The Slant
the slant
a building settling around me
my figure female framed crookedly
in the threshold
of the room
door scraping floorboards
with every opening
carving a rough history
of bedroom scenes
the plot hard to follow
the text obscured
in the fields of sheets
slowly gathering the stains
of seasons spent lying there
red and brown
like leaves fallen
the colors of an eternal cycle
fading with the
wash cycle
and the rinse cycle
again an unfamiliar smell
like my name misspelled
or misspoken
a cycle broken
the sound of them strong
stalking talking about their prey
like the way hammer meets nail
pounding
song performed by by Ani DiFranco from Ani DiFranco
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunday Cycle Rides
Quite often, on a Sunday morning,
Dad and I would take a cycle ride.
Up the steep hills, we would struggle,
But, down them, we would glide.
We’d cycle to villages like Monxton,
Abbott’s Ann and St Mary Bourne.
We’d pass fields of lowing cattle,
As well as fields of golden corn.
Once, as we were passing some sheep,
I gently applied my brakes and stopped.
I stood watching the cute little lambs,
As they leapt, and jumped, and hopped.
We would cycle along the back roads,
And whiz along winding, country lanes.
I felt happy enough when the sun was out,
But not so much so, when it began to rain.
Along the roads, we’d pass babbling brooks,
And horses with rhythmic clip-clopping hooves.
We’d pass village greens with duck ponds,
And pretty little cottages with thatched roofs.
But our cycle rides abruptly came to an end,
When, one day, my Dad suddenly died.
Nowadays, I don’t even own a bicycle,
But I really miss our Sunday cycle rides.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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The Never-ending Cycle
Time is a never-ending cycle
in this life of ours.
It moves with quick rapidity
in our pleasurable hours.
It drags along in slowed down seconds
and takes away our powers.
It amuses and it bruises
and repeats its same old scene.
We quicken with laughter and ache with tears
and wonder 'What does this mean? '
The question is ingrained in us
in a cycle that's never ending.
The only answer I can find
is the cycle is mind-bending.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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We forget that the water cycle and the life cycle are one.
quote by Jacques Yves Cousteau
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It may part of a one way evolution... or it may be we are currently on the downside of an innocence cycle where one day, with an up cycle, sweet will be entertaining again.
quote by Christopher Knight
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Road
Bye cycle
Walking...
Moter cycle
Running...
Car
Swimming...
Trees and
Bulding only
Standing...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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If the first lady is concerned about this Internet cycle, what would she have done during the heyday when there was 12, 13 editions of a paper in one day? What would she have done with that news cycle?
quote by Matt Drudge
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Cycle Days
The childhood days
which were full of craze.
i spent my day,
fighting with my cycle,
i just hate it.
hating them,
still making them best friend,
this makes my childhood days my cycle days.
poem by Aashka Thakkar
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Be Happy
be happy
nothing is permanent
no one is permanently rich
no one is permanently poor
it is the cycle
that governs the fates of us all
destinies
and change
and rotation of the axis
of this earth
it is the circle
that keeps us alive
so be happy
now you may be sad
and down and
feeling hopeless
just wait
the cycle of life comes
to save you
just wait
the cycle of death too comes
to give you rest
it is the circle
not the flatness
that gives us happiness
be glad
nothing is permanent
the changes come
and you shall
have it
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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At the top of the cycle you write policies for everybody, no matter how bad, and at the bottom you cancel everybody, no matter how good. It's a manic-depressive cycle.
quote by Robert Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From fresh jade to jade
cycle spins cycle onwards
till perceptions fade.
haiku by Jonathan Robin (24 October 2006)
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Life Is A Circle.
It isa circle, from birth
To death ending up in cries,
Of arrival and departure,
The soul may even go round
In cirle frm deat to birth
In another for the cycle
to continue as believed
In the eadt as per
Our deeds entering
The cycle like animnals,
Birds, other beings,
Keeping the soul in tact,
So we must be careful
As per the myth to do
Good deeds only,
To rebirth again as humans,
Though to be battered
By our own emotions,
And suffer through human life cycle.
Ravikiran Arakkal
poem by Ravikiran Arakkal
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My Car
I love my
Car...
My car...
Is only
Two weels...
No want petrole...
No want Bio- gas...
Two member only
Travel my car...
Every wear...
Every side...
My car move and move...
Run and run...
with my leg speed...
I was play my car...
Each every day...
Another's called my car name
Was cycle...
I was lovengely calling car...
Yes...
Cycle is my car...
What is your car...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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A Cycle
Absently my abrupt cycle is like coffee,
One of the computers talking of ability.
Drink them in ways known to God,
To prod in a fraudulent, flawed nod.
My crystal-jaws quake in rods and cups,
This horse may gallop for it bankrupts.
I have hiccups and peppers to taste,
Compasses swivel too jealously, encased.
This cycle accepts my computer,
Acres of activity accuse the accomplisher.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Sylvester In The New Age
It was Sylvester,
the scruffy cat,
who peeked into the Bedroom
of Desire.
It had
not been that long
since that fine day
when one big door
was closed with softness
and some urgency,
trapping the cat,
caught with his tail
remaining motionless.
Yet as the earth
rotated slowly,
again but under laws
of the New Age,
and a new turbulence
had taken hostage
of aptly named
and steamy room
filled with desire,
there was, with little doubt,
a sense of in e vi ta bili ty,
thrust on this earth
the laws and age
of Lestrus, Man of Crete.
That all things
would be following
the cycle of
a universal
and phil-of-logic means
quickly and brutally
reversed, no further notice.
Now in the end,
it ended, tail of cat
name of Sylvester,
being reversed,
due to the cycle
so that reality
was now,
under the user-friendly,
the novel dictates
of pure joy
and of curiosity,
but little reason,
the tail did now appear
outside the bedroom
named desire.
Allowing curious eyes
of tortured cat
much leisurely inspection
and fond appreciation
of goings on
that some would call
unclinical and open propagation.
And nine lives notwithstanding.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Mother Nature
For seasons of life
Each one different
In its majestic wake
Spring
The beginnings of life
Were flowers come to breath?
On a field full of dreams
Butterfly's flutter
Their brilliance in flight
A cycle of life
That gives meaning to life
Summer
Its gentle breeze
Wave's the fields of corn
Its beauty of nature
Grows its colours of gold
The sun shines down
On children at play
As the days drift by
Colours spring to life
Autumn
Golden rays of sunshine
Moves across the fields
Capturing the colours
Of summers falling leaves
Mystical dew drops
Cling to the leaves
As showers and thunder
Cascade upon dead leaves
Winter
Its barren life no more
But buried underground
Beats a life Mother Nature hordes
Then just when you think
There is no life no more
The cycle of life
Begins again once more
Were Mother Nature welcomes
Springtime once more
poem by Kaila George
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Car Fulla White Boys
*Engine cranking and tires squeeling*
It's time to step out on the scene (raise some hell)
I'm drunk as a bi-cycle (cycle)
Can't you tell?
Can't even see straight I'm (cranked as hell)
Gone on that g-g-green (Can't you smell?)
Step out the back seat of a 78 (Chevelle)
Club wasn't jumpin' so we (had to bail)
Fixin' to check out the next spot
My niggas is 'bout to wreck shop
We don't ask
song performed by by Haystak from Car Fulla White Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Allegory Of The Cycle Of Doors
and so there is this door that appears before you
and you open it
and then when you enter the room
another door appears
this is the cycle of doors that keep on appearing and you
keep on opening
but the room still appears from a distance
always distant
from your eager feet to enter
you say to enter the room i must please the door
but the room moves away just the same
and the door tells you
to keep the room
you have to burn it and when the room is burned
the door finally disappears
and then both the door and the room shall tell you
now be happy
for you now have a house of your own
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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September Stream
Fallen to the wash
Dead leaves in September
There only to float away
A sign of seasons change
Autumnal picture postcard
In the landscape which we walk
Pathways losing shade and shelter
Bare branches rise above
Flower heads falling away
Leaving bowed stems
Tall grass and broken sticks
Leaves blown to the water
To be washed away
The world in all its movement
The world amid its change
The cycle of everything
Now seen in the dying leaves
Falling and taken away
In a September stream
poem by Matthew Holloway
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The electric fan rotates
The electric fan rotates
The wheels of the cycle rotate
The sun and the moon rotate
The planets rotate
Do all of them symbolise the same thing
Is the wheel of the cycle a dharmachakra
Do these whirlings and wheelings add to the music of the spheres
poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
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My main efforts focussed on trying to identify the rate controlling steps during the cell cycle. Crucial for this analysis were wee mutants that were advanced prematurely through the cell cycle and so divided at a reduced cell size.
quote by Paul Nurse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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