Oil And Garlic And Peanuts
past aroma of
garlic sticking to the oil
to crunchy peanuts
on that tryst
under the acacia trees
on a line of electric lamp posts
we watch the sea
the salty winds touch our faces
we were pure
we only want some company
we had nothing to do
it was the last day
of the garlic flavored peanuts
and then we parted
we were like the winds of the sea
on a short stay
at the boulevard
cooling off some broken dreams
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
A Girl Who Sells Peanuts
She floats on the saffron shore,
Holding a bamboo basket.
Her heart beats
Within the shelter
Of peanut shells.
Toys and text books;
Picnics and pamperings;
All collided on a wall,
But death dropped her to be tossed.
The girl in a dirty frock –
She sells parched peanuts
For coins and eye pricks.
“Peanuts”, “Peanuts” – her withered call
Haunts her parents in the dungeon of grave.
Her pale figure walks away with Time Teacher.
poem by Fabiyas M V
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You can never have enough garlic. With enough garlic, you can eat The New York Times.
quote by Morley Safer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I hate television. I hate it as much as peanuts. But I can't stop eating peanuts.
quote by Orson Welles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Turbine
The summer ends and the winter winds
Begin to holler all around the bend.
We will smile and sail away
This wont be no sadness day
When the winter winds greet the trees back there.
We can watch the turbine turning in the wind
Up on the ridge line, before the fog rolls in.
Falling leaves in the autumn air
People feeling good everywhere
When the winter winds greet the trees back there.
We can watch the turbine blowing in the wind
Up on the ridge line, before the fog rolls in.
We will smile and sail away.
This wont be no sadness day
When the winter winds greet the trees back there.
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I hate television. I hate it as much as I hate peanuts. But I can't stop eating peanuts.
quote by Orson Welles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I love all kinds of bread. Whenever I crave junk food, I want salty things like peanuts or potato chips.
quote by Tyra Banks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Battle
Dames should be doomed to dungeons
Who masticate raw onions.
She was the cuddly kind of Miss
A man can love to death;
But when I sought to steal a kiss
I wilted from a breath
With onion odour so intense
I lost my loving sense.
Yet she was ever in my thought
Like some exotic flower,
And so a garlic bulb I bought
And chewed it by the hour;
Then when we met I thrilled to see
'Twas she who shrank from me.
So breath to breath we battled there,
To dominate each other;
And though her onions odious were,
My garlic was a smother;
Till loth I said: 'If we would kiss
Let's call an armistice.
'Now we have proved that we are true
To our opinions,
My garlic I'll give up if you
Give up your onions.'
And so next day with honey sips
How sweet her lips!
poem by Robert William Service
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Stash
Im pulling the pavement from under my nails
I brush past a garden, dependent on whales
The sloping companion I cast down the ash
Yanked on my tunic and dangled my stash
Zipping through the forest with the curdling fleas
To grow with them spindles, the mutant I seize
I capture the dread beast who falls to his knees
And cries to his cohorts, asleep in the trees
Smegma, dogmatagram, fishmarket stew
Police in a corner, gunnin for you
Appletoast, bedheated, furblanket rat
Laugh when they shoot you, say
Please dont do that
Control for smilers cant be bought
The solar garlic starts to rot
Was it for this my life I sought?
Maybe so and maybe not (maybe so and maybe not) [4x]
Was it for this my life I sought? (maybe so and maybe not)
Control for smilers cant be bought (maybe so and maybe not)
The solar garlic starts to rot (maybe so and maybe not)
Was it for this my life I sought? (maybe so and maybe not) [4x]
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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And Her....too
once again you stroll
an old boulevard with no changes
of its landscapes
huge acacia trees
a hundred years old
a memory of the nuns
teaching the catholic religion
the same patches of grass
and same old towers
watching the sea from pirates
of old
kidnappings of maiden
fair and brown
you take the walk
at dusk and you breathe the
smell of the past
relieving the lungs like trees
all roots and no branches or leaves
you remember
this is what you do
always remembering and savoring
the memories
there is a tinge of pain but it is as sweet
as each syllable
in your poem.
the boulevard lights begin
to die and you meet faces
smiling at you
but you go beyond what is there
piercing
the ears of the past
wanting to hear
how it sounded
the pain inflicted
the love disregarded
there is so much talking
so many persons inside you
sigh, you take the walk
again, you move on without looking back
as to who is following who
and whom
the rain falls
and you take shelter on a closed bar
across the road
he is sleeping on a chair
and someone wakes him up
for he is too drunk and lost
you think that you could have been him
you shrug your shoulders
no, it isn't
you call a cab and you take the ride
now you are on your own
self-made
perhaps too selfish but no, no, no.
it is a bright day now
and you look forward to going home
where she is always waiting.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Who Run The World? Squirrels!
World run by squirrels?
Humans will be in perils.
If squirrels run the world
Let's see what will unfurl.
The world will fill with nuts.
Walnuts, pine and peanuts.
Management geta the walnuts.
Middle class gets the pine nuts
That leaves the rest peanuts!
That Poverty
how can i forget your having to play with hunger at the boulevard
somewhere in the seventies
when the president declared martial law and we were then
scampering for our own safety,
there was this apple vendor whom you entertained
with your stories about the struggle of the lion to be freed
from the cage of ropes saved by the city rat which got lost in the
mountain of trees
and when his mouth gaped to the bright moon
at the boulevard
you took an apple and then we walked away and we took turns
biting the redness of the crunchy fruit,
and then we parted ways and then what i know was that
a man like your face
was shot to death by the oppressors of the city
and your body was buried on the shallow
sand of the river bank and it was your mother who finally came
and reburied you with decency.
i heard, and i could not forget, she did not shed a tear.
i think, i did.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Prevailing Winds
Every day the increasing winds
make themselves known.
Their whistling in the trees I see
seem to have grown
stronger in intensity,
bolder everyday.
And I wonder what the flowers think
that are blooming this month of May?
Their little colorful heads
try to hold their ground.
But the winds are fiercly blowing
and their heads are turned around.
They lean towards the left first
and then towards the right.
Then something magical happens.
It becomes night.
It's like someone waved a wand
and made the winds cease.
Now those delicate flowers of May
finally feel at peace.
But peace will be short-lasting
for the winds will come again.
I know this wind has got to stop.
The flowers are asking when?
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Winds Of Summer
WINDS OF SUMMER
Just out of the winds of summer
Came forth a being so sweet and tender.
With a smile that brought forth a stream
Flowing with pure love thus radiant.
Winds of summer blow forth forever
For the love you bring lives on forever.
Winds of summer, winds of love,
Me and my lover forever with each other.
Just out of the winds of summer
Our love grew into a hot flowing lava.
Like little angels we played and laughed at each other.
For the moment those winds of summer came
They carried us in their wings.
poem by Tigana Chileshe
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Ode to The Galley
Ode to The Galley
Lime flavored looking glass into solid wood panels against Christmas lights of a billion stars shot through with broken fragments of plain words and cracked sentences of metaphysical mumbo jumbo, peanuts meandering through a billabong of hard promises, nightmares of doubt, sordid notions of young love gone awry mixed with drunken gin soaked cash registers spinning out of control, sediments of memories flooding back in rushes of wavy, gravy, hazy snapshots of backwards time and space. The space between us in a Dylanesque taste of Hands across America..
poem by by unknown author
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Tradewinds
(macdonald / salter)
Here I stand looking, looking around me
While all around me what do I see
Unhappy faces behind a painted smile
Heartache and loneliness dressed up in modern style
Unhappy people living in sin and shame
Reflections of myself, life is no easy game
Were caught in the trade winds
The trade winds of our time
Here I stand looking, looking around me
While all around me what do I see
Young girls wholl soon become
Streetwalkers in the night
Young boys, the restless breed
Looking for a fight
Children both rich and poor
Theyre searching for the truth
If they dont find it
God help tomorrows youth
Were caught in the trade winds
The trade winds of our time
Trade winds are blowing, blowing around me
While all around me what do I see
Hatred and jealousy
Brotherhood is dying
Love is the answer
But nobodys buying
Good people turning bad
Some dont but they are few
The winds are blowing
The choice is all up to you
Were caught in the trade winds
The trade winds of our time
Yes were caught up in the trade winds
The trade winds of our time
We are riding on the trade winds
The trade winds of our time
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Boulevard Of Broken Dreams
(harry warren, al dubin)
I walk along the street of sorrow,
The boulevard of broken dreams.
Where gigolo and gigolette
Can take a kiss without regret
So they forget their broken dreams.
You laugh tonight and cry tomorrow,
When you behold your shattered dreams.
And gigolo and gigolette
Awake to find their eyes are wet
With tears that tell of broken dreams.
Here is where youll always find me,
Always walking up and down.
But I left my soul behind me
In an old cathedral town.
The joy you find here, you borrow,
You cannot keep it long, it seems.
But gigolo and gigolette
Still sing a song and dance along
The boulevard of broken dreams.
~interlude~
Here is where youll always find me,
Always walking up and down.
But I left my soul behind me
In an old cathedral town.
The joy you find here, you borrow,
You cannot keep it long, it seems.
But gigolo and gigolette
Still sing a song and dance along
The boulevard of broken dreams.
song performed by by Nat King Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hurricane Roars and New York Naps
Some still absent power; all absent subways and buses; others
absent theatrical Broadway; still others absent restaurants of
many…but
Hurricane past, not without experiencing its majesty,
terror, and the sublimity of a great storm.
Dark clouds roamed the sky shadowing it and the sun.
Man ran to greet the storm, after meeting, in terror he runs.
The winds round buildings moaning and howling like a pack of wolves.
Yet my shivering legs and feet tap and beat to the sounds:
The furious winds ripping down signs, clashing lamppost; and splintering
objects and tossing to the street; and pulling cranes from their posts and
throwing to the ground.
Even rain and winds chased folk from their homes; stripped trees to the bare bone.
Young sprightly trees swayed before humbly bowing, yet the shore was fully exposed
to the East river's surge and the Atlantic Ocean's waves reminding me of the climate changes and its beauty and power!
Bye, bye, bye Sandy: New York just awakens from her nap!
By
Almedia Knight-Oliver
October 30,2012
poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
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Whatever Happens, Move On, Pursue That End
when we begin we already know what distance is
we see it in the stars we hear it from the Siberian winds
we were telling the trees that our beginning was the smile of the snails
that the moss have always been faithful to the stones
at the middle we learned the games of the waves and the seagulls
there is always the happy chase between respect and dignity
like the moon how it sits on the black horizon how it lightens the silence
you want to know the intimacy of the wind and the cliff
how they have become almost the same in sonorous sounds
sometimes you sense the semblance of surrender
not wanting to go on and be the roots of the trees and the grass
i have touched the tips of your hair, though short, but that is enough
my wings have fully grown and the winds are waiting
i am destined for something else beyond the touch of your hands
i do not know how my story shall end, but the voices are assuring
whatever happens, tell me, for once, that you too shall find yourself
do not turn back, pursue the end without the trembling, the remorse of pain
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dawning
it is dawning
gray wraps the trees and grass in black
as i walk along this boulevard
the light comes
thru the shutters of the clouds
this morning
rays like hands touch me
there is warmth
spreading on my face
there is fire
in my heart
i look at the stretch of
of acacia trees where the street lights
slowly close one by one
and at this moment
the years spread themselves
like some green grass
where i rest my weary soul
in my mind
i always remember you
on my side i can stll feel the warmth
of your skin
it simply dawned in me
the fire of yesterday
and the coldness was gone
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Three times—we parted—Breath—and I
598
Three times—we parted—Breath—and I—
Three times—He would not go—
But strove to stir the lifeless Fan
The Waters—strove to stay.
Three Times—the Billows tossed me up—
Then caught me—like a Ball—
Then made Blue faces in my face—
And pushed away a sail
That crawled Leagues off—I liked to see—
For thinking—while I die—
How pleasant to behold a Thing
Where Human faces—be—
The Waves grew sleepy—Breath—did not—
The Winds—like Children—lulled—
Then Sunrise kissed my Chrysalis—
And I stood up—and lived—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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