They Get Riled So Easily
All stirred up by the words that come out on these pages.
These thoughts are best left to staunch women
Who sit happily under a repressive veil of undetermined class.
Why, no one is ever angry!
We sit here wanting to hold hands and LOVE one another.
Then we shut the door
We lay back and let all those slurs roll off our tongues.
We think all those thoughts we dare not speak.
Then we condemn ourselves
and creep back into our repression.
With all our gaucherie tucked back into place we stroll on.
Keeping these things in is a bit like constipation.
You take in so much supposed cerebral sustenance
Gulping it down from which ever way it pours out.
Did you think it would not turn into cerebral feculence?
Keep carrying that in
I hear backed up waste in the colon poisons the body.
What then of backed up waste in the soul?
Better to disgorge it from the recesses of my mind
I like the way people look when they blush.
Not because they are offended
But because they feign their incorruption so well.
I was never good at hiding things
I was always much better at procuring new bits of
Anathema to parade around in.
There are times I long for a way to release all those
Who remain cinched within their rectitude.
A lot less poison in our metropolis and feces belongs down the drain anyway right.
poem by Raechael Woodroof
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Related quotes
Lines Extracted From A Dream
'I think of it like a book,
I dont care for your self-authored words
of pity and sorrow, though yes they are just.
It isn't the narrative in you that interests me...
It is those blank pages in you that hold my court,
All books have them; those blank pages at the end,
Unfilled and undetermined, where you havent yet scribbled.
They are yet to be subject to anything,
And even if they are not destined for a happily ever after,
That does not mean i can't hope to find solace and closure in them.
What is to stop us writing our own fable in spite of what is already written?
What already is, is,
But what will be is ours to fathom through the velvet folds Of fate.
Surely.'
poem by Graham Stone
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Undetermined Fear
I'm the best ever was,
You won't stand a chance.
I also have a fear,
But it is Undetermined Fear.
If you're big & strong,
I will not run,
Like anyone does,
My fear is Undetermined.
I may be brave,
Braver than anyone
You can do it also,
Having Undetermined fear.
If you're stronger than me,
It is because you're many,
But I'll prove it, that...
Undetermined Fear is the best.
poem by Rudy Rico Castillo
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The Book Of My Life
Let me watch by the fire and remember my days
And it may be a trick of the firelight
But the flickering pages that trouble my sight
Is a book I'm afraid to write
It's the book of my days, it's the book of my life
And it's cut like a fruit on the blade of a knife
And it's all there to see as the section reveals
There's some sorrow in every life
If it reads like a puzzle, a wandering maze
Then I won't understand 'til the end of my days
I'm still forced to remember,
Remember the words of my life
There are promises broken and promises kept
Angry words that were spoken, when I should have wept
There's a chapter of secrets, and words to confess
If I lose everything that I possess
There's a chapter on loss and a ghost who won't die
There's a chapter on love where the ink's never dry
There are sentences served in a prison I built out of lies.
Though the pages are numbered
I can't see where they lead
For the end is a mystery no-one can read
In the book of my life
There's a chapter on fathers a chapter on sons
There are pages of conflicts that nobody won
And the battles you lost and your bitter defeat,
There's a page where we fail to meet
There are tales of good fortune that couldn't be planned
There's a chapter on god that I don't understand
There's a promise of Heaven and Hell but I'm damned if I see
Though the pages are numbered
I can't see where they lead
For the end is a mystery no-one can read
In the book of my life
Now the daylight's returning
And if one sentence is true
All these pages are burning
And all that's left is you
Though the pages are number
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Badges People Pages
oh we were so
set about the words
chagrine skin margins
footnotes of the neath heart
struck bottom corner left right
notes in pencils sharp
left overs of the right owners
who honestly told their stories
and never peeped from behind the titles
but
chapters the beginnings the ends
all burdened by a mind
thinking in badges people pages
oh so so set about the words
unanimated in the smoke bonfire
badges people pages
burned
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Happily Ever After
Happily ever after
Look at me, right where I wanna be
My life took a turn, its a happy affair
Im never alone even when hes not there
Happily ever after, happily ever after
Happily ever after
So carefree, look whats come over me
All my prayers have been answered, he heard my cry
Took all my troubles and threw them aside
Threw them aside
Happily ever after, happily ever after
Once in a lifetime!
I never thought I could be
So carefree, so carefree
Happily ever after
Happily ever after
Him and me, sunshine and laughter
Were never alone, when theres nobody there
Were never alone, we got love to share
Lots of love, happily ever after
Lost of love, happily ever after
Weve got love, happily ever after
Lots of love, happily ever after
Just look at me, right where I wanna be
Happily ever after
song performed by by Donna Summer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Writer
From where comes that burning spark
That lights a lantern in the dark,
And from its shadowed prison frees
The story, as the mind it sees.
The thoughts released from darkness then
To form their words before the pen;
These words that come from deep within
Upon the page their freedom win.
And where was just an empty plain
A line is writ and writ again
Of maidens fair and heroes bold,
Until the story all is told.
And there the words - before his eyes
The tale upon the pages lies.
Now in the wider world it lives;
To thoughts, the words, the writer gives.
poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
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The astronauts who came in with me in my astronaut class - my class had 29 men and 6 women - those men were all very used to working with women.
quote by Sally Ride
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The highest degree of performance life art
When the life cannot run out of repressive circle of wind
When the repressive life is free to do whatever it likes to do on the other life
Performance life art is the highest even i the quotidian experiences.
May
May used to be
a nun wearing a white habit
but due to some
misuse of words
which offended her
Mother Superior she was
asked to leave
and she married
a priest who fell in love
with her
left the congregation
so they can
have a life of their
own
if you think that they
live happily
ever after like
the usual story
of the fairy tale book
you are wrong
they're too religious
and they split
like
two like poles
that repel
each other finally
at the last
chapter
of their love story
in fact
it contained only
five pages
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Women's propaganda must touch upon all those questions which are of great importance to the general proletarian movement. The main task is, indeed, to awaken the women's class consciousness and to incorporate them into the class struggle.
quote by Clara Zetkin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There are all these scripts where the women, if they're working, are prostitutes and lawyers with an angry streak who'll kill you. It's a reaction to women leaving their men and men being angry about it and saying it on some subconscious level.
quote by Parker Posey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Meaning There Is In the Intention Sent
I've learned to say what I mean.
And then to clear the air,
With frankincense and myrrh.
Keeping the atmosphere golden.
Without hints left to be perceived.
Or believed in the picking of thoughts
Some may rumor I intended to leave.
Any peace I release is there to be understood.
And not subjected to petty interpretations,
By those imbibed with intoxicants.
Already stirred...
And disturbed by blurring echos.
Heard but not from words.
'I heard what was said,
But that wasn't meant!
Even though the words were spoken...
The meaning there is in the intention sent.
Here...
You want a toke? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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What Is Written In Red
I am written in red,
I am sliding across the page of life.
I am racing across the lines of language.
I am red.
I write words,
I create lines and sentences,
I am kept in solitude
I am red.
I create paragraphs.
I create signatures.
I know what you're thinking before you speak,
I am red.
I cannot breath because I am enclosed in a capsule.
A capsule that covers the knowledge inside.
All I do is stare at pages,
All I know is pages,
I become apart of the pages,
And the pages become apart of me.
I become apart of english,
I become apart of words,
I am RED.
BY: Takisha Fields
poem by Kiesha fields
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The Memory Place
Shelves tower over me; crowed with bound pages
of events, people, places, ideas.
Of memories.
Of captured feelings pressed like flowers between the pages;
for people to be inspired by someone else's words.
My eyes caress the titles printed on bright spines
as I run my fingers across
what holds the memories together.
I pick up a book, turning yellowed pages,
the scent of gentle time traveling to my nose.
I close my eyes and smile:
it brings back memories of my own,
but these pages are not for me.
I put back the soft bundle of pages
and continued to search in the Memory Place
until I find my own belonging among the words.
poem by Zoe Guillory
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Len Webster's 'The Editor
She pushes pen to paper nightly
says she loves to keep alive her diary
watches television and takes her drinks
with a Norman male
when day dawns in half-deserted streets
she rises tired and restless from her dreams
her mind turns toward the hours ahead
to subbing pages
she is the editor of the periodical
ORDER BY SUBSCRIPTION IT'S THE ONLY WAY
she lays out pages and acts as PRO
to visiting MPs
i know her still the same childlike eyes
which probed among my inmost thoughts
in an atmosphere of anticipation
many years ago
(First published in the author's collection
'Behind the Painted Veil', Outposts Publications,
Walton-on-Thames, Surrey,1972)
poem by Len Webster
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Pages Of My Mind
Faces from my past flicker
through the pages of my mind
along with shadowy figures
I wish I had left behind.
Old loves and new loves
smile and say hello as they pass
through the pages of my mind.
They come in quiet moments
when I am at peace with the world.
Reflecting images of times left behind.
There are no future images,
as those pages haven’t been written yet,
only ones from a distant past.
They stroll across with happy moments
written on the pages of my mind.
11 January 2009
poem by David Harris
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The Stirring
You awakened the very breath of me
Oh how it stirred
Caressed by your generous lips
Picture perfect passion without words;
You excited this bosom untested
Moistened the paths and uncharted byways
Stirring tremors of utter erotica
Turning my cold night into fire-drenched days;
Filled with so much warmth and light
Tingling to the very marrow of my bones
You stirred the very breath of me
With amorous thoughts of you-thus
Rendering me never alone;
poem by Theodora Onken
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I don't see women and think of them as competition or with judgment. Women really move me. I feel connected to all kinds of women. I am angry because I think we've been mistreated throughout history in different countries, including America. I admire women.
quote by Salma Hayek
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Must Be A Lame
women you act high class,
richer then a speed past,
can't even say hey,
when you past by,
now you look like,
a stuck up fool,
look what school taught you,
to act like you better girl,
with all your cheddar girl,
I'm here to tell you,
go get a life,
you got on my bad side,
with all that high class,
think you better then,
everybody else crap,
girl you need some,
new lessons stop protesting,
you call us men lames,
because how we do to you,
look at how you act,
women you so high class,
that you think you have,
more empowerment then god,
that's your butt,
because it will be grass,
so I guess,
you must be a lame,
as you call me lame.
poem by Tommy Laster
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Oh The Poems
OH THE POEMS AND THE POEMS AND THE POEMS
Oh the poems and the poems and the poems
Oh the love of Literature
Oh all that stuff
I have given my life to-
Words and meanings and feelings
Pages and pages and pages –
What it is all this literary life for?
When out the window out the door
With our eyes we see in an instant other worlds other dreams?
I don’t know and I will never know
And Literature is certainly far more than I can say it is-
Oh the poems and this poem and this day turning grey
And all my life old and old and more old and more old-
Oh why oh why oh why
And always back to God
My last rescue and refuge and escape
I who have read so much Great Literature
And can only write this-
Oh the why and the oh oh oh and the words
And the whole world of Literature
I would belong to and do not.
Oh the words oh the world oh the Literature
Oh God help me please can’t you please help me a little or not?
poem by Shalom Freedman
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