What is it?
What is it that looks like an ant?
Walks like an ant, falls in line like an ant,
Smells like an ant, eats like an ant,
Crawls like an ant, and thinks like an ant.
Of course, nothing but
An ant
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
One must not forget that recovery is brought about not by the physician, but by the sick man himself. He heals himself, by his own power, exactly as he walks by means of his own power, or eats, or thinks, breathes or sleeps.
quote by Georg Groddeck
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Camels and Chameleons
You can’t miss a camel,
It’s big and it smells,
It harrumphs and slobbers
And slurps at the wells;
Chameleon, tiny,
Stands still on a twig
And changes its colors
Like changing a wig.
The problem I have though
Is how to pronounce
It’s name, while it’s fading
Yet ready to pounce.
One only eats veggies
And looks like a frump;
The other eats insects
But both have a hump!
LRH
August 30,2009
poem by Linda Hepner
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The hunger
the hunger thinks the rice
can chew both skin and bone
the hunger thinks it's nice
to eat although forlorn
the hunger thinks the corn
can swallow ears and eyes
deaf blind hunger born
self eaten within it dies
the hunger thinks the food
is just a body's unfair breath
the hunger knows the interlude
no food the body eats itself
the hunger thinks the body rotten
is just a place to survive and eat
the hunger of the lost and forgotten
makes its way to the last heart beat
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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About Manny...
Manny does not remember as a
poet when he left this small town
24 years ago
because he felt so lost and he is looking
for what self
he thinks he had,
i was then a budding word,
my petals are ugly
and my stem is a worm
the roots crawl like an
invented monster
what he thinks i was
was that i was a monk without a beard
a non-believer of the bishop
and a critic of Lauritz
he never bothered to look at
my room
as i have kept it like a pigsty
it smells like hell
and all he thinks is that heaven
is here
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Sonnet: My June Bug
A June bug crawls quick
She talks so sweet
She flies all around
From my head to my feet
She lays on my shoulder
She falls asleep slow
She'll lays on my lap
She makes my face glow
She walks up my arm
And begs for affection
I love to show her a little
Just to see her reaction
My june bug's so funny, she rules all my world
Oh June bug, oh june bug, my beautiful girl
poem by Ramon Escamilla
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Avalanche
I found your photograph in a cardboard box in a magazine
I can't remember you, remember us or anything
I taught you how to feel, but you just feel numb
They taught you how to feel, but you just feel numb
She comes apart in the avalanche
Fades out like a dance
Crawls back into bed
When it's over
When it's over
When it's over
And it's over
I watch the window and listen for the sound of cars
I can't remember the last time that it was yours
I taught you how to feel, why do you feel numb
They taught us how to feel, but we just feel numb
She falls apart in the avalanche
Fades out like a dance
Crawls back into bed
When it's over
When it's over
When it's over
When it's over
She falls apart in the avalanche
Fades out like a dance
Crawls back into bed
When it's over
And it's over
When it's over
song performed by by Ryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thorkild’s Song
There´s no wind along these seas,
Out oars for Stavanger!
Forward all for Stavanger!
So we must wake the white-ash breeze.
Let fall for Stavanger!
A long pull for Stavanger!
Oh, hear the benches creak and strain!
(A long pull for Stavanger!)
She thinks she smells the Northland rain!
(A long pull for Stavanger !)
She thinks she smells the Northland snow,
And she's as glad as we to go.
She thinks she smells the Northland rime,
And the dear dark nights of winter-time.
She wants to be at her own home pier,
To shift her sails and standing gear.
She wants to be in her winter-shed,
To strip herself and go to bed.
Her very bolts are sick for shore,
And we—we want it ten times more!
So all you Gods that love brave men,
Send us a three-reef gale again!
Send us a gale, and watch us come,
With closecropped canvas slashing home!
But—there’s no wind on all these seas,
A long pull for Stavanger!
So we must wake the white-ash breeze,
A long pull for Stavanger!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Thorkild's Song
There's no wind along these seas,
Out oars for Stavenger!
Forward all for Stavenger!
So we must wake the white-ash breeze,
Let fall for Stavenger!
A long pull for Stavenger!
Oh, hear the benches creak and strain!
(A long pull for Stavenger!)
She thinks she smells the Northland rain!
(A long pull for Stavenger!)
She thinks she smells the Northland snow,
And she's as glad as we to go,
She thinks she smells the Northland rime,
And the dear dark nights of winter-time.
She wants to be at her own home pier,
To shift her sails and standing gear.
She wants to be in her winter-shed,
To strip herself and go to bed,
Her very bolts are sick for shore,
And we-we want it ten times more!
So all you Gods that love brave men,
Send us a three-reef gale again!
Send us a gale, and watch us come,
With close-cropped canvas slashing home!
But--there's no wind on all these seas,
A long pull for Stavenger!
So we must wake the white-ash breeze,
A long pull for Stavenger!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Emotional Food Chain
Anger eats Balanced
Balanced eats Confusion
Confusion eats Delight
Delight eats Exasperation
Exasperation eats Forgiveness
Forgiveness eats Grief
Grief eats Humor
Humor eats Isolation
Isolation eats Joy
Joy eats Knottiness
Knottiness eats Love
Love eats Moodiness
Moodiness eats Nicety
Nicety eats Outrage
Outrage eats Peace
Peace eats Quick-temperament
Quick-temperament eats Righteousness
Righteousness eats Stupidity
Stupidity eats Trust
Trust eats Unhappiness
Unhappiness eats Vitality
Vitality eats Weariness
Weariness eats X-citement
X-citement eats Yawn
Yawn eats Zest
Zest eats Anger
poem by Champs Ulysses Cabinatan
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Draggin' The Line
Makin' a livin' the old hard way
Takin' and givin' by day by day
I dig snow and rain and the bright sunshine
Draggin' The Line
My dog Sam eats purple flowers
Ain't got much, but what we got's ours
We dig snow and rain and the bright sunshine
Draggin' The Line
(Draggin' The Line)
Draggin' The Line
(Draggin' The Line)
I feel fine, I'm talkin' 'bout peace of mind
I'm gonna take my time, I'm gettin' the good sign
Draggin' The Line
(Draggin' The Line)
Draggin' The Line
(Draggin' The Line)
Lovin' the free and feelin spirit of
hugging a tree
when you get near it.
Diggin' snow and rain and the bright sunshine Draggin' The Line
(Draggin' The Line)
Draggin' The Line
(Draggin' The Line
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The ant and the antenna
As I sit inside my car, everything is still
I see an ant walking on the hood of the car
It crawls to the long but thin antenna
It grips the base of the antenna and walks vertically up
The ant desperately encircles the antenna as it walks up its length although not needing to
When he reaches the top, he stands there for a while
… and jumps off
Sometimes I wonder
Is this the meaning of life
To work endlessly to achieve a goal
Just to plummet as soon as you reach it
poem by Javontae Jones
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If you bump into a soul
if you bump into a soul
never raise the word 'death'
for it is taboo to the other world
it's something fashioned for men
to put them in their place
for having tried to be God
to put them not only in their knees
but their head, back, torsos in one line
and lower than the ground
if you bump into a soul
just be quiet and look into his eyes
and - that's enough
for he is as different to you
as a butterfly is to a larvae
one crawls and eats
the other fully garbed
to blaze through the other world
if you meet a soul
just be quiet and let him roam where he wishes
for you and the soul are two entities
as different as the sun is to the moon
one warm and the other cold
and if you wish to know more
ask for the favours of God
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Get Back In Line
Facing the world aint easy when there isnt anything going
Standing at the corner waiting watching time go by
Will I go to work today or shall I bide my time
cos when I see that union man walking down the street
Hes the man who decides if I live or I die, if I starve, or I eat
Then he walks up to me and the sun begins to shine
Then he walks right past and I know that Ive got to get back in the line
Now I think of what my mamma told me
She always said that it would never ever work out
But all I want to do is make some money
And bring you home some wine
For I dont ever want you to see me
Standing in that line
cause that union mans got such a hold over me
Hes the man who decides if I live or I die, if I starve, or I eat
Then he walks up to me and the sun begins to shine
Then he walks right past and I know that Ive got to get back in the line
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Man who writes and somebody erase
He looks anxiously at this spinning World.
Which cannot be seen.
and he thinks,
'why should I be stagnant here?
while others are floating'
and he thinks again deeply
'if the Sun rises in the west
at least for a change'
then he forgets everything
and falls asleep.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The fox thinks everybody eats poultry like himself.
Home At Night
When chirping crickets fainter cry,
And pale stars blossom in the sky,
And twilight's gloom has dimmed the bloom
And blurred the butterfly:
When locust-blossoms fleck the walk,
And up the tiger-lily stalk
The glow-worm crawls and clings and falls
And glimmers down the garden-walls:
When buzzing things, with double wings
Of crisp and raspish flutterings,
Go whizzing by so very nigh
One thinks of fangs and stings:--
O then, within, is stilled the din
Of crib she rocks the baby in,
And heart and gate and latch's weight
Are lifted--and the lips of Kate.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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What's for lunch?
It's ten past noon,
he lays there on his couch.
Watching television,
empty stomached.
It's thursday afternoon,
six thousand kilometers away.
She sits by her toy rock,
starved, and dehydrated.
He picks up the remote,
changes channel.
His stomach gently grumbles,
What's for lunch? he wonders.
Temperature rises past thirty-five
She fiddles with the dirt.
Her stomach endlessly roars
What's for lunch? she dreams.
Thrity minutes later
the doorbell rings.
He picks up his twenty
and pays the delivery man.
Sixty seconds later,
a beetle crawls by
she springs to her feet.
and thanks her lord
He wipes his greasy mouth
on his sleeve
and leaves his unfinished grub
and falls asleep.
She enjoys her lunch
but feels very weak.
sick and tired
she falls asleep
Two hours later
he is awakened by thunder.
throws out his leftovers
and begins to read the news.
Two minutes later
she is drenched by rain,
she looks at the sky
and opens her mouth with a smile.
He puts down the paper,
and finally gets up
to cook his next meal.
What's in the fridge? He thinks.
She shivers in the rain,
orphan, and deseased
she walks towards some foiliage.
I am safer now. She hopes.
He ends his meal,
and leaves his house.
Climbs into his truck
and drives off to a bar.
Now the rain has stopped,
she prays and kisses her rock
and falls asleep.
wet, frail, poor, hungry.
Midnight, he arrives
back to his cozy home,
and falls asleep.
Warm, wealthy, happy, full.
Nothing awakes her,
her stomach painfully growls.
She takes one last breath,
but too weak for one more.
The alarm clock awakes him
It's nearly eleven,
getting out of bed he wonders
what's for lunch?
Written to raise awareness of the causes of starvation around the world, and how priviledged some countries are. This inequality should not exist.
poem by Roger Naya
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You Smell So Good
(Translation To: Du Riechst So Gut)
Insanity
is only a narrow bridge
the banks are reason and desire
I chase you
the sunlight confuses the mind
a blind child that crawls forward
because it smells its mother
I find you
The track is fresh and on the bridge
drops the sweat
song performed by by Rammstein
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He that never eats flesh thinks harigals a feast.
Krishna's Meal
Kanha eats in Yasoda's lap.
some he eats, some he drops,
as the ladies of Nandgaon watch,
some he eats and some he puts
in Nanda's mouth,
this joy is beyound recount.
some he eats, some gives to gopas,
butter in his hands, curd in doniyas.
The joy of Yasoda
the three worlds cannot account.
the meal is over, Kanha washes,
for Sur the left-overs count.
poem by Sant Surdas
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