On An Early Morning Rush
i like it crisp
and wise. I am
on a rush, i
just want it
crisp.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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From Lifeless To Crisp
Life is a journey of lifeless to crisp
When it gets cracked and lost its grip
It dangles and hisses which is a sign of blood
It then travels to reach its node and degenerates
On the road of lifeless to crisp and scarlet triumph
Life is a real journey of eternity to lifeless
When it gets smoothed and attains its touch
It sways and resists its carelessness
It attains its outer space of torch
On the electronic transfer and loss
So being a journey of lifeless to crisp
It breathes out and accelerates by
It then gets stuck and catch up by algae crip
The master dye producer gives out multicolor dye
Upon which it sped before
and changed the gravity
poem by Paul Mwenelupembe
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Domestic Violence
Burned to a crisp,
And blistered by it.
Some may not come to expect,
A direct announcement one might get.
From one sharing a relationship...
That time has come,
For the two of them to split!
Burned to a crisp,
And blistered by it.
Some signs are subtle.
Like an introduction made,
Of a new face someone has laid.
Under unusual circumstances.
When a spouse or a mate...
Is caught in broad daylight,
Making obvious advances.
Other signs are more direct!
Like catching a spouse or a mate,
Making arrangements for a date!
And that date shows up...
To immediately strip,
And both expose naked butts!
THIS is a 'clue'...
Someone has been fooling around,
On you!
And cares less what it is you do!
I would think this relationship...
Has lost something 'valued' too!
Wouldn't you?
Burned to a crisp,
And blistered by it.
Some may not come to expect,
A direct announcement one might get.
From one sharing a relationship...
That time has come,
For the two of them to split!
And to prove this...
Someone dares to incite,
Domestic violence!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Take it slow
The trees are nearly, not quite bare
with dead leaves lying everywhere
a crisp bite to the morning air.
A pleasant day for those who dare
desert the comfort of their chair.
Put on their warmest coat and go,
no need to rush just take it slow.
Nature still has much to show
to any wise enough to know.
Just where to look and where to go.
Moving shadows cast by the sun
beneath the hedgerows, every one
is quite unique but too soon gone.
as the rising sun moves on.
Which gives me much to think upon.
I think about the passing years
and realise that all my fears.
Like sun cast shadows disappear
they lack all substance it appears.
Your Autumn years aren’t hard to bear.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Let Their Be Disorder
i have too much of order,
things folded, dust vacuumed, cars shining
like mirrors, i have too much of all these,
crisp, and thin, and smooth,
silk, and confidentialities in the vault,
i am numb, i am tired of all these
orderly things. They kill me.
I like this wantoness, this scampering,
this scattering of everyting i have,
for they are all dangerous. I like
to see my smile get crooked.
Knees that waggle. Hands that
tremble. I have much of the protection.
I am weakened by all these
securities. I am too crispy for
the world and the world does not
like me.
The world is a disorder.
Let it love me that way.
I am too crispy, and crisp
is lonely. I like to have crispy
wings and move away from
here. Today.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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October Air
Cool and crisp October
Seizes my memory.
I can never forget…
Trees cut out to make a clearing,
Just enough shelter to guard our friendship.
Everyday was spent there.
It became our lives.
Away from the schoolyard drama,
The yelling of our parents-
It was a whole, separate life,
Without worry.
It was a place that belonged to us,
A place where we belonged.
Whatever names we were called,
Whatever trouble we had made,
Was left at the door.
Those things were not important inside.
We were ourselves.
We were best friends, with nothing to hide
And nothing to offer,
But ourselves.
October again now, still as cool and crisp.
Just enough frost to bring a tear to my eye.
I long to go back there,
But it would never feel the same.
poem by Leslie Kavanagh
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Evadne
I first tasted under Apollo's lips,
love and love sweetness,
I, Evadne;
my hair is made of crisp violets
or hyacinth which the wind combs back
across some rock shelf;
I, Evadne,
was made of the god of light.
His hair was crisp to my mouth,
as the flower of the crocus,
across my cheek,
cool as the silver-cress
on Erotos bank;
between my chin and throat,
his mouth slipped over and over.
Still between my arm and shoulder,
I feel the brush of his hair,
and my hands keep the gold they took,
as they wandered over and over,
that great arm-full of yellow flowers.
poem by Hilda Doolittle
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Or Is It Just Me?
The peal of a bell
Has a different peal
When heard in the crisp air
Of a sunny Winter morn.
Whether it be the carrilon
Of St Josephs Cathedral
In Northside Cincinnati (my boyhood home)
To the singular bell of Capistrano
Where the Swallows no longer dwell…
From the smallest of chimes
Adorning the traces of sleighs
To the greatest of gongs
Or the tinkle of kitty cats collars…
The sound of a bell (even in a cemetery)
by some sort of strange alchemy
does indeed become changed…
More clarion, more crystalline
More heartfelt, more lovely indeed
When heard in the crisp air
Of a cold Winter morn
poem by David Whalen
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Days
Miserable grey, damp wet Days
Days shorter and winters Long
Long bleak dark Evenings
Evenings as black as pitch.
Bright frosty cold Mornings
Mornings glistening in the Sun
Sun shines cold as the Day
Day soon will become night.
Snow crisp and White
White flurries fall from the Sky
Sky as white as the Day
Day fades into a crisp evening.
Days engulfed with Floods
Floods devastating your Home
Home unfit to live In
In shelter we seek comfort.
poem by Hazel Connelly
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Frozen In Time
The shutter focused, and clicked...
And the memory became forever mine,
Frozen in time,
Remembered forever,
Lost never.
Her scarlet lips
So very gently touched,
Nay, Kissed, the green apple,
And with a crisp pop,
Her pearly white teeth
Took a bite!
So forever,
Her lips,
The scarlet color
Imbedded in memory,
The apple,
So green and crisp
The juice flew when pierced,
And the memory,
Now wrapped within
The fading photograph,
Forever mine.
Scarlett Treat
October 11,2008
poem by Scarlett Treat
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Visit Malaysia Year Poem - Cameron Highlands Boh Tea - A Lady Rolling in Pink (State of Pahang)
refreshing dawn mist, crisp air
and sunshine tiptoe through tender lips,
shower their warmth over a secluded valley
where a lady rolling in pink dances
then rushes to a a meaningful rendevouz
with the benecfactor of passions
dawn mist, crisp air, sunshine and
mountain loam rolled up in tender
brown and now unveiled through
spring water, they are the simple joy
that raises the morning sun up my sky
i dont need that many readers,
just a few who care to weigh every word
to savour its intrinsic value
they too are my tea that elevates
the morning sun up my sky
(inspired after a visit to the premier highlands destination in Malaysia the Cameron Highlands, a place famous for its Boh Tea)
the sun up my sky
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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To know all is not to forgive all. It is to despise everybody.
quote by Quentin Crisp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sex is the last refuge of the miserable.
quote by Quentin Crisp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fashion is what you adopt when you don't know who you are.
quote by Quentin Crisp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Waiting For September
September I wait for you
you are the only month i need
you are the only one true
the only one that holds my peace
I wanna fall on your crisp leaves
and remember when I loved him
and smile and cry with joy
it was all so simple when i loved him
The smiles and laughter are here
haunting me with pain
Everything is lost I fear
until your autumn rain
I wanna smile for him and
hope he feels the same way
so if i run into him again
it'll be a pleasant day
since we ended our affair
with you our dear september
you are when it all began
and left the end to remember
A bittersweet 16 i turned
within your month of hellos and goodbyes
Some new things about love i learned
and new things about crisp blue skies
A seductful 17 I turn in the fall
as only you are by my side
waiting for the end of pain with september
I'm just along for the ride
The Difference in Daffodils......
I step out... Between man made Amber street lamps
And natures midnight blue, still life.... crisp, dampness
Not a soul to hamper, mood nor thought.
Moments before witching hour... Solitude
Strokes
My bitter twisted mind plus soul...
Walking
Waltzing internally through thoughts fields
And daffodils
Barely a murmur
They shiver softly (as I do)
In a
Cool
Crisp....
Mad march air
Cream
Eerie...
Negative heads bowed, both they and I
Are as night time hoodies, shrouded within
Noir prison bar petals
We are akin. The nightime daffodils and I
Skulking in the shadows unnoticed by all that pass
We like it that way... The only difference between I and them
Tomorrow....
They shine outside, tempt bees and eyes
Then smile in the glory
Of day...
poem by Karen Sinclair
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The trouble with children is that they're not returnable.
quote by Quentin Crisp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Men get laid, but women get screwed.
quote by Quentin Crisp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If at first you don't succeed, failure may be your style.
quote by Quentin Crisp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Never keep up with the Joneses. Drag them down to your level.
quote by Quentin Crisp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Manners are love in a cool climate.
quote by Quentin Crisp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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