Our Mouths Are Singing
last night
i was a flat tire
it is the usual
deflation that
makes me sleep
and she is not surprised
anymore why we keep
this matter happen
the reasons are laid
on the dinner table where
the food has gotten so cold
and the mantel unchanged
we keep busy
that is the only way to live
we keep ignoring
that is the only way to learn more
and keep the parts of the house
intact the furniture stable
on four feet on dusty existence
on days that we let go
because there is no more reason
to make them different so
we can stop and gaze for a while
and say we love to be here
when the news of any disease come
we do not think anymore of hospitals
or recall the best doctor in town
or whether we sacrifice time for it
it is enough it is enough
our mouths are singing
we do not think whether we
have gone crazy
we have no time for all these
we think of place far, so far away
and if there is only one that offers
eternal shelter we are ready
to set aside home, kin, and
memories
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Things Happen For Their Reasons
Things happen for their reasons.
And there is no need to make excuses,
For the obviousness...
Of those mistakes made.
Things happen for their reasons.
And,
What is there to say...
That can excuse mistakes away.
Stop that need to medicate.
Things happen for their reasons.
Why waste time in prolonged debates.
Thing happen for their reasons.
What is the purpose for seeking escapes.
Things happen for their reasons.
Acceptance eases,
The facing of one's fate.
Things happen for their reasons.
They happen for their reasons.
Stop that need to feed on grief.
Things happen for their reasons.
Why squeeze a healing wound to bleed.
Things happen for their reasons
They happen for their reasons.
And aging doesn't make one safe.
Or offer escapades as a gateway to charade.
Things happen for their reasons.
They happen for their reasons.
Things happen for their reasons.
And there is no need to make excuses,
For the obviousness...
Of those mistakes made.
Even while one ages,
With a life reminisced played on many stages...
Try their best to gracefully accept,
Things happen for their reasons.
And those experienced,
Eventually see this.
Things happen for their reasons.
And in the living of one's life...
A discovery reveals,
Those reasons with insight.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There's Not Too Many Reasons
There's not too many reasons,
I would...
Set aside my pride.
And there's...
Not too many reasons,
I would...
Not have a peaceful sleep at night.
No!
There's not too many reasons,
Why I...
Wouldn't eat or wish to feel that need.
Or...
Feel a hopelessness inside me,
Without you.
No!
There's not too many reasons,
Why I could not cope.
And...
There's not too many reasons,
Why I'd give up hope.
And...
There's not too many reasons,
Why I'd be on knees.
No...
There's not too many reasons,
Why I could not eat.
And...
There's not too many reasons,
Why I could not sleep.
Or believe there's a me to live and breathe,
Without you.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Spicy Pickle
I wanna tell you about a place
That’s very special to me
It’s called The Spicy Pickle
They serve food so deliciously
There’s salads, soups & sandwiches
With flavors of such delight
You can go there for lunch
Or dinner t’wards the night
They have little crusty pizzas
With what fixins’ you desire
Oh yes, they serve the food
That folks never ever tire
But the very best to me is
The ‘build your own’ meal
So many things to choose from
What a delightful deal
I hope you too will enjoy one day
Or even in the night
The wonderful Spicy Pickle
Where the food is made just right!
poem by Marilyn Lott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Colin The Cumberland Sausage
Colin the Cumberland sausage
was as happy as a pig in mud.
Today the master butcher made him
for the table of Mr Wood.
So full of beans was Colin
he was nearly bursting from his skin,
until the butcher wrapped him in paper
for the errand boy to deliver him.
Colin the Cumberland sausage
was delivered the very same day
to Publican Wood at the Barley Mow pub
who would cook him in the usual way.
Colin was laid out on the table
ready to go in the pan,
but Wuffer the dog entered the kitchen
and took Colin in his mouth and ran.
Now nobody knows what became of Colin
we assume he was eaten by the dog,
but don’t be surprised to see his brother
on the table of the Barley Mow pub.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Left to themselves, things tend to go from bad to worse. Murphy's First Corollary If you tell the boss you were late for work because you had a flat tire, the next morning you will have a flat tire.
quote by George Edward Woodberry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dining Table
A lavish dinner has arisen from the depths of cookery,
One blade is too many, one knife can cut and kill.
The food of heaven is a dish too fine, and plenty
Of it is causing the belly to be satisfied, with the mind at ease.
The supper is splendid of course, sumptuous,
So splendid, and it hurts inside the mouth with the tongue.
So much has been fulfilled lately, that I cringe,
And I mutter to myself the illnesses all absent.
A dinner is a food collected by cooks, eaten by heroes,
The many who dine are liking comfort and heat.
The table is abolished as we see it be empty
And more like a table too dirty, once too full.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Bench By The River
It’s six thirty on Sunday morning
and I’ve been here since three.
I don’t sleep much now-a-days,
but that don’t bother me.
The flies are here as usual
taking salt from my skin
whilst I’m having breakfast
of blood red wine and gin.
I remember when I was married
I had food three times a day.
Now, I eat when I’m hungry,
but not much comes my way.
I live in a one room bed sit,
which is big enough for me.
I don’t give parties anymore,
besides I’ve got no settee.
Two chairs, and one’s my table,
a sleeping bag on the floor.
A cup, a glass and a tooth brush,
don’t need anything more.
Another bottle is approaching
along with friends of mine.
We’ll continue having breakfast,
at least until lunch time.
poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Taste Of Food
In food is a certain quality of taste,
May they abstain and be erased.
For food manages my godly life,
Just as the fish manage with strife.
In this food, in that food we collapse
And honour a feast with some gaps.
The food we eat as dinner shall be kind
To the sleep we carry throughout the mind.
What food do you cook with expertise?
Fish and meat will certainly cease!
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Get Up
Here's to the morning
Think that I'm bored and crazy
Yes I have been to get up when I give in
I need my second wind and I just cant take it anymore
I just cant take it when your lying on the floor
Get up [x4]
Cause I'm bored
Get up [x4]
Get up off the floor
He gets the usual 1,2,3
Ooo ladidadida why'd you hit me
Get up
Cause I'm bored (ya)
Come entertain ya
So stupid its contagious
Mess that I've been
I get up when you get in
It makes more sense to win
I just cant fake it anymore
I just cant it and I heard it all before
Get up [x4]
Cause I'm bored
Get up [x4]
Get up off the floor
He gets the usual 1,2,3
Ooo ladidadida why'd you hit me
Get up
Cause I'm bored
Ohh dont be so dramatic
I know you almost had it
Wohhh
I tried to show you but you wont go down to her
(Get up, get up, get up, now)
Get up off the floor
Get up [x4]
Cause I'm bored
Get up [x4]
Get up off the floor
He gets the usual 1,2,3
Ooo ladidadida why'd you hit me
Get up [x4]
Cause I'm bored (ya)
song performed by by Unwritten Law
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Mom Sets the Table
Night after night my mom sets the table
full of joy she passes her hand over the green fleat
like dishes she lays her chips down
they her finest china carefully stacked
her drink is the insurance bet
night after night 21 meals are servered
6 people share the meal with her
we her family eat alone
yet night after night my mom sets the table
the table of broken dreams and poisoned meals
night after night she countinues to eat
untill is consumed
Night after night my mom sets the table
night after night we her family shallow the bitter meal she makes
Night after night my mom sets the table
poem by Vincent Armone
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Mom Sets the Table
Night after night my mom sets the table
full of joy she passes her hand over the green fleat
like dishes she lays her chips down
they her finest china carefully stacked
her drink is the insurance bet
night after night 21 meals are servered
6 people share the meal with her
we her family eat alone
yet night after night my mom sets the table
the table of broken dreams and poisoned meals
night after night she countinues to eat
untill is consumed
Night after night my mom sets the table
night after night we her family shallow the bitter meal she makes
Night after night my mom sets the table.....
poem by Bikramjyoti Kashyop
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Salad is Incompatible with Life
Yes, my waist is fifty inches -
Big for me because I'm short.
And yes, I like my cheddar cheese
When partnered with a vintage port.
Okay, okay, that double cream
Is always served with pud,
And cake and biscuits with my tea
Are just no bloody good
For my poor hardened arteries,
But see my point of view,
Please dear wifey if you please,
A Salad makes me spew!
I'd rather eat a bowl of air
Than crunch away on greens;
Drink water from the toilet bowl
Or nibble on my jeans!
But salad! Are you there?
You know it makes me snappy -
So let me fill my face with grub,
Stay fat, and die young happy!
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
food food food food food food food food food
food food food food food food food food food
food food food food food food food food food
food food food food food food food food food
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poem about Poetry - a premature death
to let the poet in them die
their mind must have fallen
flat like a corpse
cant the moon not be
made a queen so that
she could doze off in the
light of his care?
nay, of course, they
did not let the poet go to sleep
he was wrapped
and bundled away in the
shadows of the day
by the flood of sweats
to bring the food on the table
by the torrent of thoughts
to get life smooth sailing
the poet, the poet, he can
sleep for a while and hopefull
will not die too prematurely
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Everyone happy :)
Everyone happy
Everyone happy when they can pay their bills
Everyone happy when they have money in their pocket
Everyone happy when a person tells them they love you
Everybody happy when they have food on their table
Everyone happy when they have cloths on their back
Everyone happy everything goes right in there life
Everyone happy when find them a boyfriend or girlfriend
Everyone happy when they pass a test
Everyone happy when they get a new car
What happen when you lose everything?
What happen when you don’t have anywhere to go?
Or no food on your table
Your lights about to get cut off
No money in your pocket
Bills are due no money
Can you still be happy and have a smile on your face
poem by Jovahn Davis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Life Mean To Me Is
Life mean to me is
Full of surprised that is good or bad surprised
It can be tough or easy
Choices it should be what you think
It should be what you want not anyone else
I don't listen or care
I know you will make right one
We all have time when we mistake that
We wish we haven't and take back, but
You can't because it happen when you make adecision unless
You able to fix it
Life mean to me is
Going complaining, but I can overcome it
Everything be ok
I'm losing everyone that I care and love
I feel they give up on me
I be alright again like now
I feel horrible at time
It opens my eyes and makes me think
I need to stop complaining about problems that is gone over and over
I need stop acting like I'm now
I don't care what people think of me
I have done it bad so I'm changing my way
I'm going be ok
Every day is not getting easy
I'm not going let it stop me
I am letting it turn out this way all because of you
I lost most important thing and is you
You are one who turn my life upside down
I was fool for falling over you in first place
I take it on people and I didn't mean too
I know it now than late is good
I'm starting over
It's going to take time
This summer I learned a lot about life and people
I got part of me need to grow up
Right now it in my hand
Time to reach for goal
What life means to me is
Start doing it right
I need to improve myself
I don't want to be like this anymore
Is hard enough already
Don't be hard on yourself
Enjoy life while you have chance
Take a break and have fun
You can't undo what happen already
No matter how much you wish for it
You need to start fresh and over again
Life mean to me is
poem by Christina Phan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Trash and Treasure
So different we are in so many a way
That, every body knows I do not have to say
In case you do not know, here I will cite a few
See how luckless we are and fortunate are you
At times you do not eat, just for the lack of mood
Desirability of food in the table
Decides if you will eat or the meal just ignore
Often we do not eat, because of lack of food
Availability of food in the table
Determines if ever we eat or not at all
Sometimes your kind of food strays to our larder
Not via the grocer, a courier or waiter
But via garbage dump we rake painstakingly
For food and anything of value there might be
And when you go shopping In a department store
You choose the clothes you wear by the size or color
By the brand or trade mark, It must be signature
To us size and color matter not anymore
We cannot be choosy or be meticulous
Whatever comes our way, make do, accept we should
For these things come to us via similar route
Which is the garbage dump, we do not have a choice
And the roof that we have Inches above our heads
Are materials you throw away, considered waste
After your palaces and villas you have built
Your trash are wealth for us, possessions we cherish
Author's Note: In third-world countries, many people depend on garbage cans and garbage dumps for their subsistence. This poem is about them.
poem by Pacific Hernandez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Affluenza
An affluenza suffered has gone.
Moan on.
But they've got to snap back.
Because that affluenza traps
And it's hard,
For them...
To sacrifice their trinkets.
How will they live,
Without their bangled baubled beads?
But that affluenza suffered has gone.
And many with pretensions hate to have it even mentioned.
But that affluenza suffered has gone.
And a healing has to happen if they want a conscious back.
Since that conscious that they had has laid them flat on their back.
Yes,
An affluenza suffered has gone.
Moan on.
But they've got to snap back.
Because that affluenza traps
How will they live,
Without those bangled baubled beads?
The ones they use to wear around to get the people teased.
But that affluenza suffered has gone.
And many with pretensions hate to have it even mentioned.
But that affluenza suffered has gone.
And a healing has to happen if they want a conscious back.
Since that conscious that they had has laid them flat on their back.
Yes,
An affluenza suffered has gone.
But many with pretensions hate to have it even mentioned.
Since a healing has to happen if they want a conscious back.
And that conscious that they had has laid them flat on their back.
But many with pretensions hate to have it even mentioned.
Since a healing has to happen if they want a conscious back.
And that conscious that they had has laid them flat on their back.
Yes,
An affluenza suffered has gone.
Moan on.
But they've got to snap back.
Because that affluenza traps
Moan on!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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O, What A Short Story
From beginning to end it was a short tale
It follows like this, a once unspoken story
Dusk would come and we’d walk together
Down along the beach, we could stay for forever
The sand would squeeze between our toes
As we walked together, on the beach at dusk
Night would come and we’d eat together
Followed by talk of what the future would bring
A bundle of happiness, and a house together
We’d talk together, after eating dinner at night
Morning would come and we’d be off to work
What a night we’d had, but forgotten already
Fights would follow and a change would be made
We’d fight and fight, in the morning during work
By lunchtime the end would soon be near
Sick of the madness and unpredictable sadness
My bags would be packed before dinner came
I’d pack my bags, after lunch in sorrow
That dinner would be lonely, alone I’d eat
And I’d cry myself to sleep
Alone at a friends, a depression with no end
I’d finally sleep, after dinner I’d cry
My story would end at midnight that night
How could I bear to live, without my sweetheart?
I’d go peacefully in sleep, after taking those pills
I’d take my last breath, at midnight that night
poem by Alyssa Baker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It's A Wrap
You came home late last night you smelled just like the scent of her
Not only that but you had lipstick all over your shirt
I'm thinking to myself this man has no respect for me
I knew it all along cause you were talking in your sleep
It's a wrap
Why you go and do me like that
I thought the love was good
But I misunderstood baby
It's a wrap
And I am not surprised
How you could sit right here
And look me in my eyes and tell a lie
Heard you calling her name
In your sleep at night
What are we gonna do
Cause I'm through with you
I heard you calling her name
In your sleep at night
What are we gonna do
Cause I'm through with you
I heard you
What you were saying in your sleep it violated me
No doubt about it but there's nothing left for you and me
Because you're busted and I might as well go on
Boy it's gonna take a long time to make this a happy home
You know it's a wrap
Why you go and do me like that
I thought the love was good
But I misunderstood baby
It's a wrap
And I am not surprised
How you could sit right here
And look me in my eyes
And tell a lie
I heard you
Heard you calling her name
In your sleep at night
What are we gonna do
Cause I'm through with you
I heard you calling her name
In your sleep at night
What are we gonna do
Cause I'm through with you
All you had to say was I don't wanna be with you
Why don't you tell the truth cause I already got the proof
It will never be the same you know it's a crying shame
Cause now I am disgusted cause you are so cold busted
I heard you calling her name
In your sleep at night
What are we gonna do
Cause I'm through with you
I heard you calling her name
In your sleep at night
What are we gonna do
Cause I'm through with you
Heard you calling her name
In your sleep at night
What are we gonna do
Cause I'm through with you
I heard you
Why you go and do me like that
I thought the love was good
But I misunderstood baby
It's a wrap
And I am not surprised
How you could sit right here
And look me in my eyes and tell a lie
song performed by by Mary J Blige
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The happy household
It's when the birds go piping and the daylight slowly breaks,
That, clamoring for his dinner, our precious baby wakes;
Then it's sleep no more for baby, and it's sleep no more for me,
For, when he wants his dinner, why it's dinner it must be!
And of that lacteal fluid he partakes with great ado,
While gran'ma laughs,
And gran'pa laughs,
And wife, she laughs,
And I - well, I laugh, too!
You'd think, to see us carrying on about that little tad,
That, like as not, that baby was the first we'd ever had;
But, sakes alive! he isn't, yet we people make a fuss
As if the only baby in the world had come to us!
And, morning, noon, and night-time, whatever he may do,
Gran'ma, she laughs,
Gran'pa, he laughs,
Wife, she laughs,
And I, of course, laugh, too!
But once - a likely spell ago - when that poor little chick
From teething or from some such ill of infancy fell sick,
You wouldn't know us people as the same that went about
A-feelin' good all over, just to hear him crow and shout;
And, though the doctor poohed our fears and said he'd pull him through,
Old gran'ma cried,
And gran'pa cried,
And wife, she cried,
And I - yes, I cried, too!
It makes us all feel good to have a baby on the place,
With his everlastin' crowing and his dimpling, dumpling face;
The patter of his pinky feet makes music everywhere,
And when he shakes those fists of his, good-by to every care!
No matter what our trouble is, when he begins to coo,
Old gran'ma laughs,
And gran'pa laughs,
Wife, she laughs,
And I - you bet, I laugh, too!
poem by Eugene Field
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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