For Your Short Life
Bogies
My cat's name
daughter brought
since I was a baby
now bogies always
I welcome
each home from work
fun to watch while my wife
sinetron continued 'Fitr'
the pervasive spirit
new generation of cultural products
soap opera
shallow and tends to
mendangkalkan meaning of life
into the foam soap
falsity bubbles
short life
which is too shallow
poem by Prasetya Utama
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
I have also just finished three weeks on a soap opera in England. The soap opera is a rather famous one called Crossroads. It was first on television 25 years ago, and it has recently been brought back. I play the part of a businessman called David Wheeler.
quote by Jeremy Bulloch
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Soap opera wouldn't be my first choice, but at this point in my life, I would consider a soap. It would allow me to act and still do other things with my life.
People Who Read People Magazin
(Kinky Friedman)
Well, I'm here to say I got turned away from Studio 54
Back to neon lights and lonely nights and saw-dust on the floor
And if she ever loved me, she don't love me anymore,
And if anyone should ask me, here's who I'm singing for:
For the people who read People Magazine,
For the soap opera lovers, for the home-town bowling team,
For everybody everywhere who's ever lost a dream,
For the people who read people who read People Magazine.
Now if you're too New York for Texas, too Texas for L.A.
You been chasing trends like rainbow ends but you're always just a song away
And if the White House wouldn't have ya, play in every little honky-tonk and bar
The good Lord made the Heavens, ah but He never made a star.
No, its the people who read People Magazine,
It's the soap opera lovers, its the home-town bowling team,
It's everybody everywhere who's ever lost a dream,
For the people who read people who read People Magazine.
And to tell you the truth this telephone booth gets lonesome in the rain,
But son, I'm 21 in Nashville and I'm 43 in Maine.
And when your mama gets home, would you tell her I phoned, it'd take a life-time to explain
That I'm a country-picker with a bumper-sticker that says: ?God Bless John Wayne?.
And bless the people who read People Magazine,
Bless the soap opera lovers, bless the home-town bowling team,
Bless everybody everywhere who's ever lost a dream,
For the people who read people who read People Magazine.
Bless the people who read people who read People Magazine.
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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People Who Read People Magazine
(kinky friedman)
Well, Im here to say I got turned away from studio 54
Back to neon lights and lonely nights and saw-dust on the floor
And if she ever loved me, she dont love me anymore,
And if anyone should ask me, heres who Im singing for:
For the people who read people magazine,
For the soap opera lovers, for the home-town bowling team,
For everybody everywhere whos ever lost a dream,
For the people who read people who read people magazine.
Now if youre too new york for texas, too texas for l.a.
You been chasing trends like rainbow ends but youre always just a song away
And if the white house wouldnt have ya, play in every little honky-tonk and bar
The good lord made the heavens, ah but he never made a star.
No, its the people who read people magazine,
Its the soap opera lovers, its the home-town bowling team,
Its everybody everywhere whos ever lost a dream,
For the people who read people who read people magazine.
And to tell you the truth this telephone booth gets lonesome in the rain,
But son, Im 21 in nashville and Im 43 in maine.
And when your mama gets home, would you tell her I phoned, itd take a life-time to explain
That Im a country-picker with a bumper-sticker that says: god bless john wayne.
And bless the people who read people magazine,
Bless the soap opera lovers, bless the home-town bowling team,
Bless everybody everywhere whos ever lost a dream,
For the people who read people who read people magazine.
Bless the people who read people who read people magazine.
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Someone Like My Niece
at the party i chance to sit next to her
on a white covered sofa
we are so careful not to stain it
watching the food that we fork
the orange juice that we drink from a shiny glass
no drops please
her mother warns, she's is my sister
too concerned about her furniture
she likes her hair long and falling
like herself i suppose falling into a
certain despair, her mother, unable to
accept, she pretends she is more concerned
about the fate of her new rosewood
furniture
' i do not like myself' she whispers to
her glass half filled with tequila,
she sets aside the orange juice
too mild, she quips,
' i like to run away from her' she
insists, telling me that no one understands her here
that this house is full of indifferent people
i fix my gaze at the TV pretending i am not interested.
there is this soap opera about a mom who just lost
her son to a war somewhere in Jolo.
how can a mother's love be so misunderstood?
the mother knows how to pretend, and the daughter
drowns herself inside the bubbles of a glass wine
tequila, i am sure about that..
' i like the love story most. The brother takes his brother's girlfriend
and he punishes himself at the end. Tears and death.'
I am evading
her leading questions.
she's groggy. She leaves me and says she is sleepy. She goes to her
room and locks the door.
Then i tell myself, this world is fair. I am lucky not to have someone
like that niece. I am alone but not sad. Anyway,
the soap opera ends. Something new crops up tomorrow.
A twist of fate. But i will not watch anymore.I had enough.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Price Of Dead Love
His marriage is over but he has no tears
For the woman he was married to for just over two years
Though he miss his baby daughter when he comes home from work at night
In his marriage she was his one source of delight.
She is with his ex wife her mother who lives with her new man
And for him in her life his ex has only one plan
That he pay his alimony to her on Friday of every week
They no longer have common ground on which to speak.
On their wedding day he thought 'twould be for life
He was so in love with his beautiful wife
But just after two years of marriage love between them is dead
That the ways of love can be fickle no truer words said.
That his ex wife has left him for another he finds that as okay
But he misses his baby daughter when he comes home from work every day
That life has it's ups and downs it's always been this way
And the price of dead love it can be high to pay.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Uncle's Shave.
Uncle’s Shave.
You used to watch Uncle
shave in front of the small mirror
propped on the edge
of the kitchen sink,
his face lathered
in white soap,
his cutthroat razor
held just a short distance
from his skin
by his right hand,
as the other hand
held the skin taut
in preparation
of the razor’s slide.
You stood behind
fascinated,
your young eyes
searching the mirror’s world
of Uncle’s face
and the performers start.
Uncle watched you
in the mirror,
his lips breaking
into a small smile,
the razor held
just above his ear,
his eyes staring above
the shaving foam,
taking in
your fascinated gaze,
the open mouth,
your hands copying
Uncle’s motion
in pretend shave.
Uncle drew the razor down
his cheek in slow motion,
the face becoming visible
as the soap gave way,
the hand dipping
the razor in water
to rid of foam,
to begin again,
more soap removed,
more skin revealed.
You copied Uncle,
but not so skilled.
poem by Terry Collett
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People used to complain that selling a president was like selling a bar of soap. But when you buy soap, at least you get the soap. In this campaign you just get two guys telling you they really value cleanliness.
quote by David Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Speak of Woe That Is in Marriage
"It is the future generation that presses into being by means of
these exuberant feelings and supersensible soap bubbles of ours."
- Schopenhauer
"The hot night makes us keep our bedroom windows open.
Our magnolia blossoms. Life begins to happen.
My hopped up husband drops his home disputes,
and hits the streets to cruise for prostitutes,
free-lancing out along the razor's edge.
This screwball might kill his wife, then take the pledge.
Oh the monotonous meanness of his lust. . .
It's the injustice . . . he is so unjust--
whiskey-blind, swaggering home at five.
My only thought is how to keep alive.
What makes him tick? Each night now I tie
ten dollars and his car key to my thigh. . . .
Gored by the climacteric of his want,
he stalls above me like an elephant."
poem by Robert Lowell
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Hayley Westerna Sings Pokarekare Ana
as night tides
turn in ebb flow ink
satin kiwi soul
swims in kiwiana
so long since wore
kiwi swanndri green
hiking in native mystic
bush mountain home
no hype bake fake
lady gaga or baby baby bieber
inferior cheap commercial
soap opera dance routine
roam unseen ghost walker
steeped in distant continents
tropical diverse equator islands
seeks haunting native song home
Hayley Westerna
sings Pokarekare Ana
in sung native Maori lore
with English subtitles
foam mist siren words
of earliest childhood
flood in harmonic beauty
image scenes spectral home
music stirs magical melody
stirring die in cultural
moments eternal memory
in love mist home
gone far voyager
across siren seas
remember in battle
I fell far from home
Copyright © Terence George Craddock
Written in May 2011 on the 6.5.2011.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Soap
you wish i were true
to every word i wrote in my poems
like sadness
that i must be sad when my poems
talk about sadness
like separation and disgust and pain
that i must suffer
with the poems i write that i must have despair
and pain too
and disgust
for every word of disgust written in every word
in every line
how cruel of you
how cruel of truth
how can i justify my death when i speak only of death
and in the very poem
where i write the word
death
there is soap
there is this box of untruths in pandora and when i open it
they must spread and you may refuse to believe
me again
but it would be very cruel of you
to make these poems
all these poems be my life my only life
and lived
and day by day lived in accordance with the
mouths of these poems
empathy
is the word, it is like i am putting my feet in another person's
shoes
then i write, and i could have written about this word: happiness
joy, bliss
ecstasy, light, and amazing glory
i choose not to,
i think, i have too much of it, and i do not share it for now
there is no necessity
and i cannot really help
with so much loneliness and sadness out there
with them i stretch my hands to hold them and feel them
and they all become
myself. it is not soap then, and there are no bubbles in the skies
there is no child playing amazed by the bubbles that burst and by the
bubbles that
are so abundant.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I have the absolute utmost respect for soap opera actors now. They work harder than any actor I know in any other medium. And they don't get very much approbation for it.
quote by Joan Collins
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Anyone's life truly lived consists of work, sunshine, exercise, soap, plenty of fresh air, and a happy contented spirit.
quote by Lillie Langtry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Children With Soap Bubbles
Like smoke the bubbles whirl up
in the wind’s frolicking game
hopping like horses that gallop
and other children have got to look out
or their eyes are going to burn.
Like smoke the bubbles whirl up
against the arms and heads of others
before they heave into the air,
hopping like horses that gallop
with children blowing over a soapy soup
soap-bubble after soap-bubble burst,
like smoke the bubbles whirl up
like balls kicked off by the wind
when mothers scold their dirty children,
hopping like horses that gallop
and later an adult looks after them
to set rules for the game,
like smoke the bubbles whirl up
hopping like horses that gallop.
poem by Gert Strydom
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'Gone With The Wind' is one of the all-time greats. Read Margaret Mitchell's book and watch the film again; it's a soap opera in all its glory. It is superb and memorable.
quote by Timothy Dalton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Joey's Run In With the Hose
There once was this child,
His name was Joey.
Oh how he hated taking showers,
He was afraid of the shadows,
That the soap bubbles made.
Joey's hygiene was so pungent,
That his cat couldn't go near him without cringing.
His horrific smell got so disgusting,
That one of his classmates turned on the hose,
The next morning Joey finally realized,
That water and soap wasn't his foe.
When his mom cooked him dinner,
He found his true foe.
Beats, carrots, peas,
Oh my, now that's a different story
3-23-07
poem by Brandi Young
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Cause Of Their Separation
you may find it shallow
but the real cause of their broken
bridge
or thread that snapped
at the end
a few years
specifically only about a year
she dropped soap
at the toilet bowl
and it didn't flush out anymore
she could not believe
how a child in him
still works
he left her
preoccupied with a woman who is clean
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Give Me Some Truth
I'm sick & tired of hearing things
From uptight, short-sighted, narrow-minded
All I want is the truth
Just give me some truth
I've had enough of reading things
By neurotic, psychotic pig-headed politicians
All I want is the truth
Just give me some truth
No short-haired, yellow-bellied son-of-tricky-dicky's
Gonna mother hubbard soft soap me with just a bundle of hope
It's money for dope
Money for rope
No short-haired, yellow-bellied son-of-tricky-dicky's
Gonna mother hubbard soft soap me with just a bucket of soap
It's money for dope
Money for rope
I'm sick to death of seeing things
From tight-lipped, condescending, mother's little chauvinists
All I want is the truth
Just give me some truth
I've had enough of watching scenes
With schizophrenic, egocentric, paranoiac prima donnas
All I want is the truth
Just give me some truth
No short-haired, yellow-bellied son-of-tricky-dicky's
Gonna mother hubbard soft soap me with just a bucket of soap
It's money for dope
Money for rope
[Repeat 1st & 2nd verses]
song performed by by Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Time Train
Moves and moves on the Time Train,
In the sun, storm and torrential rain;
Goes on all the time hooting, wailing,
With measured speed bogies trailing.
Some ascend while the others descend,
Who knows where a passenger is to rend.
Those who descend are heartily kissed,
Those who ascend are painfully missed;
The silent watering surging hazy eyes,
Say the departing partners good byes.
Bothers not the indifferent Time Train,
Whether one departs or meets again;
It goes on all the time hooting wailing,
With measured speed bogies trailing.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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So-and-so likes lemonade
She resembles a soft fruit and very sociable.
But when she gets angry she is very fizzy like soda water.
He likes black beer as it gives the taste of bitter life
He says to the softie.
She seldom sleeps with him but lemonade is prohibited
As he complains that she makes a sound sleep.
She belongs to her kind husband and he belongs to his timid wife.
There is nothing to be seemed wrong if this a soap opera?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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