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How the Revolution Started

The bearded amoeba
Quietly smoked his pipe.
The servant came in
And said:
The crocodile is ready
But the president cannot make today
The apple pie.

The bearded amoeba
Quietly smoked his pipe.
Yes, the dentist is in Venice
To make the root canal,
The servant said.
The crocodile was looking
At the sky.

Then suddenly
An angry cat
Began to puff and pant.

An orchestra was playing
In a distant café.

The bearded amoeba
Quietly smoked his pipe.
It is time to start the revolution
Mao said,
Rising from a chair.

A portrait of Lenin
Began to shine
On the wall.

poem by Paul Hartal
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A process which led from the amoeba to man appeared to the philosophers to be obviously a progress though whether the amoeba would agree with this opinion is not known.

quote by Bertrand Russell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A process which led from the amoeba to man appeared to philosophers to be obviously progress -- though whether the amoeba would agree with this opinion is not known.

quote by Bertrand Russell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Crocodile's Toothache

Oh the Crocodile
Went to the dentist
And sat down in the chair,
And the dentist said, 'Now tell me, sir,
Why does it hurt and where?'
And the Crocodile said, 'I'll tell you the truth.
I have a terrible ache in my tooth.'
And he opened his jaws so wide, so wide,
That the dentist he climbed right inside,
And the dentist laughed, 'Oh, isn't this fun?'
As he pulled the teeth out, one by one.
And the Crocodile cried, 'You're hurting me so!
Please put down your pliers and let me go.'
But the dentist just laughed with a Ho Ho Ho,
And he said, 'I still have twelve to go --
Oops, that's the wrong one, I confess.
But what's one crocodile's tooth, more or less?'
Then suddenly the jaws went snap,
And the dentist was gone right off the map.
And where he went one could only guess...
To North or South or East or West...
He left no forwarding address.
But what's one dentist more or less?

poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Bob Justice

Bob Justice was an old pipe smoking fellow
And outside his shop on Main Street Millstreet Town
He and his sister May often sat talking
Whilst he greeted people passing up and down.

He became well known through his business and bakery
And as a man who owned and raced greyhounds
And it's been said that Bob enjoyed a gamble
And he often bet up to one hundred pounds.

He must have smoked a lot of pipe tobacco
As much as anyone for miles about
And perhaps more than anybody else in Millstreet
For his pipe was seldom distant from his mouth.

His wife from Cockhill and they had two daughters
And one of them Geraldine owns the shop today
And though it's been years since Bob Justice was living
On looking back it only seems yesterday.

If there's a Heaven there you'll find Bob Justice
Smoking his pipe distant from Millstreet Town
And in the cool shade sitting in the sunshine
And greeting people passing up and down.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Universe Child

Universe Child
Mothers womb, out I dropp out
Cold and shivering, is the earth
I’m a free soul
Grown amidst bearded elders
Dreams like sun make day
Time like sand has passed by
Make bearded, I can’t play
All like a day, a moment.
Dreams not like stars in a night.
I pinch my skin
I have grey hair, ecclesiastical
Universe child, bearded.

poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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Girl

Girl, girl, girl
Thats your life
Girl
Smoking that glass pipe
I come from the city of dope
It couldnt be saved by john the pope
Coz the base head lyric sees the light
Two fat raps to the head last night
Cocaine cocaine, is that your rap
Every day and night its coming back
C-o-c-a-i-n-e
The rich mans high what it used to be
But things looking different in eighty-five
Cocaine, cocaine is that your high
Since age thirteen what have I seen
A lotto of base heads straight coke fiends
Snorting, puffing, thats the life
But its all over when you hit that pipe
Big coke dealers on the knock
All smoked up with no more rocks
Base heads buy, coke from him
But he smokes more than all of them
The big coke man, aint too cool
He smokes more than all you fools
Hes gotta a lotta do, but not a lotta bank
A brand new car with an empty tank
Pretty white smoke all in his chest
And a 84 benz, reposessed
Girl, thats your life
Girl smoking that glass pipe
Fresh young tender only fifteen
Walking on a strip just wanna be seen
Never touch coke a day in her life
But now that girls gotta have her pipe
Coz she met a man his name was jock
Do it to her a good and he smoked a rock
Put it in her joint all crunched up
And now everyday she takes a puff
Girl, thats your life
Girl smoking that glass pipe
I know you know what coke can do
Come into your life and take over you
Now you kicking back thinking bout your dream
But it never comes true coz youre just a coke fiend
You asked your woman whats the prob
She said its you coz you dont do your job
Used to make good love from the start
But now coke had done damage to your private parts
Girl, thats your life
Girl smoking that glass pipe
Your mind is gone your brain is blazed
Youve been wide awake for the last three days
Inhale, exhale you dont care
Coke smoke only no fresh air
You cant even talk you dont wanna listen
You and your body on that cocaine mission
Three days straight wheres your mind
Its gonna out of town and your brain is fried
Just smoke and choke until youre broke
Just smoke that coke until you croke
And it would be, I cant lie
No great loss if you should die
Coz your life is wrecked, you girl is checked
She chose on my and I was set
I took her home to make my move
But she wanted to base she was just like you

song performed by by Too Short
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Armchair

My grandpa had an old armchair
he sat in every day.
I used to watch him silently
so I wouldn't be in the way.

I watched as he smoked his pipe,
intent as he was reading.
He never seemed to notice me
and so it was misjeading.

For he was always quite aware
of everything I did.
He knew exactly where I was
even as I hid.

One day I climbed up on his lap
and he kissed me on my head.
He told me stories that I loved.
Then this is what he said.

'Someday sonny when you're older
I want you to have my chair
and whenever you sit down on it
you will remember where

We both were together
in this armchair that was mine.
You'll know how much I loved you
as you sit here and recline.'

poem by Edwina Reizer
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When It Began

It had begun,
When it began...
To make me pay attention.
To make me sit and listen.
Quietly...
And allow me to go within.
Without apprehension.
Until those 'thoughts' started to clear.

It had begun,
When it began...
To make me pay attention.
To make me sit and listen.

It had begun,
When it began...
And I was here.
It had begun,
When it began...
To click together and remove fear,
I had endeared.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Mystery Of Mister Smith

For supper we had curried tripe.
I washed the dishes, wound the clock;
Then for awhile I smoked my pipe -
Puff! Puff! We had no word of talk.
The Misses sewed - a sober pair;
Says I at last: "I need some air."

A don't know why I acted so;
I had no thought, no plot, no plan.
I did not really mean to go -
I'm such a docile little man;
But suddenly I felt that I
Must change my life or I would die.

A sign I saw: A ROOM TO LET.
It had a musty, dusty smell;
It gloated gloom, it growled and yet
Somehow I felt I liked it well.
I paid the rent a month ahead:
That night I smoked my pipe in bed.

From out my world I disappeared;
My walk and talk changed over-night.
I bought black glasses, grew a beard -
Abysmally I dropped from sight;
Old Tax Collector, Mister Smith
Became a memory, a myth.

I see my wife in widow's weeds;
She's gained in weight since I have gone.
My pension serves her modest needs,
She keeps the old apartment on;
And living just a block away
I meet her nearly every day.

I hope she doesn't mourn too much;
She has a sad and worried look.
One day we passed and chanced to touch,
But as with sudden fear I shook,
So blankly in my face she peered,
I had to chuckle in my beard.

Oh, comfort is a blessed thing,
But forty years of it I had.
I never drank the wine of Spring,
No moon has ever made me mad.
I never clutched the skirts of Chance
Nor daftly dallied with Romance.

And that is why I seek to save
My soul before it is too late,
To put between me and the grave
A few years of fantastic fate:
I've won to happiness because
I've killed the man that once I was.

I've murdered Income Taxer Smith,
And now I'm Johnny Jones to you.
I have no home, no kin, no kith,
I do the things I want to do.
No matter though I've not a friend,
I've won to freedom in the end.

Bohemian born, I guess, was I;
And should my wife her widowhood
By wedlock end I will not sigh,
But pack my grip and go for good,
To live in lands where laws are lax,
And innocent of Income Tax.

poem by Robert William Service
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I saw John Garfield smoke. He was my idol, so I smoked. I even smoked like him.

quote by Jack Klugman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Quietly Sad

So quietly sad
Can’t breathe
Just want to talk
To anyone who listens

So quietly sad
Knees into chest
Crocheted beanie
Hair of blue rivers

Time only reveals
Discernible truths
And covers what never was
And the end will be what is

So quietly sad

poem by Marijke McKinney
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Pipe Smoker

Because I love the soothing weed
And am of sober type,
I'd choose me for a friend in need
A man who smokes a pipe.
A cove who hasn't much to say,
And spits into the fire,
Puffing like me a pipe of clay,
Corn-cob or briar.

A chap original of thought,
With cheery point of view,
Who has of gumption quite a lot,
And streaks of humour too.
He need not be a whiskered sage,
With wisdom over-ripe:
Just give me in the old of age
A pal who smokes a pipe.

A cigarette may make for wit,
Although I like it not;
A good cigar, I must admit,
Gives dignity to thought.
But as my glass of grog I sip
I never, never gripe
If I have for companionship
A guy who smokes a pipe.

poem by Robert William Service
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Wall Of Death

Richard Thompson)
Let me ride on the wall of death one more time
Let me ride on the wall of death one more time
You can waste your time on the other rides
but this is the nearest to being alive
Let me take my chances on the Wall of Death
You can go with the crazy people in the crooked house
You can fly away on the rocket or spin in the mouse
The tunnel of love might amuse you
And Noah's Ark might confuse you but
Let me take my chances on the Wall of Death
On the Wall of Death
All the World is far from me
On the Wall of Death
It's the nearest to being free
Well you're going nowhere when you ride on the carousel
And maybe you're strong, but what's the use of ringing a bell
The switchback will make you crazy
Beware of the bearded lady
Oh let me take my chances on the Wall of Death
You are going nowhere when you ride on the carousel
And maybe you're strong, but what's the use of ringing a bell
The switchback will make you crazy
Beware of the bearded lady
Let me take my chances
Let me take my chances
Let me take my chances

song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Warm Stored Voice

Such as whether sound that passes through
the aperture grille
Passing through the cavity space of heart
When silent night stopped
by the clock on the wall
He who pass by and pass
Or is he just running out of air conditioning
with no noise
but the cold and rheumatic fever
his wife back
Not not not it was.. or is it like the wind
that comes out of
a clarinet chamber music player
'Sono il padrino eccomi qua,
gran Messaggero in viltà,
in fondo lascio l'onestà
A chi poteri non ne ha! '

Then the books whose pages fly
jump
scattered
jump
scattered
jump
And the radio button asking to be diminished
Slowly slowly slowly
Slowly slowly
- just to a whisper -
There may be few and stored at chinese sketch
There may be hung on the wall
that are stored in the bonds woven ulos
There may be saved
on the photo of dashes father
who smoked tobacco in pipe
may also are stored in the frozen wall
Maybe even have rushed
descend
stairs to the second floor
down:
Or even do not know the way out
and did not want to ask
Where the heart's door?
Where is the kitchen to cook
And he just quietly watching
the bowls are not all washed
The wind was silent
"ritrovo spesso tra i miei eroi
ceffi, vigliacchi, cani e poi
il giusto grado di bontà
non dura per l'eternità! ! "

(2009)

poem by Imam Setiaji Ronoatmojo
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The Piper

AGAIN I hear you piping, for I know the tune so well, -
You rouse the heart to wander and be free,
Tho' where you learned your music, not the God of song can tell,
For you pipe the open highway and the sea.
O piper, lightly footing, lightly piping on your way,
Tho' your music thrills and pierces far and near,
I tell you you had better pipe to someone else to-day,
For you cannot pipe my fancy from my dear.

You sound the note of travel through the hamlet and the town;
You would lure the holy angels from on high;
And not a man can hear you, but he throws the hammer down
And is off to see the countries ere he die.
But now no more I wander, now unchanging here I stay;
By my love, you find me safely sitting here:
And pipe you ne'er so sweetly, till you pipe the hills away,
You can never pipe my fancy from my dear.

poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Gray-Eyed King

Glory to you, inescapable pain!
The gray-eyed king died yesterday.

The autumn evening was sultry and red,
My husband returned and quietly said:

'You know, they brought him back from the hunt,
They found his corpse by the old oak tree.

I pity the queen. He was so young!..
In just one night her hair turned white.'

He found his pipe on the mantelpiece
And went out to his nighttime shift.

I'll go and wake my daughter now,
I'll look into her little gray eyes.

While outside the rustling poplars say:
'Your king is no longer upon this earth…'

Another translation.
By Yevgeny Bonver:

The Grey-Eyed King

Hail! Hail to thee, o, immovable pain!
The young grey-eyed king had been yesterday slain.

This autumnal evening was stuffy and red.
My husband, returning, had quietly said,

'He'd left for his hunting; they carried him home;
They'd found him under the old oak's dome.

I pity the queen. He, so young, past away!...
During one night her black hair turned to grey.'

He found his pipe on a warm fire-place,
And quietly left for his usual race.

Now my daughter will wake up and rise --
Mother will look in her dear grey eyes...

And poplars by windows rustle as sing,
'Never again will you see your young king...'

poem by Anna Akhmatova
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My Ancestors

A barefoot boy I went to school
To save a cobbler's fee,
For though the porridge pot was full
A frugal folk were we;
We baked our bannocks, spun our wool,
And counted each bawbee.

We reft our living from the soil,
And I was shieling bred;
My father's hands were warped with toil,
And crooked with grace he said.
My mother made the kettle boil
As spinning wheel she fed.

My granny smoked a pipe of clay,
And yammered of her youth;
The hairs upon her chin were grey,
She had a single tooth;
Her mutch was grimed, I grieve to say,
For I would speak the truth.

You of your ancestry may boast,--
Well, here I brag of mine;
For if there is a heaven host
I hope they'll be in line:
My dad with collie at his heel
In plaid of tartan stripe;
My mammie with her spinning wheel,
My granny with her pipe.

poem by Robert William Service
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Your golf playing postmaster father was your god

Your golf playing postmaster father
was your god
(and to you there was no other)
who couldn’t see anything wrong
with the actions of his friends
that wanted to play
sexual games with you
and his wife
who slept around
with whom ever she could.

You sat next to him
at the front door
of the old house in Barberton
with the red polished stairs
while he smoked his pipe
with BB-tobacco
and although you hated smoking
inhaled every vapour
coming from him
as if it would put you
in a godly ordained séance
or maybe a trance.

Each thing that he said,
each thing that he did
to you was holy and right,
even if it lacked justice
and you made a mere man
equal to the Almighty One.

No other man could for you
fit in his shoes
and I tried to live
in a totally different way
and when he died
from a heart attack
on the golf course,

you only saw dread,
for your God was dead
and tried to join him
by taking sleeping pills
and was really angry
for me rushing you to hospital
as if I had got in the way
of your atonement.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Knock Three Times

Hey,girl
What are you doing down there?
Dancing alone every night
While I live right above you.
I can hear your music playing,
I can fell your body swaying,
One floor below me,
You don't even know me,
I love you.
Oh,darling,knock three times on the ceiling if you want me
Twice on the pipe if the answer is no.
Oh,my sweetness,(knock)means you'll meet me in the hallway,
Twice on the pipe means you ain't gonna show.
If you look out your window tonight,
Pull in the string with the note
That's attached to my heart,
Read how many times I saw you,
How in my silence I adore you,
And only in my dreams
Did that wall between us come apart.
Oh,darling,knock three times on the ceiling if you want me
Twice on the pipe if the answer is no.
Oh,my sweetness,(knock)means you'll meet me in the hallway,
Twice on the pipe means you ain't gonna show.

song performed by by Debbie Gibson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Alvin

Did you ever step on a water pipe
Pipe falls to the bottom of the water system
And there did you meet a little alligator
Who answered to the name of Alvin?
If you did, he's mine--I lost him
I threw my Alvin down the water pipe
Pipe, down to the bottom of the water system
Because he was getting to big for his briches
But now I'm getting lonely since he's gone
I miss him

song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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