How do others call man?
Monkeys don’t know they’re called monkeys.
Turkeys don’t know they’re called turkeys.
The God doesn’t know He’s called the God.
Man doesn’t know how he is called by them.
23.11.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Talking Turkeys!
Be nice to yu turkeys dis christmas
Cos' turkeys just wanna hav fun
Turkeys are cool, turkeys are wicked
An every turkey has a Mum.
Be nice to yu turkeys dis christmas,
Don't eat it, keep it alive,
It could be yu mate, an not on your plate
Say, Yo! Turkey I'm on your side.
I got lots of friends who are turkeys
An all of dem fear christmas time,
Dey wanna enjoy it, dey say humans destroyed it
An humans are out of dere mind,
Yeah, I got lots of friends who are turkeys
Dey all hav a right to a life,
Not to be caged up an genetically made up
By any farmer an his wife.
Turkeys just wanna play reggae
Turkeys just wanna hip-hop
Can yu imagine a nice young turkey saying,
ÒI cannot wait for de chopÓ,
Turkeys like getting presents, dey wanna watch christmas TV,
Turkeys hav brains an turkeys feel pain
In many ways like yu an me.
I once knew a turkey called........ Turkey
He said "Benji explain to me please,
Who put de turkey in christmas
An what happens to christmas trees?",
I said "I am not too sure turkey
But itÕs nothing to do wid Christ Mass
Humans get greedy an waste more dan need be
An business men mek loadsa cash'.
Be nice to yu turkey dis christmas
Invite dem indoors fe sum greens
Let dem eat cake an let dem partake
In a plate of organic grown beans,
Be nice to yu turkey dis christmas
An spare dem de cut of de knife,
Join Turkeys United an dey'll be delighted
An yu will mek new friends 'FOR LIFE'.
poem by Benjamin Zephaniah
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter LXXX: Story
Story about future is called imagination
Story about past is called memories
Story about present is called reality
Story that becomes true is called prophecy
Story that becomes unfulfilled is called regret
Story that becomes no end is called boasting
Small story is called experience
Epic story is called history
Forgotten story is called lesson
Story that becomes obsession is called ambition
Story that becomes untold is called secret
Story that becomes go its own way is called life
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Road to Success
The road to success is not straight,
There is a curve called FAILURE,
A loop called CONFUSION,
Speed bumps called FRIENDS,
Red light called ENEMIES and
caution lights called FAMILY.
But if you have a spare called
DETERMINATION,
An engine called PERSEVERANCE,
Insurance called FAITH and
A driver called JESUS (GOD, ALLAH, ISHVAR)
You will make it to a place called
SUCCESS
poem by Pratiksha Jain
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Star 69
You dont have to take the bar exam to see
What you did is ignoramus 103
Where have I got to hang my hat
You dont have line to me
All this just to be your friend
I was there to tell you
Extortion and arson, petty larceny
I know you called. I know you called. I know you called.
I know you called. I know you called. I know you hung up my line.
Star 69.
I know all about the warehouse fire.
I know squirrelies didnt chew the wire.
Three people have my number, the other two were with me.
I dont stand tall, but Im not your patsy.
This time you have gone too far with me.
I know you called. I know you called. I know you called.
I know you called. I know you called. I know you hung up my line.
Star 69.
Whyd you put your quarter down on me?
This reads like some dark inside edition, hard copy.
I cant be your character witness, I cant be your alibi.
Dont arrange the fbi, here this spy versus spy.
You my friend are guilty as can be.
I know you called. I know you called. I know you called.
I know you called. I know you called. I cant be your alibi.
Star 69.
song performed by by REM
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What used to be called liberal is now called radical, what used to be called radical is now called insane, what used to be called reactionary is now called moderate, and what used to be called insane is now called solid conservative thinking.
quote by Tony Kushner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We have common enemies today. It's called childhood poverty. It's called cancer. It's called AIDS. It's called Parkinson's. It's called Muscular Dystrophy.
quote by Jerry Doyle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Road To Success isn’t As The Crow Flies
The road to success is not as the crow flies
There are derailments and breakdowns
Speed breakers are called uncertainty
Humps are called hurdles of life
Neon signs are called friends to guide you
And consciousness is called Family make you aware of
But if you have a spare wheel called willpower,
A strong engine called firmness,
Car insurance called confidence, and
A car driving skill is called Faith,
I m sure you will drive your car successfully
Towards the road of success
poem by Dr Shamim ali
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My road to success
Never be discouraged by other people's negativities towards your success. /
Stick to what you love the most some day it will turn out well. /
Some things are hard to get but are worth working hard for. /
So, it is better to support than to look down on other people's dreams. /
The road to success it is not straight there is a curve called failure. /
A loop called friends & flats called jobs, but if you have a spare called determination. /
An engine called perseverance, insurance called faith & a driver called 'jesus' /
You will make it to a place called 'Success' /
Author: Koena France Mokoena
poem by kfm Productions
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More Fun Than A Barrel Of Monkeys
there are multiple questions pertaining to the concept,
'more fun than a barrel of monkeys.'
how big is the barrel?
how many monkeys are we talking about?
how big are the monkeys? Are we talking spider monkeys, chimps, baboons or what?
Are the monkeys old or young and where's the barrel, inside or outside?
If you leave the monkeys in the barrel, you got a problem:
they'll die in their own excrement,
if you lift the lid and let them out,
they might kill you.
a monkey can rip out your eyes, is that fun?
monkeys, leaping and running around the house, can do a lot of damage, is that fun?
monkeys are dirty, so... what exactly do you consider fun?
what's it going to be like trying to get the monkeys back in the barrel?
would that be fun?
what would the neighbors think of you, if you released the monkeys into their yards?
what happens if the police gets involved?
it could mean everything imaginable is more fun than a barrel of these animals.
maybe even more fun than a barrel of human beings.
poem by Richard Jarboe
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Thieves Like Us
Ive watched your face for a long time
Its always the same
Ive studied the cracks and the wrinkles
You were always so vain
Well, now you live your life like a shadow
In the pouring rain
Oh, its called love
Yes, its called love
Oh, its called love
And it belongs to us
Oh, it dies so quickly
It grows so slowly
But when it dies, it dies for good
Its called love
And it belongs to everyone but us
Ive lived my life in the valleys
Ive lived my life on the hills
Ive lived my life on alcohol
Ive lived my life on pills
But its called love
And it belongs to us
Its called love
And its the only thing thats worth living for
Its called love
And it belongs to us
Its called love
Yes its called love
Oh, love is found in the east and west
But when love is at home, its the best
Love is the cure for every evil
Love is the air that supports the eagle
Its called love
And its so un-cool
Its called love
And somehow its become unmentionable
Its called love
And it belongs to every one of us
Its called love
And it cuts your life like a broken knife
song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Scottish Cow
They call you a cow
When you walk down the street
That doesn't make any sense to me,
As I have been to a farm once before
And cows there, I have seen.
So I would like to know why
You are called that name
And what does it really mean,
As you don't look or act like a cow
But maybe there's something, I haven't seen.
Your daughters bow their head
Whenever they are next to you
As though as they are ashamed,
Is it their fault for that name your called
If not, then who is to be blamed.
Women still point at you
And the men they still smile
Whenever that you walk by
I still don't understand the name your called,
But maybe one day, I will ask you why.
Questions come to my mind
About the word your called
Every time that you are walking past,
Like will they ever stop calling you a cow
Or will that name forever last.
As you don't moo
And you are not fat at all
And certainly your not cover up in fur,
But your called a cow on a daily bases
And to me that seems so absurd.
So when your daughters get older
Will they also be called cows
Just like you their dear old mother
Maybe that's why they are bowing their heads
They are pretending or wishing they are some other.
And the women they still point
As the men they still smile and talk
Whenever you walk that mile,
Then maybe in fact you are what you are
And maybe indeed, you are a cow.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Identity Crisis!
When born, I was called “baby”
And later they called me “Abby”
Within 5 years they called me “student”
And for 7 years, like that I spent
Then they called me “teen”
I loved it and felt like a queen
Then I was called “woman”
And those times, were the best
Then some one tied a knot and called me “wife”
I hated those times, it was horrible and gross
In years I became “mother”
It was beautiful but tough
Then being called “grandma”
My times got better and better
Then at last I was called “old”
And my body was frail and cold
All this time I wondered,
Where my identity has gone
Some where in the middle, I had lost it
Through the ages, I had a crisis
An identity crisis to say!
DECEMBER 23,2008
poem by Sania Harris
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The 3 Monkeys
Three little monkeys, they played about,
Doing all sorts of things, till their mother did shout;
If you don't stop this misbehaving, you'll go to bed,
All this playing up, is giving me a pain in my head.
Three little monkeys, would play hide and seek,
When they heard a secret, they'd be a sticky beak;
Sometimes they'd run away, till their mother called them back,
,
If you three keep playing up, you'll go to bed with a smack.
It reminds me of us children, when I was young growing up,
And mum told us to behave, we'd act like a naughty pup;
But! Most times I remember the great times we did play,
And when it was a holiday, we'd go somewhere to stay.
Yes! It wasn't all bad for those monkeys, those three,
And growing up, there were great times as well for me;
I thank my Mother, as I'm sure the monkeys do too,
Cause a mother can only take so much, oh yes! This is true.
poem by Margaret Haig
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Monkeys and Talent
Some people say that man comes from monkeys but the Good Book tells it different and brother if you believe what some people say. I'd rather be that monkey then you any old days. Speaking of talents which I wasn't. Your talent is God's gift to you. What you do with it is your gift back to God.
Names I've been called stupid. I been called dumb. I've been called lots of things and then some, but I'm smart enough to know I'm just as good as you and so, I say to you who call me names. I hold no of rudge or place no blame. Being stupid is some times smart and playing dumb is just a part of life, and one of the smartest people I know is ME.
poem by Betty Mae Eaton
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The Children of God
Intelligence is a divine light
Glowing in all directions…
Whatever torch it holds travels
Throughout space and time
And orbits, a spiritual realm
That transcends all elements
Of our; so called knowledge
So that is why, we are called.
The Children of God!
From germ cell to molecule
From mineral to atom!
All matter and anti-matter
Can never be - destroyed.
So that is why, we are called.
The Children of God!
Whatever collides together?
Is transformed, molded a new.
Each with the energy to energize
A star and cause a core reaction!
In the body of that living star
Alive or dead, that star is you!
So that is why, we are called.
The Children of God!
Your life's end - doesn't supplicate
No new beginnings end:
That is only for the flesh
The Subterranean, diviners climatic
So the rains decent is in order
Of his ascent to look over us
So that is why, we are called.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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I Search
I search for that something called an Identity
I search for the eternally dynamic being called 'me'
I search for that ever-elusive ray of Hope
That'll steady my walk on life's tightrope
I search for that stroke of Brilliance
That'll make me stand out among millions
I search for that much-needed Common Sense
That'll help me to decipher utter nonsense
I search for that slippery thing called Fame
That'll erase all my past memories of shame
I search for that quality called Tenacity
That'll help me cope with life's complexity
I search for that something called a Carefree Life
That'll remove me from worries and Danger's knife
I search for something called an Identity
And I still search for that being called 'me'
poem by Rony Patra
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He Called Father
He remembered that fear,
Shaking in bed listening.
He called son.
Hearing the druken man,
He called father.
The womans cries, the punches,
Slaps, blackend eyes,
On she called mother.
Burying his head in the pillow
To shut out the noise.
He remembers the comfort
The gentle hand and soft voice
Of she called sister.
But the scars lie deep
A nightmare that he runs from
In the black despair of night.
From He Called Father
poem by Paul Brookes
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Don't Go Home With Your Hard-on
I was born in a beauty salon
My father was a dresser of hair
My mother was a girl you could call on
When you called she was always there.
When you called she was always there
When you called she was always there
When you called she was always there
When you called she was always there.
Ah but don't go home with your hard-on
It will only drive you insane
You can't shake it (or break it) with your Motown
You can't melt it down in the rain.
You can't melt it down in the rain
You can't melt it down in the rain
You can't melt it down in the rain.
I've looked behind all of the faces
That smile you down to you knees
And the lips that say
song performed by by Leonard Cohen from Death Of A Ladies' Man
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Just Called To Say I Love You
No new yearss day
To celebrate
No chocolate covered candy hearts to give away
No first of spring
No song to sing
In fact heres just another ordinary day
No april rain
No flowers bloom
No wedding saturday within the month of june
But what it is
Is something true
Made up of these three words that I must say to you
I just called to say I love you
I just called to say how much I care
I just called to say I love you
And I mean it from the bottom of my heart
No summers high
No warm july
No harvest moon to light one tender august night
No autumn breeze
No falling leaves
No even time for birds to fly to southern skies
No libra sun
No halloween
No giving thanks to all the christmas joy you bring
But what it is
Though old so new
To fill your heart like no three words could ever do.
I just called to say I love you
I just called to say how much I care
I just called to say I love you
And I mean it from the bottom of my heart.
I just called to say I love you
I just called to say how much I care
I just called to say I love you
And I mean it from the bottom of my heart
Of my heart
Of my heart
song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm not called Jude Law, I have three names; I'm called 'Hunk Jude Law' or 'Heartthrob Jude Law'. In England anyway, that's my full name. That's the cheap language that's thrown around, that sums you up in one little bracket. It doesn't look at your life. But if one looks beyond, there is actually a little bit more.