To A Neighbor
hot noodle soup that's newly cooked
outside the night is cold
as stars begin to twinkle, the moon to hover
on top of the banana palms
the sound of bamboo leaves shall serve as music
to a choir of cicadas singing
can you share your time for a cup of noodle with me?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Left Hand Suzuki Method
(noodle speaks japanese)
The most important thing
Is to listen to a recording of the music.
It makes them gain a ..um.. musical sense
And gets to the point of..fast progress
(noodle speaks japanese again)
And also.. every day..every lesson...
We have to make sure theyre not lying about
Tunization
song performed by by Gorillaz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
how do i remember you Ms. Belen?
we met as teachers in the college of the arts and sciences,
and i was busy with my poems, those that drained my sorrows
and longings dragged into some forms of
words,
metaphors kept me bound to some illusions
of beauty, as usual the good that i always pursue,
and the truth
which always put me in some wars with almost
every creature in the world,
you will remember me as a poem
and how do i remember you, Belen?
since then you were always like the white cherry blossom
graceful to the morning sun
and not afraid of the heat
and resilient to the cold,
there was one scene i cannot forget
we entered a newly opened noodle restaurant
we ordered our favorite
and we waited
and talked from a to z
did it rain then?
did we have the noodle finally?
did we really enjoy each other's company?
do you still remember?
the sound of the young city
the hush of the hands waiving always these departures
someday, perhaps we shall have more hellos
hey there, i am back, and i am staying here
in this courty for good
the Philippines.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sit Around the House to Sing a Blues or Two
All you think about is apple strudel.
And sit around the house to sing a blues or two.
With thoughts to stroll the 'hood' with a poodle.
As you sit reminiscing eating noodle soup!
All you think about is apple strudel.
And sit around the house to sing a blues or two.
With thoughts to stroll the 'hood' with a poodle.
As you sit reminiscing eating noodle soup!
Your wish upon a star ain't going to far.
Getting 'drunked up' and sitting at a bar.
The happy hour came to come to a close.
And there you are with a snotty nose.
Thinking you're attractive with a wobble in your pose.
All you think about is apple strudel.
Ooo...
And sit around the house to sing a blues or two.
With thoughts to stroll the 'hood' with a poodle.
Ooo...
As you sit reminiscing eating noodle soup!
All you think about is apple strudel.
Ooo...
And sit around the house to sing a blues or two.
With thoughts to stroll the 'hood' with a poodle.
Ooo...
As you sit reminiscing eating noodle soup!
Believing there is no one who is made for you.
Hoping that a knock will prove that untrue.
All you think about is apple strudel.
Ooo...
And sit around the house to sing a blues or two.
Believing there is no one who is made for you.
Hoping that a knock will prove that untrue.
Hoping that a knock will prove that untrue.
Hoping that a knock will prove that untrue.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Brutal
I don't sauté what I say,
With puffed up fluff!
When I 've had enough...
I get brutal.
I don't offer apple strudel.
Or beat around the bush.
I'm not into fuzzy wuzzy stuff.
Or get cuddly to patch things up!
I don't sauté what I have to say,
With puffed up fluff for you!
When I've had enough...
And the going gets tough,
I get brutal.
I don't offer apple strudel.
I get brutal.
Or chicken soup with noodle.
I get brutal.
When games are lame.
And the aim is the same.
Putting my name to shame.
And wanting me to take the blame.
For something I know,
From the start I didn't do?
Because you think it's cute...
To use me as a substitute!
I don't bite my lip...
And pretend I'm not pissed!
You try to do me in...
And then you turn around and grin?
Thinking I wont do,
What now you know I can and will...
To you!
Yes...
Your looks could kill,
But I wont be a pig in swill.
I will get brutal.
I don't offer apple strudel.
I get brutal.
Or chicken soup with noodle.
I get brutal.
When games are lame.
And the aim is the same.
Putting my name to shame.
And wanting me to take the blame.
For something I know,
From the start I didn't do?
You think I'm a wimp in a pink tutu?
With a tutti fruiti tattoo on my booty too?
I wont sauté what I say,
With puffed up fluff for you.
When I've had enough...
I get brutal.
I don't offer apple strudel.
I get brutal.
Or chicken soup with noodle.
I get brutal.
I don't sauté what I say,
Or look away...
With my dignity played!
Not me.
Oh no!
You see...
I don't offer fantasy!
I'll give you brutal.
That's all I offer to you,
Is the brutal.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
0029 This night, this night of endless miracle
On this Mediterranean night with its light breeze
scented with the sun-warmed herbs
drifting down from cooling, stony hills,
a million stars you’ve never seen before
shine on a million crickets singing
as if from eternity to eternity
and you cannot say, and there’s
no need to say, which is which;
the trembling of the stars,
the susurration of cicadas,
join as in endless praise
of the imagination of their maker
who made imagination too
and though the cicadas, singing, may never know
that the stars they sing to
are shining from a thousand years ago
and though the stars may never know
that the cicadas that they shine upon
are a thousand years here from their now,
it’s all known, to the mind that made the vines
that made the grapes that made the wine
singing in my veins tonight
like cicadas susurrating in the starlight
as you hear them now
this night, this night of endless miracle
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Stocked Full of Clues
Before an egg is cracked...
A chicken is hatched from that.
To peck around until its feathers are plucked.
Then baked or fried,
Or perhaps made into soup.
That is stocked full of clues,
To cure most ills.
Put that noodle in your noggin and sip on it!
And don't dropp this if it's hot!
It is just that valuable.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Banana Soup
If juice can be extracted from a potato,
Like a tomato or carrot...
Why can't that happen to a banana?
Although it can be argued that potato juice,
Can be heated and called soup.
Banana soup doesn't sound too appealing.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The bird sleeps in the bamboo grove
It is night.
The moon glows above the grove. There is another moon too in the pond.
The stars too glow, scattered all over the expansive sky.
It is a cool night.
The bird is asleep.
The bird rests on a bamboo branch with thick leaves.
And the night whispers to the bird:
'sleep gentle soul
that sings for delight;
sleep kind heart
that nature fashioned;
sleep while sister moon watches over you
sleep while the stars bless you
with starlight, starlight;
O sleep gentle soul
that sings for delight
sleep all night
in bamboo embrace'
poem by Raj Arumugam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Progress In The City
life was so simple
then: papa plowed the field
mama cooked sweet potatoes
water was inside a bamboo pole
plates were banana leaves
we rode on carabao backs
picnicked on nearby rivers
climbed coconut trees
no one minded us
whether we were right or wrong
we were happier then
then everything changed.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Beauty on a Page
Poetry is the lyrics to an enchanting melody,
one that was composed for the simple purpose
of having beautiful words attached to it.
Poetry is chicken noodle soup
on a cold day when the soul is sad
and bones are aching with cold.
It is the medicine needed
when one feels lost or lonely
and only words of comfort are needed.
Poetry is a beautiful butterfly,
floating on a spring breeze,
flowing, gliding, whispering.
Poetry is the realization
and the answer to life's
toughest and most difficult questions.
It is the sound of soft wings
beating against air as a bird is released
from being captive and scared.
Poetry is simply a combination
of everything beautiful in life,
of everything fragile.
It is love, hope, pain, sadness, fear,
It is beauty on a page.
poem by Nick Downer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Song Of Where Were We
Riding on a boat
They sailed One Night
Three of Them
Singing
Where Are We?
And then when the MOON
came full above their Heads
They begin to Sing
fULL mOON i SEE you Standing There
And then the MOON
RESTS on the leaf of the banana
Like a little Bird
And then they came out from the Boat
And drank Wine
And then They sand and dance
Till Morning
The NEighbors simply
Miss them All
They all love the charivari
And sympathy
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Quiet World
In an effort to get people to look
into each other's eyes more,
and also to appease the mutes,
the government has decided
to allot each person exactly one hundred
and sixty-seven words, per day.
When the phone rings, I put it to my ear
without saying hello. In the restaurant
I point at chicken noodle soup.
I am adjusting well to the new way.
Late at night, I call my long distance lover,
proudly say I only used fifty-nine today.
I saved the rest for you.
When she doesn't respond,
I know she's used up all her words,
so I slowly whisper I love you
thirty-two and a third times.
After that, we just sit on the line
and listen to each other breathe.
poem by Jeffrey McDaniel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Echo Of The Night
When silence is persistent
And the shadows lie in wait
When the sun steps aside for the moon
You can hear the music of the night
At the break of dawn its hides
It fears the burning golden light
It favors the moon as its ally
One who isn't blind with pride
As the shadows of the day finally dissipate
And the sun recedes in the mountains
When the moon cast its shadow over the land
Once again comes the music of the night
It seems strange to call it music
When no sound is actually there
But like a choir in a cavern
Its voice echoes throughout the land
When you finally abandon your thoughts
Kneel silently before the land
Its echo can finally reach you
And you can hear the music of the night
poem by Logan Fulk
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Of My Beloved
my bed is cold, my pillows too
my blanket not taking the heat of my body
the window of my room is open
to the brightness of the moon tonight
i wish to hear the sound of familiar steps
on the bamboo leaves....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Grobe
sometimes the ones you hold so close can make you cry
but it's a pain in the ass to let 'em go
with a battered wish you hoped that the monkey wore a tie
but it's no surprise to find he don't
put the pointed pencil in the pepper-po
and take a little sniff of the things below
bring it to a boil and simmer low
put the noodle on the griddle as it climbs the Grobe
watch the worker shield his heart from the world outside
didn't get a chance to let him know
Alsace is spinning fast and wine mixed with the tide
please don't let my brain explode
put the pointed pencil in the pepper-po
and take a little sniff of the things below
bring it to a boil and simmer low
put the noodle on the griddle as it climbs the Grobe
song performed by by Ween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Grobe
sometimes the ones you hold so close can make you cry
but it's a pain in the ass to let 'em go
with a battered wish you hoped that the monkey wore a tie
but it's no surprise to find he don't
put the pointed pencil in the pepper-po
and take a little sniff of the things below
bring it to a boil and simmer low
put the noodle on the griddle as it climbs the Grobe
watch the worker shield his heart from the world outside
didn't get a chance to let him know
Alsace is spinning fast and wine mixed with the tide
please don't let my brain explode
put the pointed pencil in the pepper-po
and take a little sniff of the things below
bring it to a boil and simmer low
put the noodle on the griddle as it climbs the Grobe
song performed by by Ween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Bamboo Tunes and Cat Eyed Girl
In the murmuring evenings,
Cat eyed girl, worn ear-rings,
Stands by bamboo cluster,
Putting down pots of water.
Gilded bamboos sing and sway,
And the tired path becomes gay.
Bamboo hearts throb ever;
Unnamed tunes cease never.
Her bamboo throes resounded
In the gloomy wind unbounded.
Melodies of earth does shower
On her soul that does hover.
Finger tip of the wind brings
Sweet tunes from bamboo strings.
Music enters her inner grove,
Where the forlorn dreams rove.
Cuddled bamboos swing and say
What the lovers failed to say.
Never dying natural music
So keeps her hopes rhythmic.
poem by Fabiyas M V
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
It Is Finished
the stalking is finally over
the poems still keep popping
and flowers blooming
(oh the cliche of birds singing
and cicadas chirping)
the bamboo leaves bring
the hush in the making
the sea is crystal clear
i swim there
and this i must wait
when i rise up from the
waters
when my hair is wet
and my body still dangling
with glistening sea foams and drops
i now find this joy
of lying upon the big stone
by the shore
sunbathing.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dire Tribe
Hello
Feel much better on hashish or efedrine
Feel much better when Im smoking a lot
Feel much better on acid or mescaline
Feel much better though somebodys not
In their kitchens and ballrooms and boardrooms and chairs
Theyd have to pop up to the ceiling for someone to get high
Everybody wants to know, everybodys singing
If you really need to know, everybody cry
Everybody wants to know, everybodys singing why?
Lord try and suffer this hole, try
Feel much better on meths or on windowlene
Feel much better when Ive had my line
Feel much better on amil or ketamine
Feel much better though somebodys not
When theyre hepped up and paranoid with lithium lights theyll have to drop an ebeneezer to get a first class flight, now
Everybody wants to know, everybodys singing
If you really need to know, everybody cry
Everybody wants to know everybiody singing why
Lord try and suffer this hole try
Dah, da da dadada da da - kind of stuff
Feel much better on night nurse, amphetimine
Prozac is better, viagra I got
Feel much better, paractemol, a codeine
Feel much better, on heat, I get hot
With wine gums and diesel, pot noodle or fries
Id rather die from emphezima than learn to just get by, and
Everybody wants to know, everybodys singing
If you really need to know, everybody cry
Everybody wants to know everybiody singing why
Lord try and suffer in this, try
song performed by by Gomez
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I am in full dream
Long long miles away from you
Under the open deep blue sky
Besides the ever flowing river
I stand alone, and feel very lonely
My heart and mind is open to listen
The mystic music of nature deeply
the sound of the cricket seems to me
is the best, sweeter of the sweetest
Blowing of the wind is very soothing
The firefly dances with the singing
Of the birds, and the golden sun adds
Some colours, the call of the fox is like
Beating of the drums, the occasional sound
Of the frogs in the water is thrilling enough,
the his his sound of leaves raises my hairs
the queen, night, comes in along with moon light
I swallow the beauty with delight.
I wanted to share with you, ah! I miss you very much,
The worries of my life crowded out but your memories crowded in
now I am in full dream along with your memories mingled
with the beauty of the moon.
poem by Abdul Wahab
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!