The caged lust
A stale wife is not a stale woman.
A stale husband is not a stale man.
Woman is a magnet to a stranger.
Man is a bullet to a stranger.
12.03.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Washed Animals
After ablutions and breakfast, the cattle are raised
To be fine helpers in the family farm so to speak.
Turning the radio to a desirable station our keeping
Is alerted by the frowning of a gentlemanly farmer.
From the supermarket a produce is used for excellence
To remain in the morning of salutations and remembrance.
The cattle grow everyday to enlighten and disburden,
This pouring out of wine into the jug of the golden variety
Is stale action, stale thought and stale wording.
We as cleanliness must reach a proper income
By instigating and stating the sum of money.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Man’s half is woman
I am a man in whom woman is a part;
Some of the vices that men indulge in
Are woman’s part; be it lying, it’s hers,
Deceiving, hers, fanciful desires, hers
And pride in all its variety is hers.
Inconsistency is inherent in her.
She switches from one vice, a little stale,
To another one, still more fresh in line.
This is the theory men advocate
To justify their actions against women.
27.02.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Heart Of Man
Enter the hearts of the men-in-charge,
Cosy feelings defy the oblique shapes;
My opposition wants my death and life,
May we enter the beliefs that endanger.
Willing to surrender, this woe inside
Sticks in the throat, stale and mostly stale.
Then dangers of a dragon are at best in the air,
Mighty winds cross the heads and hearts.
Many weep tonight on the sea-edges,
The coast has changed now, just changed.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Bullets And Kisses
My bullets are kisses.
Let me send them to everyone of you.
Let them poison the very essence of your soul.
Let me claim another victim.
Let me dig another grave of the forgotten.
Memories dead, stale, and rotten.
Heat seeking missile are only sent destroy.
Man less drones are deployed.
Books to a religion burned.
Peace will be destroyed.
It is impossible to avoid.
Unrest on steroids.
My bullets are kisses.
Let me send them to everyone of you.
Let them poison the very essence of your soul.
Let me claim another victim.
Let me dig another grave of the forgotten.
Memories dead, stale, and rotten.
You want to trust and be trusted.
But you have no understanding of a culture.
You disrespect it everyday.
You create martyrs by your mistakes.
With every action you make it just escalates.
Fear spreads like fire in a very drought ridden forest.
Let me ask you how do you plan on exactly putting out?
My bullets are kisses.
Let me send them to everyone of you.
Let them poison the very essence of your soul.
Let me claim another victim.
Let me dig another grave of the forgotten.
Memories dead, stale, and rotten.
You must get out.
It was never your responsibility.
We are not the divinity.
We are not here to save you.
With so much blood on our hands how can we still be wearing that cape?
Do we not understand what is at stake?
We just continue to create pure hate.
My bullets are kisses.
Let me send them to everyone of you.
Let them poison the very essence of your soul.
Let me claim another victim.
Let me dig another grave of the forgotten.
Memories dead, stale, and rotten.
Greed is why we are sending our soldiers away from home.
Controlling chaos.
A symphony of stealing while their not looking.
If we are their long enough soon or later we will corrupt.
And that´s just little messed up.
My bullets are kisses.
Let me send them to everyone of you.
Let them poison the very essence of your soul.
Let me claim another victim.
Let me dig another grave of the forgotten.
Memories dead, stale, and rotten.
Slavery can be bought and sold.
Back door deals.
A fake government at least thats the way the people feel.
And are they really that off target?
After all they are the are people.
A pulse beating, breathing life into their own country.
My bullets are kisses.
Let me send them to everyone of you.
Let them poison the very essence of your soul.
Let me claim another victim.
Let me dig another grave of the forgotten.
Memories dead, stale, and rotten...,
Yes they are already dead, stale, and rotten.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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The Nut-Brown Ale
THE nut-brown ale, the nut-brown ale,
Puts down all drink when it is stale!
The toast, the nutmeg, and the ginger
Will make a sighing man a singer.
Ale gives a buffet in the head,
But ginger under-props the brain;
When ale would strike a strong man dead
Then nutmeg tempers it again.
The nut-brown ale, the nut-brown ale,
Puts down all drink when it is stale!
poem by John Marston
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Battle Song
There's havoc on the staircase where the guests come streaming,
Shirt-fronts shining and tiaras gleaming,
Frail folk shuddering and stout folk steaming --
Steaming in the heat of the fray.
Midnight striking and the strife appalling,
Strong men staggering and weak men falling,
And deep in the heart of me a still voice calling:
'Make for the buffet while you may.
'Make for the buffet while you may, poor stranger,
Make for the buffet while you can;
There's hope for the stale there, strength for the frail there,
Drink for the thirsty man.
Thrust through the throng! Be obstreperous and strong!
Fight till your strength is sped.
Fight and prevail; do not falter, do not fail,
Make for the buffet and be fed!
'Make for the buffet and be fed, poor stranger,
Make for the buffet and be strong;
Dense is the press and the air is growing less,
Fierce is the fight and long.
Fierce is the fight and oppressive is the night,
Stern is the strife and fell;
Pale is your cheek; you are wan and you are weak;
Make for the buffet and be well!'
Painfully and wearily the hours are dragging,
Old men are falling now and young men flagging;
White ties weakening and stiff shirts sagging --
Sagging as the hours go by.
Consciousness is failing me and outlines merging,
Thunder in my ears as of sea-foam surging,
And deep in the heart of me a faint voice urging:
'Make for the buffet lest you die.
'Make for the buffet lest you die, poor stranger;
Make for the buffet while you can;
Fight your way through like a woman in a queue,
Fight like a jungle-man!
Batter the élite with your hands and your feet,
Butt them in the backs with your head:
Strike for your own! You are hungry and alone;
Make for the buffet and be fed.
'Make for the buffet and be fed, poor stranger,
Make for the buffet lest you die.
There's hope for stale there, strength for the frail there,
Drink for the throat that's dry.
Courage and strength will rewarded be at length;
Weight in the end will tell.
Up, then, and on! Are you weary? Are you wan?
Make for the buffet and be well,
Poor stranger!
Make for the buffet and be well,
Poor ranger!
Make for the buffet and be well!'
poem by Patrick Barrington
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After All The Years
Flippant
and so nonchalant
her husband just didn't care
that on their 'anniversary' date
his pretty wife would be elsewhere
love had become slightly stale
O why were they so distant
cold of heart and
Flippant
After all the Years?
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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They Are Still Fresh
A piece of news though old
Is still fresh to the new reader.
A woman, though felt stale,
Is still fresh to the new lover.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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About The Nightingale
From a letter from STC to Wordsworth after writing The Nightingale:
In stale blank verse a subject stale
I send per post my Nightingale;
And like an honest bard, dear Wordsworth,
You'll tell me what you think, my Bird's worth.
My own opinion's briefly this--
His bill he opens not amiss;
And when he has sung a stave or so,
His breast, & some small space below,
So throbs & swells, that you might swear
No vulgar music's working there.
So far, so good; but then, 'od rot him!
There's something falls off at his bottom.
Yet, sure, no wonder it should breed,
That my Bird's Tail's a tail indeed
And makes it's own inglorious harmony
Æolio crepitû, non carmine.
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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To Let
To Let
(Xavier Rudd)
The sun is peaking
The sun is peering across the bay
I am walking
Sucking stale air on this fine day
Lady squeaking
Lady she shuffles ten feet in front
Her pants are squeaking
Her pants are squeaking as she does
I'll sit him down
I'll sit him down
The sun is peering across the bay
I am walking
Sucking stale air on this fine day
I'll sit him down
I'll sit him down
Would you let me know
Would you let me go
Would you let me know
Would you let me go
Here don't fly away now
Would you let me know
Would you let me go
Would you let me know
Would you let me go
Here don't fly away now
song performed by by Xavier Rudd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Let
To Let
(Xavier Rudd)
The sun is peaking
The sun is peering across the bay
I am walking
Sucking stale air on this fine day
Lady squeaking
Lady she shuffles ten feet in front
Her pants are squeaking
Her pants are squeaking as she does
I'll sit him down
I'll sit him down
The sun is peering across the bay
I am walking
Sucking stale air on this fine day
I'll sit him down
I'll sit him down
Would you let me know
Would you let me go
Would you let me know
Would you let me go
Here don't fly away now
Would you let me know
Would you let me go
Would you let me know
Would you let me go
Here don't fly away now
song performed by by Xavier Rudd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Threat is always there.
Being new seems good;
Being young seems good.
Being woman seems good.
The present one is made stale.
08.10.2011
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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That's The Man
Unknown -a stranger in Antioch- the man from Edessa
writes and writes. And at last, there,
the final canto's done. That makes
eighty-three poems in all. But so much writing,
so much versifying, the intense strain
of phrasing in Greek, has worn the poet out,
and now everything has gone stale.
But a thought suddenly brings him out of his dejection:
the sublime 'That's the man'
which Lucian once heard in his sleep.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Gone Are Their Treasures
From which one of your stale placements,
Do you believe you can rate...
My taste for staying updated?
No powdered wigged out judgements,
Of colonialistic restricted mentalists...
On the pursuit of political correctness,
Can exam with blinded minds...
These times that now exist!
Gone are their treasures.
And documented claims made in print!
Pomp and circumstance pulchritudes...
Appear rather silly!
And exposes their foolishness.
With a laughable return of such seriousness.
That should be burned and left in dusting urns!
From which one of your stale placements,
Do you believe you can rate...
My taste for staying updated?
With methods to attempt,
To make your nonsense permanent.
And there is evidence everywhere...
Your beliefs are vanishing in thin air!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Just Want to Say 'Hello' Then Step
You may claim not to know my name.
But I remember,
You're the same 'old' you.
And if our love had remained...
You would take away my memory too.
But I,
Am not...
Gonna play those stale games again!
I just want to say 'hello'
Then step!
I don't want to start,
Anything I'll later regret!
You claim not to be a part,
Of a past that broke your heart!
Well,
I feel the same as you do.
I am not going to bring up,
All the things we both have gone through.
But I,
Am not...
Gonna play those stale games again.
I just want to say 'hello' then step!
I don't want to start anything,
I'll later regret.
No I,
Am not...
Gonna play those games again.
I just want to say 'hello',
Then step!
I don't want to start anything upon the scene,
I'll later regret...
To undo!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The aging love
Men grow cold as woman grow old,
Men losing teeth and women, meat.
Men starve while women turn stale.
Both are in decay. The love is lost.
03.07.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The concept of liking
A woman can gain a man;
The space and the time will tell.
A woman can turn stale to a man;
The space and the time will tell.
The image should fit the frame in the brain.
It takes time for the frame to adjust.
The frame that holds the image so far
Will loosen to dropp it unfit in size.
21.03.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You can get stale writing with each other for a while.
quote by Barry Mann
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rio
Patrick simmons / jeffrey baxter
When things get stale
You get on a boat and sail to rio
The beaches and the sea
Thats where I long to be
In rio
But Im workin for the man every day up in the city
Got to get away on a boat around the corner
And its waiting there for you and me
In rio
Dark eyed lady
Drive mercedes everywhere
In rio
She said, do you wanna take a ride?
So I jumped right in beside her
In rio
But Im workin for the man every day up in the city
Got to get away on a boat around the corner
And its waiting there for you and me
In rio
When things get stale
You get on a boat and sail to rio
The beaches and the sea
Thats where I long to be
In rio
But Im workin for the man every day up in the city
Got to get away on a boat around the corner
And its waiting there for you and me
In rio
song performed by by Doobie Brothers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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