When Will Life Begin
Seven A.M., the usual morning line-up
Start on the chores, and sweep 'til the
floor's are
clean
Polish and wax, do laundry and mop and
shine up
Sweep again
And by then
It's, like, seven fifteen
And so I'll read a book
Or maybe 2 or 3 Ill add a few new
paintings
To my gallery
I'll play guitar and knit and cook
And basically
Just wonder, when will my life begin?
Then, after lunch, it's puzzles, and
darts, and
baking...
Paper-mache, a bit of ballet, and
chess....
Pottery and ventriloquy, candle-
making...
Then I'll stretch
Maybe sketch
Take a climb
Sew a dress
And I'll re-read the books
If I have time to spare
I'll paint the wall some more
I'm sure there's room somewhere
And then I'll brush, and brush
And brush, and brush my hair
Stuck in the same place I've always been
And I'll keep wondrin'
And wonderin'
And wonderin'
And wonderin'
When will my life begin?
Tomorrow night...
The lights will appear...
Just like they do on my birthday each
year...What is it like...
Out there where they glow...
Now that I'm older...
Mother might just let me go......
poem by Pawan Kumar 'Meonlafesta'
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
You Can't Brush Me Off
Why don't you just give in?
Just like a Siamese twin
I mean to stick to you
Until you do
I won't take it on the chin
You'll never leave me flat
I'm not a "last year's hat"
That you can cast aside
I've got my pride
And I won't stand for that
You can't brush me off
As you would a speck of powder, you may try
But you can't brush me off
You can't shout me down
You can yell but I'll yell louder, you can try
But you can't brush me off
You can say you're out but I'll keep phoning
You can tell me goodbye
You can tell me but I
Won't go
No
You can't leave me cold
As you would a plate of chowder, you may try
But you can't brush me off
[2]
What is this all about?
You've got me wrong, no doubt
I give you all my time
Believe me, I'm
Not looking for some way out
I want you for my wife
Sharing my care and strife
And that may not be fun
For when it's done
You're stuck with me for life
You can't brush me off
As you would a fresh mosquito, you may try
But you can't brush me off
You can't rub me out
Like a spot on my tuxedo, you may try
But you can't brush me off
You can cut me dead but I won't mind it
You may injure my pride
Still I'll never decide
To go
No
You can't drop me fast
As you would a live torpedo, you may try
But you can't brush me off
[3]
You can't brush me off
Like a colored pullman porter, you may try
But you can't brush me off
You can't lock me out
Like a frightened farmer's daughter, you may try
But you can't brush me off
You can drop a hint but I won't take it
You can tell me bad news
I intend to refuse
To go
No
You can't give me back
As you would a leaded quarter, you may try
But you can't brush me off
song performed by by Irving Berlin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Obama Wont Mama
Take that scrub brush,
And that mop.
Start from the corners...
And clean this mess up, baby.
'Don't wanna.
I don't wanna.
Don't wanna...
Or gonna! '
Take that scrub brush,
And that mop.
Start from the corners...
And clean this mess up, baby.
'Don't wanna.
I don't wanna.
Don't wanna...
Or gonna! '
Obama wont mama no ship,
With folks on it lazy.
He's already warned there'll be some changes made.
It you think he'll let you sit,
You're crazy.
He's gonna make discipline stick quick.
If you don't believe it...
You'll believe it when you sweep up your ssshhhh...
Itsy bits.
With sweat and elbows greased to mix.
You wont have time for bitterness.
'Don't wanna.
I don't wanna.
Don't wanna...
Or gonna! '
Ooooohhhh!
Take that scrub brush,
And that mop.
Start from the corners...
And clean this mess up, baby.
'Don't wanna.
I don't wanna.
Don't wanna...
Or gonna! '
Take that scrub brush,
And that mop.
Start from the corners...
And clean this mess up, baby.
Change, real change you can believe.
You might as well roll up your sleeves...
Hand a dustpan to those sleeping.
Obama wont mama no ship,
With folks on it lazy.
He's already warned there'll be some changes made.
It you think he'll let you sit,
You're crazy.
He's gonna make discipline stick quick.
If you don't believe it...
You'll believe it when you sweep up your ssshhhh...
Itsy bits.
Take that scrub brush,
And that mop.
Start from the corners...
And clean this mess up, baby.
'Don't wanna.
I don't wanna.
Don't wanna...
Or gonna! '
'WE CAN...'
And,
You will!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Wonderin
Ive been walking all night long
My footsteps made me crazy
Baby, youve been gone so long
Im wonderin if youll come home
Im hopin that youll be my baby
Im wonderin if Ill be alone
Knowin that I need you to save me.
Ive been talking all day long
To keep my heart from sadness
Baby, youve been gone so long
Im wonderin if youll come home
Im hopin that youll be my baby
Im wonderin if Ill be alone
Knowin that I need you to save me.
Im wonderin, Im wonderin,
Im wonderin, Im wonderin,
Im wonderin, Im wonderin,
Im wonderin, Im wonderin.
Well, Im knowin that I need you to save me
Knowin that I need you to save me.
Knowin that I need you to save me.
Knowin that I need you to save me.
Im wonderin, Im wonderin.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Smile Once More
Brush away the tears within your eyes,
Sweep out all despair and smile once more.
Let the years leave you with feelings wise,
Keeping all you've gleaned, safely in store.
Use this knowledge profoundly when you can,
Waste it not, your days have fruitful been.
Value all you've learnt since your life began,
And find happiness in everything you've seen.
Brush away the tears within your eyes,
Let sunshine freely enter and take their place.
And as the weeping seeps away and dries,
A happier time of life, you will embrace.
For there is always hopefulness in the soul,
Such brightness hidden there behind the cloud.
Making our melancholy spirits whole,
When smiling once more, we feel truly endowed.
poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
While Hair Brushing
Juliette drags the brush
through her hair you have
to brush it at least one
hundred times her mother
had said years ago and say
a prayer each time you get
it through and maybe God
will bless you and as she sits
and brushes her hair she
remembers her mother standing
over her when she was a child
and the hair was as long then
as it is now and oh God she
says how I hated it the knots
and tangles and the number of
times I used to cry each time
she pauses in front of the mirror
the brush held mid air sometimes
when she brushes her hair and
stares in the mirror she sees him
there looking at her as he did back
then watching her every move
his dark eyes greedily drinking
her in and once he placed his
hands around her waist and kissed
her neck how she cringed his spittle
still there her uncle his breath his
hands touching always when she
was alone and once when undressing
he came in and stared and said he
thought she was becoming a beautiful
young girl now she brushes her hair
again the brush stiff and heavy gripped
in her hand and as she stares into the
mirror heavy with times and care she
thinks she sees him still staring still there.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A white paper - Brush,
Fine brush made it
A beautiful portrait!
haiku by V.K. Kanniappan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Paint Me Down
Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down
Im walking into studio
Consider strange appeal
Paint me in the home
Im brushing up on sketchbook
Designs for love unreal
Paint me in the home
Oil and skin youll need to buy it
Consider what I mean
She sinks beneath thr moving pictures
Prepare the brush for me
Im craving with this need
Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down
Im soaking up the surface
Conceaiving new idea
Paint me in the home
Shes oiling up her subject
But all still life is here
Paint me in the home
All the boys with framed dimension
A cover up on lust
Hell take his pain and paint it over
Prepare the brush for me
Im craving with this need
Paint me down
Paint me down
Paint me down
song performed by by Spandau Ballet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Let me brush your tangled Hair
My sweet baby gets up after dark
A runs fast through the quiet green park
Returning looks tiered as she flops in the armchair
I say relax sweety let me brush your tangled hair
Darling looks fantastic as she sets off for work
Running phoning faxing and training the new clerk
Baby does a great job she’s an angel she really does care
When she gets home I say relax let me brush your tangled hair
After dinner and all the dishes are done
I dim the lights pop the cork now starts the fun
We roll scream and shout its the best ever I swear
Then she says to me let me brush your tangled hair
poem by David Darbyshire
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Brush Away
I could use some time to curl away
My aggression is where you stake your claim
Why I question this curve on which you grade
My conception, a joke or latest craze?
I try to get away, and yet I stick around
So fall and crawl away, and brush away loose ground
My intention, may I arrive at eight?
Lie and dream some, surprise you guys Im late
All right, correction, forgetting something, wait
I try to get away, and yet I stick around (2x)
So fall and crawl away, and brush away loose ground
Brush away loose ground
Brush away
song performed by by Alice In Chains
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Braiding
1.
We two sit on our bed, you
between my legs, your back to me, your head
slightly bowed, that I may brush and braid
your hair. My father
did this for my mother,
just as I do for you. One hand
holds the hem of you hair, the other
works the brush. Both hands climb
as the strokes grow
longer, until I use not only my wrists,
but my arms, then my shoulders, my whole body
rocking in a rower's rhythm, a lover's
even time, as the tangles are undone,
and brush and bare hand run the thick,
fluent length of your hair, whose wintry scent
comes, a faint, human musk.
2.
Last night the room was so cold
I dreamed we were in Pittsburgh again, where winter
persisted and we fell asleep in the last seat
of the 71 Negley, dark mornings going to work.
How I wish we didn't hate those years
while we lived them.
Those were days of books,
days of silences stacked high
as the ceiling of that great, dim hall
where we studied. I remember
the thick, oak tabletops, how cool
they felt against my face
when I lay my head down and slept.
3.
How long your hair has grown.
Gradually, December.
4.
There will come a day
one of us will have to imagine this: you,
after your bath, crosslegged on the bed, sleepy, patient,
while I braid your hair.
5.
Here, what's made, these braids, unmakes
itself in time, and must be made
again, within and against
time. So I braid
your hair each day.
My fingers gather, measure hair,
hook, pull and twist hair and hair.
Deft, quick, they plait,
weave, articulate lock and lock, to make
and make these braids, which point
the direction of my going, of all our continuous going.
And though what's made does not abide,
my making is steadfast, and, besides, there is a making
of which this making-in-time is just a part,
a making which abides
beyond the hands which rise in the combing,
the hands which fall in the braiding,
trailing hair in each stage of its unbraiding.
6.
Love, how the hours accumulate. Uncountable.
The trees grow tall, some people walk away
and diminish forever.
The damp pewter days slip around without warning
and we cross over one year and one year.
poem by Li-Young Lee
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Monk and the Tree
At dawn each day, as
the monk awoke upon the polished floor, and
rolled his bedding mat, the Way –
the way things are, the way they follow –
walked its way beside him.
Later, he would take his brush,
the ink-block, paper, and the water-pot
he filled each day with water from the river,
and find a place, among the woods,
or by the river bank; where the Way
would teach him old things, seen as if now new.
Most often, he would sit near an ancient tree
which had so much to teach him;
its trunk and branches gnarled and twisted
with the wisdom of the Way.
The tree was, as great trees are, the most
adventurous of artists: every Spring,
it would put forth new twigs,
as awkward as a newborn deer on
stick-like legs, trying to stand and walk;
the tree would let the Way make it
as awkward, unsymmetrical,
as inartistic as could be…
then slowly through the year, the tree, the Way
would make of this, a new and daring beauty;
and the monk would learn of it,
take up the brush, moisten the ink-block,
and – brush gently swishing black on white –
draw his daily lesson through the year…
and because he was so loved and famed,
connoisseurs of that most ancient art
would beg his paintings; find their breath
held, at his daring; their eyes would learn the Way.
When the monk, now old, joined the Immortals,
his many students gathered near that ancient tree.
They said, the tree did not seem sad at all;
threw out new leaves, seemed to rejoice;
as teachers do, whenever pupils shine.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dedication
In youth I longed to paint
The loveliness I saw;
And yet by dire constraint
I had to study Law.
But now all that is past,
And I have no regret,
For I am free at last
Law to forget.
To beauty newly born
With brush and tube I play;
And though my daubs you scorn,
I'll learn to paint some day.
When I am eighty old,
Maybe I'll better them,
And you may yet behold
A gem.
Old Renoir used to paint,
Brush strapped to palsied hand;
His fervour of a saint
How I can understand.
My joy is my reward,
And though you gently smile,
Grant me to fumble, Lord,
A little while!
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Like Alice Does.
Alice sits brushing her hair,
stroke following stroke,
her husband sitting
on the edge of the bed
watching, studying her
hand and brush going
downward and out and
downward and out, and
as he watches he suddenly
remembers his mother
doing likewise and he
standing by the doorframe
of her bedroom, sees her
hand pull the brush through
her tight black hair, and
hears her sobbing voice
over the old white radio
playing some country song,
and senses an uneasiness
fill him like a wetting of pants,
and his mother gazing at him
in the mirror before her with
her red rimmed eyes and he
knowing as she lifts the brush
threateningly, that that way
pain comes and danger lies.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The God Of Common-Sense
My Daddy used to wallop me for every small offense:
"Its takes a hair-brush back," said he, "to teach kids common-sense."
And still to-day I scarce can look a hair-brush in the face.
Without I want in sympathy to pat a tender place.
For Dad declared with unction: "Spare the brush and spoil the brat."
The dear old man! What e'er his faults he never did do that;
And though a score of years have gone since he departed hence,
I still revere his deity, The God of Common-sense.
How often I have played the ass (Man's universal fate),
Yet always I have saved myself before it was too late;
How often tangled with a dame - you know how these things are,
Yet always had the gumption not to carry on too far;
Remembering that fancy skirts, however high they go,
Are not to be stacked up against a bunch of hard-earned dough;
And sentiment has little weight compared with pounds and pence,
According to the gospel of the God of Common-sense.
Oh blessing on that old hair-brush my Daddy used to whack
With such benign precision on the basement of my back.
Oh blessings on his wisdom, saying: "Son, don't play the fool,
Let prudence be your counselor and reason be your rule.
Don't get romantic notions, always act with judgment calm,
Poetical emotions ain't in practice worth a damn/
let solid comfort be your goal, self-interest your guide. . . ."
Then just as if to emphasize, whack! whack! the brush he plied.
And so I often wonder if my luck is Providence,
or just my humble tribute to the God of Common-sense.
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
How Much
How many tears must I cry
Before your heart is satisfied
How many flames must I walk through
Before I make it up to you
I wanna ask now how much
Oh how much
Oh how much
Oh much does it have to hurt to make it right
Ive been a fool I confess
But I know in your heart you love me no less
Just tell me how bad must my body ache
Before I live down my one mistake
I keep wonderin how much
Oh how much
Oh how much
How much does it have to hurt to get back in your life
Just how much does it thrill you
To see me down on my knees
Dont you know I love you baby .... mercy please
I keep wonderin how much
Oh how much
Oh how much
Oh how much does it have to hurt to make it right
I wanna make it right
I keep wonderin how much
I keep wonderin how much
How many tears must I cry
song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
An Art Is Dead
Colors and ideas just rush in
As has been observed and seen
It is one of the tricky jobs
Inspiration is nature from where he has to rob
If not then any object
People can't reject
As his brush and color
May soon find great honor
Painter can brush the lines
They may appear as happy lines
Someone may read it as an art
Others may find it sales object in mart
His heart bleeds in brush
It finds great rush
Through his eyes and on canvass
The shape appears at last
Who may sing in praise?
Who may love it and chase?
No one except bidders
Or genuine art readers
That is his worth
Real asset and wealth
He has contentment
With lots of praise and comments
It may adore anybody's wall
Receive attention and call
Painter may be lost
As it has been sold at cost
It is an art piece
With lovely message of peace
That is worth to understand and read
Before anyone says 'an art is dead'
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Manami
I am Sorry. I am sorry those are the only words I can put to effort I am sorry I was not there to tell you good night, I am sorry that I wasn't there for your recitals. I am sorry I was not there to brush your hair, or get you ready for prom, I am sorry that I was not at you graduation that balmy June day. I am sorry that I was not at your wedding, to your dark haired handsome husband now that I look back and wish I could brush your blonde hair or to see your smiling face but, only in my dreams no more will I see the face of my young. I am sorry that I am your mother and for not being there when you need me the most so forgive me my sweet brown eyed blonde hair and with light tanned skin. Manami. I am Sorry.
poem by Raine Uchiha
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Painting Words
IMAGES SPRING FROM NOWHERE,
BUT BEAR A KNOWN DESIGN.
NO BRUSH OR PAINT IS MY WARE
THOUGH PAINTINGS DO SEEM MINE.
MY CANVAS BREATHES ALIVE
AS WORD AND IMAGE MERGE.
FROM NOTHINGNESS I STRIVE
TO CAPTURE EACH NEW SURGE.
PEN SWATHES, LIKE BRUSH STROKES,
FASHION WORDS, ONE-BY-ONE,
UNTIL MIND’S EYE EVOKES
IMAGES CLEAR AS THE SUN.
ALL WHO VIEW THESE WORKS
WILL FIND IT’S NOT ABSURD
TO FEEL THE POWER THAT LURKS
BEHIND EACH PAINTED WORD.
poem by Gregory Huyette
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
White Sky
The white sky is in my dream
And it is so ugly to look at because he doesn't have any life to it
But white is also a boring color for the sky
Also I must admit that te snow is white and white is fine for the snow but Not for the sky
God please paint the sky blue tomorrow because I can't stand to look at that Boring white sky
God I want you to give some life to that sky by tomorrow
Please don't forget that
Because I am bragging tou to do something about that sky
God if you finish painting the sky with paint and a brush than you will be Able to add some stars at night
And make that stars shine at night I beat that people like me and Others will start to pay attention in the sky
poem by Aldo Kraas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Standing On The Highway
by Bob Dylan
Well, I'm standin' on the highway
Tryin' to bum a ride, tryin' to bum a ride,
Tryin' to bum a ride.
Well, I'm standin' on the highway
Tryin' to bum a ride, tryin' to bum a ride,
Tryin' to bum a ride.
Nobody seem to know me,
Everybody pass me by.
Well, I'm standin' on the highway
Tryin' to hold up, tryin' to hold up,
Tryin to hold up and be brave.
Well, I'm standin' on the highway
Tryin' to hold up, tryin to hold up and be brave.
One roads goin' to the bright lights,
The others goin' down to my grave.
Well, I'm lookin' down at two card,
They seem to be handmade.
Well, I'm lookin' down at two card,
They seem to be handmade.
One looks like it's the ace of diamonds,
The other looks like it is the ace of spades.
Well, I'm standin' on the highway
Watchin' my life roll by.
Well, I'm standin' on the highway
Watchin' my life roll by.
Well, I'm standin' on the highway
Tryin' to bum a ride.
Well, I'm standin' on the highway
Wonderin' where everybody went, wonderin' where everybody went,
Wonderin' where everybody went.
Well, I'm standin' on the highway
Wonderin' where everybody went, wonderin' where everybody went,
Wonderin' where everybody went.
Please mister, pick me up,
I swear I ain't gonna kill nobody's kids.
I wonder if my good gal,
I wonder if she knows I'm here,
Nobody else seems to know I'm here.
I wonder if my good gal,
I wonder if she knows I'm here,
Nobody else seems to know I'm here.
If she knows I'm here, Lawd,
I wonder if she said a prayer.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!