Ploughed Fields
Ploughed Fields.
My neighbour has started his tractor diesel fume wafts through the open kitchen window.
On his way to plough the field across the road, dark furrows in damp soil, birds sit in trees
read the upturned soil for tidbits. My neighbour doesn’t read has no computer, and give
damn about wikileaks; evenings he and his wife sit in their kitchen and watch soaps, news
is too boring. Me, I’m amazed the stupidity of the unscripted soap news is, this struggle for
dominance, making friends with vile dictators in the hope of landing a fat military contract
selling hardware and to have a base so they can keep an eye on the opposition. Winner and
losers in a mortal dance embraced by phony friendship. And when a tyrant goes against our
interest we kill him off and look for one who can do our bidding. What the people want is
banalities such as peace and democracy, but that’s too bothersome. My neighbour knows
this and let birds fight amongst themselves over title tattles and succulent worms.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Related quotes
Neighbour
Neighbour
is good
Friend...
Neighbour is
good relation...
Neighbour is
Your brother...
Neighbour is
Your sister...
Neighbour is
Your mother...
Neighbour is
father and gran father...
All are thear...
Neighbour is
Not neighbour...also
your family...
Love it...
Help it...
Enjoy it...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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I Am Graced
I am graced and I greet you with open arms,
Hands are stretched out to keep your heart.
My heart has good wishes for you,
I want to complain, I need some time to explain.
The neighbour is to be loved,
That neighbour is you and my heart.
I want to marry the dream of my choice,
That next-door person is you, my choice.
I read the complaint I make, and I have warmth,
For warm feelings deliver a peace.
You are to be loved like the one next-door,
The neighbour of decisions, no lies.
poem by Naveed Akram
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To Love or to be Loved
I read the equation which states: -
Love your neighbour as you love yourself,
To love your neighbour as if they were you
To love is to give away thy energy
To love is risk thy soul for someone
To love is invest uncertainly
To be loved is to be made a weaker a subject
To be loved, a wonderful experience
To be loved a non stressful activity
To love makes you struggle
To be loved relaxes your mind
poem by Moffat Mbuzi
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Does The Lotus Shrink Away For Everyone?
(after A.G. Visser)
Early every evening after I see my neighbour driving away
an expensive car stops on the sidewalk,
there’s an old legend that returns to me
when the sultan Mirza Khan goes on a pilgrimage
with many knights
on his way to Ispahan with his caravan
and he’s just left when the neighbour’s wife rushes past
without loosing a moment.
Early every evening after I see my neighbour driving away
where in the darkness of night he leaves
to be involved with his commitments
with many knights,
while the winter wind cuts through me,
the gaze of the neighbour’s wife chills the leaving car,
there’s an old legend that returns to me
where in the palace Fatima made herself lovely
and the sultan had just left
to be involved with his commitments,
the neighbour’s wife hurries and do not want to avoid her lover
and I read insubordination, pleasure and rebellion on her face,
early every evening after I see my neighbour driving away.
When a horseman appears as the emir of the Badewyn
Fatima is naked, young and slender
and the sultan had just left
and the neighbour is really dedicated
exemplary, friendly and he wears glasses,
there’s an old legend that returns to me
where they meet each other and make love for hours
when the purple iris blooms in the cup of the holy lotus
and Fatima is naked, young and slender
and the neighbour is with other knights when his wife is wooed
while she is begging for other attention.
Early every evening after I see my neighbour driving away,
there’s an old legend that returns to me:
Does the lotus shrink away for everyone, does it wither
when the sultan Mirza Khan goes on a pilgrimage
when the purple iris blooms in the cup of the holy lotus
on his way to Ispahan with his caravan?
[Reference: “Divan” by A.G. Visser.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Neighbours
My neighbour has a field of wheat
And I a rood of vine;
And he will give me bread to eat,
And I will give him wine.
And so we are a jolly pair,
Contentedly unwed,
Singing with supper as we share
Red wine and crusty bread.
Now venison is mighty meat
And so is trout and hare;
A mallard duck is sweat to eat
And quail is dainty fare.
But such are foods for festal day,
And we will not repine
While on the table we can lay
Crisp bread and rosy wine.
A will to till one's own of soil
Is worth a kingly crown,
With bread to feed the belly need,
And wine to wash it down.
So with my neighbour I rejoice
That we are fit and free,
Content to praise with lusty voice
Bread, Wine and Liberty.
poem by Robert William Service
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This Noise
The noise that disturbs your neighbour is like,
A swimmer without a life-jacket!
But, i will live to lead you on peacefully;
However, this noise around you is like a hammer hitting the head of the nail.
The noise that disturbs your neighbour is like,
Creating the silent war within your neighbourhood!
And like the heart of a summer around many others;
For, i know when it matters most.
Try to learn and try to live with one another,
Try to do your best without disturbing your neighbour!
For, this noise will surely not bring you peace among them.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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I Had Died
I read the obituaries where I had died
I looked beside me and Death was not at my side
I felt so sad and lonely that I almost cried
Why about my death had others had lied
My ex-wife called my family and she was very sad
She was sorry that I was gone and she felt bad
She said I was the only true love that she ever had
Then she found out I was alive, and she got mad
My son then called after he read the news
He had cried and cried and went through boxes of tissues
He was sad and distraught and also confused
He didn't know that I was sick so he wasn't amused
My friends then called one after another
Then I got a call from a sister and then my brother
So happy the news wasn't read by my mother
It wasn't I who died, but sadly it was some other,
Of course I am here and I am still alive
And I hope for many more years I will survive
My friendship and my love it will also thrive
And my friendship to others I hope not to deprive.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Arna
Snow, now, show, how, blow, low, flow, mow;
And like Arna your lover who is my neighbour,
But night and day i will watch over you.
Vow, tow, sow, glow, cow, bow, grow, wow;
According to the promise of your love and,
According to the promise of peace!
But partake with me in that which is right always.
You will be refreshed with the muse of love and,
You will learn a lot from me as well;
But i will watch over you always!
For Arna your love is my neighbour,
And i will do my best to guide you on with my experiences.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Winter (parody)
(with apologies to fanie olivier)
Already early in May you can feel the wind gallop,
it is already cutting icily from twelve o’clock
and blows sand
leaves and old plastic bags sky-high.
Across the street the neighbour’s drain is overflowing
and sewerage flows along at the end of the yard,
while the other neighbour’s wife forwardly winks at me
and she’s a flamboyant girl,
her husband is well built and somewhat angry
and she has got a teenage daughter, who draws attention like her mother,
dressing at times somewhat nakedly,
while the neighbour comforts himself with bottles of brandy,
sometimes wanting to know about his wife’s wiles from me,
when I see pain and grief eating at him.
[Reference: “winter” by fanie olivier.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Ballad of Old Clonbroney
The Ballad of Old Clonbroney
One night dark walking along
A lane onto its end,
A neighbour walked up to a house
To call upon a friend.
The neighbour was new, his friends wife too
Had arrived not long ago,
And friendship new as neighbours do
They called on one another each other to know.
And as he approached the house,
He wondered at how strange shadows moves,
It looked as if it were a hearse,
And all of a sudden a sound of hooves,
And a wall through at terrific speed,
Driven by a horseman with no head,
A hearse up through the feilds fleed
To Old Clonbroney with its dead.
Our hero stood there shaking,
Wondered if he imaged was what he had seen,
When the woman opened the door to the house,
Asked where the horses had been?
He raced into the house so fast,
Slammed behind him the door,
Told how the hearse before him passed,
And where it came from before...
That it went up to Old Clonbroney,
After driving through a wall,
But it was not real: twas but a ghost,
For the wall was not damaged at all.
And drinking whiskey strong his nerves setlled down,
Though still great in him was fear,
Though you may mock and you may frown,
You too would shake if the headless horseman did appear...
And in time the husband returned,
A miller he was by trade,
He came to see his wife terrified,
And his neighbour, a man strong, afraid,
They told him of the horseman,
Of the hearse, that the man had no head,
He srugged his shoulder with a sigh,
Declared one of the neighbours dead.
It was like the banshee,
The miller said of the apparition,
When these neighbours died, the spectre youd see,
So was local superstition,
And so all a prayer they said,
For their own and the deceased sake,
Its not told the name of who was dead,
Or if the miller and his neighbour slept or stayed that night awake!
===========================
The story of a man who met a headless horseman when calling on a neighbour after moving into the area.
Apperantly this is actually true, the miller he was calling on was an uncle of mine who lived in Clonbroney, where an old road led up to a disused cemetry, and a new road now led to the village. The old road partly made the lane to his house and mill that used to be on the side of the old road, but the road was blocked of at the rear, where both sides had grown in to form one hedgegrow that went up the fiends to the old cemetry.
The poem is to be edited later to make sure the information is correct, but this is the first draft.
poem by Tomás Ó Cárthaigh
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Daily
you wake up early
you wash your face
you use soap and water
you wipe your face with
a white towel near the sink
hanging
you dress up
you take breakfast
you chew your food
you drink your coffee
you read the papers
hear the news on tv
you go to the garage
warm up your car
you open the garage
and speed your way to your office
you read the whole day
you talk less
you take your lunch
and you cat's nap
you work the whole afternoon
you read a lot
you write
you are tired and ask your driver
to drive you home
you open the door of your house
you sleep with your shoes on
you sleep for some hours
you are hungry
you go to the kitchen and eat
the food made ready for you
by your housemaid
you are alone in this sequence
you turn on the tv
and the whole night you feel
you are the lookout
for something that is about to happen
you ask yourself, what is this all about?
you tell yourself, you do not know, it is just your daily routine
for years and years, and it goes on and on and you have no
way of stopping
they call it life
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Syria, Drop Your Sword
Its a foetus, from a ripped up womb,
A mother swims in her blood, gone,
It's a foetus.
Flies like craws, and worms
Would feast, and dance
Flies like craws.
A neighbour is laughing
Your sword, cause of your wound festering
A neighbour is laughing.
The universe not ours, belongs to a deity,
Carcasses, haunt, elusive is homely,
The universe not ours.
In whose command do you slaughter?
Abandon your sword, make no more slaughter.
In whose command?
A laugh is a sacrifice, a compromise, achieved,
What for rights, journeyed bloodbaths, peace not achieved
A laugh is a sacrifice.
Make peace with God, you don't like me,
Ours is for now, others were here
Make peace with God!
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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That past is still within our living memory, a time when neighbour helped neighbour, sharing what little they had out of necessity, as well as decency.
quote by Mary McAleese
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sex In The Kitchen
Girl you're in the kitchen
Cooking me a meal
Something makes me wanna come in there and get a feel
Walk around in your t-shirt
Nothing else on
Strutting pass, switching that ass while I'm on the phone
Cutting up tomatoes, fruits and vegetables and potatoes
Girl, you look so sexy while you're doing the damn thang
I want
Sex in the kitchen over by the stove
Put you on the counter by the buttered rolls
Hands on the table, on your tippy toes
We'll be making love like the restaurant was closed
How would you like it, baby
(How would you like that?)
Tell me right now pretty baby
Hey man, I'm gon call you back
Girl you're in the kitchen, chillin in your robe
I'm saying to myself she better go put on some clothes
Tickling and teasing
Doing that little dance
Girl, you gon make me lay you down and give it to you one mo 'gain
[Chorus 2x]
Girl I'm ready to toss your salad
While I'm making love, I'll be feasting
Girl you're in the kitchen
Sweating up a storm
The oven's on 500
So you know the kitchen's warm
Girl you know just how to get into a brother's mind
Cause here we are still in this kitchen
Doing it for the third time
[Chorus (fades out)]
song performed by by R. Kelly
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Clothesline
talking about incisive mind;
my life's laid bare
on my clothesline
right under the sun
if noosy neighbour
really knows where to read it.
our laughters and moods
trail with the frills, shades
pastels, chiffons
a myriad shapely wear
that dance in the morning breeze;
a party in the open.
the butterflies and bees
lose out to their allure;
a cartoonist's inner world
at work as we figure
all the characters
in the wear
trooping through
the avenue with their
infectious laughters.
in the dawn of a new season
how the shapes have changed,
and the colours
fly away like autumn.
the dull colours!
the dull colours!
how they invade my
clothesline, my life.
the falling leaves!
the falling crown!
how everything start
giving up on each other
split, broken, trail
with the wind!
the void! the void!
Right in this warm
blooded creature!
So cold the days
finally become...
my clothesline,
the delicate theatre
of my life
that trails with the wind
day in and day out.
if only the noosy neighbour
know where to read
all my secrets;
they dance in the winds...
each morning....
when the sun is bright
and the wind blowing....
this morning i watch
with witheld tears alone
knowing full well
some shirts will
never return to the line.
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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In Memory
Your coffin was carried
slowly through,
the door where, you had stood
many times greeting others.
Now we greeted you,
your remains, for you are gone.
Your friends cried because
it was true,
Goula was dead.
Actress, poet, whom Kennelly
read with joy, a painter,
wife and animal lover.
Leaving food for the fox in winter,
the stray cat through the open
kitchen window comes,
the dog runs to meet his sitter.
Your Civil Defence friends
gathered in honour
and joined your family
and friends for mass,
in your Church of fifty years.
You cannot be forgotten,
your old theatrical way,
picked from Anna, Big Maggie,
Phyllis, adept at directing plays.
Your stage friends.
And you danced the conga,
in the forties, and tangoed
in the fifties, out in Tanganyika,
and courtesy became you,
as you read aloud and
directed speech and bearing.
Now you do not need to dance,
now you do not need to paint,
for what it represents now exists,
for you and Noel.
No, you cannot be forgotten,
for those who, like the merchant
in search of treasure finds the field,
a jewel, from London
is always sought for.
poem by Bernard Kennedy
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The Silent River
The river usually runs in such a great rush,
But, today, it is still, and there is only hush.
I glance over at it, in the darkness, as I pass:
I see the river’s surface is as smooth as glass.
It’s like the river itself is feeling the great grief,
Of losing someone, whose time on earth was brief.
It appears to be grieving for its long time neighbour,
Who, for many years, in the nearby store, did labour.
Just like people, it stands in silence, to show its respect,
And its many thoughts and feelings, it wants to collect.
No more will the river, running through this restful place,
See its neighbour with her eternally happy and smiling face.
From the river, to be heard, there isn’t a single sound:
Night time has fallen, so no ducks or swans are around.
Never before, can I recall the river being so totally still;
It’s as though it has decided to stop of its own free will.
From what I can see, and this may sound just a little bit mad,
The river, just like its neighbour’s family and friends, is sad.
It isn’t in the mood to chatter cheerfully, to dance, or to run;
Now is its time of remembrance: not a time for it to have fun.
Soon, it will continue on its journey, but it will remember,
The loss of this lovely lady, on the tenth day of December.
As it journeys onwards, its surface will shimmer and shake,
And, with it, precious memories of its neighbour, it will take.
(In memory of Debbie Baptiste)
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Sex In The Kitchen (remix)
Girl, you're in the kitchen
Cooking me a meal
Something makes me wanna come in there and get a feel
Walk around in your t-shirt
Nothing else on
Strutting past, switching that ass while I'm on the phone
Cutting up tomatoes, fruits and vegetables and potatoes
Girl, you look so sexy while you're doing the damn thang that
I want
Sex in the kitchen, over by the stove
Put you on the counter by the buttered rolls
Hands on the table, on your tippy toes
We'll be making love like the restaurant was closed
How would you like it, baby
(would you like that)
Tell me right now, pretty baby
Hey man, I'm gon' call you back
Girl, you're in the kitchen, chillin' in your robe
I'm saying to myself, "She better go put on some clothes"
Tickling and teasing, doing that little dance
Girl, you gon' make me lay you down
And give it to you one mo 'gain
[chorus 2x]
Girl, I'm ready to toss your salad
While I'm making love, I'll be feasting
Girl, you're in the kitchen
Sweating up a storm
The oven's on five hundred
So you know the kitchen's warm
Girl, you know just how to get into a brother's mind
Cause here we are still in this kitchen
Doing it for the third time
[chorus till fade]
song performed by by R. Kelly
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Emes
I have found her! !
Of whom my heart does seek for;
But before she came to me,
I first saw her through my window.
Weighty and powerful!
Readiness is her love to satisfy my muse;
And like Emes my neighbour who is yielding to the lusts of the flesh,
Bit i do have great news for you my sweet one.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Neighbour once over the hedge, neighbour over it again.