and you say this
is how something beautiful
sounds, how ugliness feigns
i tell you i like the rain and
the frog likes it too, i am
one of those frogs bathing
and jumping on the pond,
but do not mislead me with
your sound, it does not sound
like the hush of the wind,
it has no color of the moon,
i am one of the frogs of this
pond, but i do not wish to
sound like you: i am in love
with the sound of the rain,
and this is the one that makes
me stay. It is not you, your
sound is not gentle, it is
rough like the skin of the
teething toad. I love the
rain, the way it sounds,
and that is enough
for my suffering.
Dripping.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Assault
I
I had forgotten how the frogs must sound
After a year of silence, else I think
I should not so have ventured forth alone
At dusk upon this unfrequented road.
II
I am waylaid by Beauty. Who will walk
Between me and the crying of the frogs?
Oh, savage Beauty, suffer me to pass,
That am a timid woman, on her way
From one house to another!
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
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Grenouillage à Trois
Deep in the forest, on two logs
were perched two rather handsome frogs.
The logs were pretty close together
and served as shelters for the weather.
Now, on the smaller of the logs
was sitting, still, the bigger frog.
He looked across and had discovered
that on a tree a third frog hovered,
apparently intent to pounce!
He must have weighed a paltry ounce.
They say that from necessity
all frogs, no matter where they be
will act. So this one did pretend
for competition soon to end
that in the tree the frog was meat,
a moth or insect he would eat.
Thus ends the story of the frogs
on trees and on two fallen logs,
while after all they got together
and sheltered in their log from weather.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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The World Of The Silent Blooming Lotus
floating like a lotus
red concentric petals stretching
wanting to kiss the cheek of the sky
i am the monk in my own
spreading kingdom of a still pond
beside me are the frogs listening
surrounded by a soldier of tadpoles
beneath me is the stock of dirt
i keep my purity on top
the sun looks at me with pride
at night the moon smiles
such is the world of this silent lotus
calm amidst the night, clean atop the mess.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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You Know What Happens When Love Is Gone
she knows what happens when love is gone:
the sun turns black
and the moon becomes red
and the trees become like
some grass in the
brackish water of
the marshes
where the air
stinks like a pond
where all the frogs
are dead
and rotten
where the dragonflies
are headless
where the wings
of the butterflies
turn into threads
the sea is gray
and the sands
are pins hurting
to our feet
the leaves
are skeletal
and the stems
are spikes
of bicycles
without wheels
you know what happens
when your love is gone
but take a look at me
when you finally decided
to throw my love away
i still bloom
as a mushroom
after the thunder
the lightning
and the storm
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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‘To the Slaughter-house’- A Cattle-song!
To the slaughter-house! To the slaughter-house!
Here we cows all go;
We gave men milk and butter, ghee;
They want our beef now;
We’ve no other go.
To the slaughter-house! To the slaughter-house!
Here we oxen go;
We tilled their lands and milled oil-seeds;
They want our hide now;
We’ve no other go.
To the slaughter-house! To the slaughter-house!
Here we sheep all go;
We grazed their meadows, eating grass;
They want our mutton now;
We’ve no other go.
To the slaughter-house! To the slaughter-house!
Here we cattle go;
We served mankind as God said so;
Selfish men want our flesh now;
We’ve no other go.
To the slaughter-house! To the slaughter-house!
Here we animals go;
Jostled, huddled, unfed, crowded;
Men want our lives now;
This is our last ride, we all know;
We’ve no other go.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-20-2008
poem by John Celes
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If I wasn't doing this, I'd be in school studying political science or socioeconomic something. I love visiting different cultures and finding out how they make up a society.
quote by Eliza Dushku
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The U.S. has the finest research scientists in the world, but we are falling far behind other countries, like South Korea and Singapore, that are moving forward with embryonic stem cell research.
quote by Louise Slaughter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Frog's Life
Once upon a lily pad,
There sat a mother frog
Hungry for some food,
She hopped from log to log
Eating flies and skeeters,
All throughout the day
Worms weren’t quite as good,
But she ate them anyway
She found a comfy spot,
And laid a bunch of eggs
Then hopped away from the nest,
With a push from her back legs
The eggs turned into tadpoles,
That swam around the pond
They started growing legs,
And turned into tiny frogs
poem by Chris Marion
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There is a question for which we will never know the answer: had the U.S. not launched the Contra war to overthrow the Sandinista government, would they have succeeded in bringing socioeconomic justice to the people of Nicaragua?
quote by Bianca Jagger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tad & The Bullfrog King
Bullfrog King did summon Tad
“I have a task for you young lad”
“A task for me? Egad! ” said Tad
“Fetch your club and kilt of plaid”
“I’ll teach you how to public speak
You’ll learn the art of war
One day you’ll be my president
By then you’ll know the score”
Years passed, Tad became a frog
‘You’re ready now” said Bullfrog King
Come sit by me and sip some grog
Today I’ll give to you my signet ring”
“You’ll campaign, with speeches thrill
Then there will be a sham election
You’ll landslide win and beat my shill
There will be no ballot box inspection”
“When in command, you’ll do my bidding
Through my shrewd, hand-picked cronies
Just look good and lie Tad, I’m not kidding
Heed my generals and assorted phonies”
Tad went on to be elected, as planned
The Bullfrog King was very pleased
A cry of hope did raise thru-out the land
Frogs knew not their pond dis-eased
On campaign promises Tad did renege
Followed in the footsteps of him before
While bankers and military danced a jig
Tad’s actions were to heinous to ignore
King made plans to rule all world ponds
He’d name the plan “A New World Order”
With all frog liberties he would abscond
Tad became his World Prison-Warder
Many frogs rebelled, many did comply
Jailed & tortured, some were euthanized
Toad mercenaries were hired to pacify
Frogs wailed, gnashed teeth n’ agonized
The FROG GOD was faced with a dilemma
What would He do to stop such madness?
He decided to give all the ponds an enema
To help restore peace, harmony, gladness
He unleashed a torrent to flood the earth
Made every tiny pond part of a raging sea
“Behold I make all things new by rebirth'
“A New Beginning” He Chuckled Affably
He reached down to Earth for a pinch of mud
From this He fashioned skin, bone and blood
Into a “New frog” and placed him in a puddle
From frogs rib he made some changes subtle
With male and female frogs complete
FROG GOD SPOKE,
“It is Finished, My Love’s Replete”
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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The girl in class
I’ve seen her
She sat next to me in class
She never talked
Her head was always down
Isolated
That’s the word
Isolated
Not willing to open up
She wasn’t at school today
Or the next
The speaker turns on
The announcements are read
One special announcement
At the end
Of a funeral
For a student
Who was afraid
poem by Cheyenne Joyner
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Most Of What I Have Is
Anger, bull anger, dragon anger
Tiger anger,
Strong anger of twisters,
For the one I truly and truly love,
The desert and the volcanic ash
The ungiving, the unyielding
It is like,
A dead pond
Murky, brackish water,
It is the dwelling of
A porcupine-fish, just that,
It does not even swim
Or tried learning the art
Of swimming
It is my pain
This is my pain that I painted
On a piece of paper
One dark line in black
At the end at the rightmost tip
Is the red
Tip of iron-hot jagged-edge acetylene torch fire
It is aimed in my head in my heart
It is anger
That is angry to itself
And so everything in this pond dies,
The moss, the lilies,
The tadpoles the catfish the last catfish
Of this pond
Died the other day the frogs Stopped croaking since
The toads found warts on their throats
It is anger
A blizzard
Burst my eardrums
She may sing the songs
Of love to my deaf
Ears
Perforated Eardrums of anger
It is anger That keeps me alive
Its only desire Is to kill This anger this looseness
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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