The Dirty Old Man
the dirty old man is eating
his favorite vanilla flavored oatmeal
he is mean and cheap
as he was in his younger days
filled with stories of his conquests
of the many women of the town
he looks at my wife his relative
he laughs and then looks back at me
and he said that it was all about a mother
growing the bones of a daughter
and a man comes along
boring a bigger hole inside her
she did not find it funny of course
something lewd is not laudable
i look at his mustache
some oatmeal got stuck somehow.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
The Older You Get The More You Look Like Oatmeal
bronze body turns to oatmeal over time,
you'll see what I mean, unless you go blind,
why, who knows, it's just part of the wheel,
the older you get, the more you look like oatmeal.
poem by Richard Jarboe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The world wants oatmeal. It is not my job to give the world oatmeal. It is my job not to be a hack. It is my job to try to make the world chew, lest its lazy jaw muscles atrophy and its collective mandible withers and all its teeth fall out. It is my job, as a writer, to give the world toffee and peanut brittle and tough steak and celery. I write peanut butter sandwiches, not oatmeal. And every time some dolt whines, "I'm confused" or "I don't understand" or "This doesn't make any sense," I should smile and know that I'm doing my job. Not because it is my job to be opaque, but because it is not my job to be transparent.
quote by Caitlín R. Kiernan
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Oatmeal
I eat oatmeal for breakfast.
I make it on the hot plate and put skimmed milk on it.
I eat it alone.
I am aware it is not good to eat oatmeal alone.
Its consistency is such that is better for your mental health
if somebody eats it with you.
That is why I often think up an imaginary companion to have
breakfast with.
Possibly it is even worse to eat oatmeal with an imaginary
companion.
Nevertheless, yesterday morning, I ate my oatmeal porridge,
as he called it with John Keats.
Keats said I was absolutely right to invite him:
due to its glutinous texture, gluey lumpishness, hint of slime,
and unsual willingness to disintigrate, oatmeal should
not be eaten alone.
He said that in his opinion, however, it is perfectly OK to eat
it with an imaginary companion, and that he himself had
enjoyed memorable porridges with Edmund Spenser and John
Milton.
Even if eating oatmeal with an imaginary companion is not as
wholesome as Keats claims, still, you can learn something
from it.
Yesterday morning, for instance, Keats told me about writing the
"Ode to a Nightingale."
He had a heck of a time finishing it those were his words "Oi 'ad
a 'eck of a toime," he said, more or less, speaking through
his porridge.
He wrote it quickly, on scraps of paper, which he then stuck in his
pocket,
but when he got home he couldn't figure out the order of the stanzas,
and he and a friend spread the papers on a table, and they
made some sense of them, but he isn't sure to this day if
they got it right.
An entire stanza may have slipped into the lining of his jacket
through a hole in his pocket.
He still wonders about the occasional sense of drift between stanzas,
and the way here and there a line will go into the
configuration of a Moslem at prayer, then raise itself up
and peer about, and then lay \ itself down slightly off the mark,
causing the poem to move forward with a reckless, shining wobble.
He said someone told him that later in life Wordsworth heard about
the scraps of paper on the table, and tried shuffling some
stanzas of his own, but only made matters worse.
I would not have known any of this but for my reluctance to eat oatmeal
alone.
When breakfast was over, John recited "To Autumn."
He recited it slowly, with much feeling, and he articulated the words
lovingly, and his odd accent sounded sweet.
He didn't offer the story of writing "To Autumn," I doubt if there
is much of one.
But he did say the sight of a just-harvested oat field go thim started
on it, and two of the lines, "For Summer has o'er-brimmed their
clammy cells" and "Thou watchest the last oozings hours by hours,"
came to him while eating oatmeal alone.
I can see him drawing a spoon through the stuff, gazing into the glimmering
furrows, muttering.
Maybe there is no sublime; only the shining of the amnion's tatters.
For supper tonight I am going to have a baked potato left over from lunch.
I am aware that a leftover baked potato is damp, slippery, and simultaneaously
gummy and crumbly, and therefore I'm going to invite Patrick Kavanagh
to join me.
poem by Galway Kinnell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter XCVIII: Absolutely Relative
Expensive is absolute, cheap is relative
Far is absolute, near is relative
Ugly is absolute, beauty is relative
Weird is absolute, crazy is relative
Stubborn is absolute, brave is relative
Stupid is absolute, smart is relative
Weak is absolute, strong is relative
Old is absolute, mature is relative
Lose is absolute, win is relative
Rich is absolute, poor is relative
Sad is absolute, happy is relative
Misfortune is absolute, lucky is relative
Safe is absolute, fear is relative
Love is absolute, hate is relative
Important is absolute, forgotten is relative
Easy is absolute, difficult is relative
Wrong is absolute, right is relative
Bad is absolute, good is relative
Lie is absolute, truth is relative
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Dirty Old Town
(ewan mccoll)
Found my love by the gaswork croft
Dreamed a dream by the old canalkissed my girl by the factory wall
Dirty old town, dirty old towni heard a siren from the dock
Saw a train set the night on firesmelled the spring on the sulfured wind
Dirty old town, whoa-oh, dirty old townwere goin to take a good sharp axe
Shining steel tempered in the fireand well chop you down like an old dead tree
Dirty old town, dirty old towndirty old town, whoa-oh, dirty old town
And oh well chop you downoh, dirty, dirty, dirty old town
Dirty old town, dirty old townand oh whoa-oh dirty old town
Chop you down one of these days
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paranoid
Everybody says I'm paranoid they all think I'm crazy
They all smile to my face but they'd like to see me die
They put poison in my coffee they put ground glass in my oatmeal
They put spiders in my tennis shoes and shit in my pecan pie
It's hard to stop and figure out where did it all begin
You see my father wanted a little girl and my mother wanted twins
And my grandpa admired Hitler so everything I did was wrong
And I'm gonna stop now cause even though you're smilin' I know you hate this song
Yeah and I know you're only listenin' cause you don't wanna hurt my feelin's
And you're just waitin' for me to leave so you can laugh about my open fly
You put the poison in my coffee you put the ground glass in my oatmeal
You put the spiders in my tennis shoes and you shit in my pecan pie
I know don't deny it I know I know I know
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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The Witch And The Cat
there was once a witch,
who loved to sew and stich,
with her she had a cat,
who could make all kind of hats
, once the day came,
when the cat ran away
, and the witch was to blame,
she cooked him a meal,
of rye and oatmeal
, the rye was sour,
and the oatmeal tasted like tar, s
o he galloped of,
to a fairy named heretha toff,
the witch when saw the scene,
was less than pleased,
she did a magic spell,
who cats whereabouts could tell,
she hurried towards the house,
quite as a mouse,
leave him alone you swine
that cat, yea him he's mine,
'okay'the fairy shuddered
cause the witch she dreaded,
but the cat gave out a tiny smile,
i'm gonna send you away a thousand miles,
he said something enchanted
the witch's face looked haunted'
what have you done to me'she cried
for she herself was flying
after the witch was gone
they celebrated with a songa
nd here is how it ened
no more the story bended
it ended in laughter
and a happy ever after.
poem by Kanika Varma
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You have to eat oatmeal or you'll dry up. Anybody knows that.
quote by Kay Thompson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dad, Papa, Frank
Hey dad, it's your daughter Sandy, yes your favorite one of the three
You'd say Sandy, I love all of my daughters the same, then you'd smile and wink at me
Just kidding Kristi and Donna, don't have a cow, dad loved you too
But secretly I'd be saying inside, I am the favorite, you know it's true
I guess my sense of humor came from a man who's name was Frank, Papa, or Dad
A better man you could never know, I've never seen a person leave his house sad
He had one of those laughs they call contagious, if he was laughing you would laugh too
Oh how I would give anything just to hear it one more time, a more beautiful sound I never knew
It's been almost a year that you've been gone now dad, the worst year of my life
I know its not been easy for you either, especially missing Sue, , my mom, and your wife
You always used to tell me, it's gonna be really hard for your mother when I die
And the only reason you were scared to die was you didnt want to see mom cry
She misses you dad, but we both know, mom is one of the strongest woman you could ever meet
Through the years you've both crossed many obstacles, but never once not landed on your feet
You would make up these crazy stories, all of kids would know they weren't true
Then mom would agree with whatever you said, cause you would say it's true, 'Isn't that right Sue? '
You weren't just moms husband, you were both each others best friend
And through all the rough roads you both crossed together, your love didn't waiver or bend
Dad before I end this little poem, could you do me a favor before you go?
Tell mom the one thing she needs to hear from you, the one thing she needs to know
Sue I know you are carrying this guilt around, thinking I could have had a better life
But your wrong Sue, my life was perfect, how could it not have been with you as my wife
Mom, I know dad isn't here to say those words, but believe me those words come from him not me
At least a million times I've heard him say, ya know your mother is the best thing that's ever happened to me
Dedicated to my dad, Francis Xavier Breault.
poem by Sandy Brady Breault
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hole Hearted
Lifes ambition occupies my time
Priorities confuse the mind
Happiness one step behind
This inner peace Ive yet to find
Rivers flow into the sea
Yet even the sea is not so full of me
If Im not blind why cant I see
That a circle cant fit
Where a square should be
Theres a hole in my heart
That can only be filled by you
And this hole in my heart
Cant be filled with the things I do
Hole hearted
Hole hearted
This heart of stone is where I hide
These feet of clay kept warm inside
Day by day less satisfied
Not fade away before I die
Rivers flow into the sea
Yet even the sea is not so full of me
If Im not blind why cant I see
That a circle cant fit
Where a square should be
Theres a hole in my heart
That can only be filled by you
And this hole in my heart
Cant be filled with the things I do
Theres a hole in my heart
That can only be filled by you
And this hole in my heart
Cant be filled with the things I do
Hole hearted
Hole hearted
Hole hearted
Hole hearted
song performed by by Extreme
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chocolate And Vanilla Swirl
When I was a child
I spoke, thought, reasoned as a child
My favorite treat on a hot summer day
Was a chocolate vanilla ice cream swirl
I'd have it for every meal if I had my way.
When I became a women
Grown and mature
I put aside all childish things
Everything but my love
For chocolate vanilla swirl
My only indulgence to my inner girl.
Not so very long ago
That swirl of chocolate and vanilla
Melded in a way I'd never dreamed of
Ice melted by fire
Our trust and desire
Sweetly blended
Bodies so entwined
It couldn't be said
Where we began or ended.
Looking back at our time together
The years have flown by in a whirl
As we allowed our indulgence
To lose ourselves
In the sweetness of our
Chocolate and vanilla swirl.
I hope there is forever
In this special connection
Of this chocolate boy and vanilla girl.
poem by Esther Brush
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cheap An Nasty
(coverdale/vandenberg)
Come on baby...
I get so confused,
But, my heart knows youre one of a kind
Leather an lace, an angels face,
Riding on a one track mind
Youre fully loaded with cruise control,
My four wheels rock with your back seat roll
Youre cheap an nasty,
All you wanna do is give it up, give it up
Cheap an nasty,
Come on an do the dirty with me
I get so excited, babe, when Im invited
To ride in your limousine,
You drive it every day, burn it every night,
I wonder how you keep it so clean
Smooth accelerator, you get me so loose,
You keep your motor running till I run out of juice
Youre cheap an nasty,
All you wanna do is give it up, give it up
Cheap an nasty,
Come on an do the dirty with me
Cheap an nasty
I never knew it could be this way
An I never thought Id ever complain,
But, gimme a second just to catch my breath
Babe, before you do it again
All the boys call your name
Down the wishing well,
Baby, when you go
Youre like a cat out of hell
Youre cheap an nasty,
All you wanna do is give it up, give it up
Cheap an nasty,
All you wanna do is give it up, give it up
Cheap an nasty,
All you wanna do is give it up, give it up
Cheap an nasty,
Come on an do the dirty with me
Come on an do the dirty,
Come on an do the dirty,
Come on an do the dirty with me
Come on an do the dirty with me...
song performed by by Whitesnake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mask on Mom
For Mother's Day, I took the hint
Of giving Mom a gift that would
Be green and leave no carbon print.
A facial at home would be good.
So I mixed up an oatmeal goop,
And some seaweed from the fish tank,
Then covered Mom's face, scoop by scoop.
Mom said it itched, and it sure stank.
She wanted it off. I did try.
Dad walked in, took a glance and said,
'Looks like that Jason slasher guy.'
At last unmasked, Mom went to bed.
Going green for Mom is too hard.
Next year it's back to just a card.
The Hole In The Doughnut
i am full
eating is useless
my stomach
has no purpose
i have this doughnut
and i raise
it in space
and i look through
its hole
i want to see
what is the reason
for emptiness
the hole has more
content
than the doughnut
itself
i put my finger
inside it
and somehow
i begin to feel
confident
inside the hole
i know
i am not alone anymore.
inside the hole
again i become whole.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Two Flavors
Two women flavors, cherry and vanilla,
describe two types of women, one trangressive,
the other bland, and for a ladykiller,
too boring if call yourself progressive.
Though ice cream flourishes with both these flavors,
in the case of women it is rare
for men to ask from the vanilla favors
associated just with cherries. Ordinaire,
wine can’t compete with wine whose pedigree
is noble, and what is bland cannot compete
with what excites the palate. You can’t flee
these flavors if you happen to love heat.
In an episode of the AMC drama Madmen, the advertising firm whose protagonists form the core of the drama are asked by Playtex to provide a new way of promoting bras. They suggest that the bras should appeal to the two sides of women, epitomized by Jacqueline Kennedy and Marilyn Monroe, representing respectively vanilla and cherry flavors.
8/31/08
poem by Gershon Hepner
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Favorite Girl
Funny how things don’t seem to ever change
Now that I see you I’m transformed I am not the same
I know all the parts of you cause you’re my favorite girl
Because of everything you do you’re my favorite girl
Good things come and good things go
we only have today Tomorrow who knows
You’re my favorite you’re my favorite girl
I've tried so hard to move forward
But I keep on moving back
I’m stuck in some odd time warp
On an elusive track
Your a sacred pearl cause your my favorite girl
There’ no sanctuary in this world but your my favorite girl
People come and people go
we only have today Tomorrow who knows
You’re my favorite you’re my favorite girl
Its the same old story But damn if it don’t make you cry
Boy meets girl than loses her for no reason why
In my heart, nothing should matter except you’re my favorite girl
The whole universe could shatter you’d still be my favorite girl
People come and people go
We only have to day
Baby baby you stole the show
Baby baby you stole the show
Tomorrow who knows
You’re my favorite you’re my favorite girl
poem by Harlan Lovestone
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Back To Nothing
you are a small bubble
living inside
a big bubble like the small cat
inside the stomach
of the comforting bigger cat
a joey
inside a kangaroo
a louse within a
mustache
there is always a story when something
is inside something else
like a sub-language
because somehow one must
survive the
dog's race or
the rat world
the internalization of
of the subsumed
fine, the story must be told
in the simplest manner
possible
there is no need for
a story teller
and the story goes like this:
there is a bubble which burst inside a bubble
and the bigger bubble bursts during the bursting
and then
the end is always the same as ever:
there is only nothing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dirty Old Town
I met my love by the gas works wall
Dreamed a dream by the old canal
Kissed a girl by the factory wall
Dirty old town
Dirty old town
Clouds a drifting across the moon
Cats a prowling on their beat
Springs a girl in the street at night
Dirty old town
Dirty old town
Heard a siren from the docks
Saw a train set the night on fire
Smelled the spring on the smoky wind
Dirty old town
Dirty old town
Im going to make me a good sharp axe
Shining steel tempered in the fire
Will chop you down like an old dead tree
Dirty old town
Dirty old town
song performed by by Pogues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Good Daughter
having made her way out of the nest
having made something of herself
she rubs elbows with some of the city's finest lawyers
balancing her own practice with a sad attempt at having a social life-
she calls home to her mother,
whom she visits every weekend upstate,
doing her grocery shopping &
doing whatever she can for her,
the whole while listening to a constant critique of
where she should be at the age that she is-
her mother insists that her daughter will not stay young forever,
saying she has no fashion sense,
always points out that she should try to go to the gym more often &
never ceasing to make time to moan about wishing that she had grandchildren,
asking why a woman who is as successful as her daughter
cannot find a man-
the daughter doesn't respond with anger & instead
stays up at night when mother has fallen asleep
working on cases &
watching her remaining youth drift away,
hundreds of miles away from the city she lives in
the other five days of the week-
her mother's own cervical cancer which was recently detected
now is spreading &
she is meeting with doctors in the coming weeks to begin radiation-
her daughter hopes that surgery is possible &
wonders if the operation will force her mother into a more compromised position
where she will no longer be able to live on her own-
the daughter's life could very well be uprooted altogether &
she could find herself stuck back in her home town
waiting on her mother hand & foot,
while still pretending to be able to practice law-
the clock is ticking &
her friends in the city
watch their lives prosper,
moving on in ways that this daughter
can really only dream of,
being weighed down by something
she never counted on happening
when she put it all in motion-
ever the more exhausted,
she started drinking a lot of coffee,
then moved onto caffeine pills &
after energy drinks & the lot didn't work,
she moved onto a little coke to try & get herself
through-
she tells herself that she won't need it forever,
that it's just for now
so that she can balance all that is happening in her life.
poem by Andrew Delapruch
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Dirty Deeds Done Dirt Cheap
If youre havin trouble with your high school head
Hes givin you the blues
You wanna graduate but not in is bed [...but not in his debt]
Heres what you gotta do -
Pick up the phone
Im always home
Call me any time
Just ring
36 24 36 hey [36 24 36 8]
I lead a life of crime
Dirty deeds done dirt cheap
Dirty deeds and theyre done dirt cheap
You got problems in your life of love
You got a broken heart
(shes) hes double dealin with your best friend
Thats when the teardrops start - fella
Pick up the phone
Im here alone
Or make a social call
Come right in
Forget about him
Well have ourselves a ball
Dirty deeds done dirt cheap
Dirty deeds and theyre done dirt cheap
If you got a lady and you want her gone
But you aint got the guts
She keeps naggin at you night and day
Enough to drive you nuts -
Pick up the phone
Leave her alone
Its time you made a stand
For a fee
Im happy to be
Your back door man
Dirty deeds done dirt cheap
Dirty deeds and theyre done dirt cheap
Concrete shoes, cyanide, tnt
Done dirt cheap
Neckties, contracts, high voltage
Done dirt cheap
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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