The real intention
He wrote to me many words good of me
And ended with a word sharp about me.
The intention was to reprimand me.
A glass of milk mixed with a dropp of poison.
30.01.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Related quotes
With a dropp of…
To utter ten words sweet
And then one word bitter
Is like a glass of milk
With a dropp of poison.
The purpose is to give
Poison and not the milk.
06.02.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Self-Portrait
She was not a slender woman,
but her skin was milk
mixed in with strawberry jam
& between her legs the word purple was born
& her hair was the color of wheat & yellow butter.
Her eyes were dark as the North Atlantic sea.
She learned the untranslatable words of dawn.
She studied her own fear & wrote its verses.
She used the hole in her heart to play wind-music.
She built her book-houses over her empty cellar.
She nursed on the muse at first,
then became her own mother.
poem by Erica Jong
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A bottle of wolf’s poison
At dusk little Martha walks
pass the back of the old house
that is build of heaped blue Jacob stone
and her older sister who has to watch her
is a distance away in the orchard
where she is catching small gnats
with shouts of joy.
The sun glows orange red
on the horizon and the rays hits
a brown bottle that protrudes
from one of the cracks of the Jacob rocks
and at a distance
it looks to three-year-old Martha
like her mother’s kitchen knife
and quickly she walks closer
on her little feet
and she tries to take it, but it is stuck tight.
With a long stick
she digs the bottle out,
bites it open with her small teeth
and there’s pink liquid
that flows down her throat.
Still she wonders
what this bottle is doing here
and goes round the corner
into the kitchen
where she finds her mother
and gives the bottle to her.
Her mother turns white from fright
as it is wolf’s poison
and deadly strong
and her shout is so loud
that three of Martha’s older brothers
run in from the outside.
“Go and milk one of the cows
and bring some more milk, hurry”
is said to Pieter
and she takes a bucket of milk
from the pantry
and pour some in a glass for Martha to drink
while Pieter runs
as fast as he can to the stable.
“Drink sis drink, ” Martha is begged
and glass after glass is given to her
until she starts to vomit
and still they beg her to drink
while they pour some more glasses of milk
and the pink poison
comes out with the vomit
and Pieter brings some more
fresh hot milk
and pours the jug out
and Martha shakes and cries
and they beg her to drink
and still more is poured into glasses
and she drinks
until she vomits the entire poison out.
[Reference: Wolf’s poison is strychnine.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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Poison! Poison!
Poison I breathe, poison I eat,
And poison poison I do drink,
Poison are my thoughts, poison are my acts,
Poison are my sleeps, poison are my dreams,
My blood is poison, poison is my flesh,
And poison poison are my bones.
Wherever I move
I envenom my fellow beings,
And enlarge my kingdom,
This is how my life goes on,
Living in the world: all poison poison.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Glass
Words of a poem should be glass
But glass so simple-subtle its shape
Is nothing but the shape of what it holds.
A glass spun for itself is empty,
Brittle, at best Venetian trinket.
Embossed glass hides the poem of its absence.
Words should be looked through, should be windows.
The best word were invisible.
The poem is the thing the poet thinks.
If the impossible were not,
And if the glass, only the glass,
Could be removed, the poem would remain.
poem by Robert Francis
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The f word and me
The other day we discussed reasons
why people use
the magical f word.
a Young woman is of the opinion
that it’s because of a lack of imperfect language,
where a person’s vocabulary
lacks other words to use.
I think that there are many more other reasons
to slip in everywhere
and that vocabulary
has very little
or nothing to do with it.
One thing that can incite it
is exposure,
where people hear it
hundreds of times
every day
like in an army.
Subsequently without intention
it becomes part of your conversation
and your own vocabulary,
without drawing any attention
with yourself.
The word f is a power word
that give colour intensity
to the meanings of other words
and it can underline, emphasize
or lift some out.
You can also use it as a word
that has many meanings
and use it like a good shifting spanner
that shift for meaning values.
This word can also
be almost any word type
that gives bigger power
to other words used with it.
The thing that really matters
what others read
in the meaning of my words
and if I loose integrity by using it.
There are times
my mother wants to catch a fit
when I use the f word
and not from the meaning
of my words,
but from the negative context
that can be drawn with the word
and the easy transfer
of the word on children that hear my dialogue.
[With thanks to Skymaster, whose article inspired this poem.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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I love milk so much! I make a point of drinking a glass of milk every day. So now anyone who did those milk ads with the milk mustaches, they're my heroes.
quote by Natalie Portman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Castle of glass
Take me down to the river bend
Take me down to the fighting end
Wash the poison from off my skin
Show me how to be whole again
Fly me up on a silver wing
Past the black where the sirens sing
Warm me up in a nova's glow
And dropp me down to the dream below
'Cause I'm only a crack in this castle of
glass
Hardly anything there for you to see
For you to see
Bring me home in a blinding dream,
Through the secrets that I have seen
Wash the sorrow from off my skin
And show me how to be whole again
'Cause I'm only a crack in this castle of
glass
Hardly anything there for you to see
For you to see
'Cause I'm only a crack in this castle of
glass
Hardly anything else I need to be
'Cause I'm only a crack in this castle of
glass
Hardly anything there for you to see
For you to see
For you to see
poem by Pawan Kumar 'Meonlafesta'
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English Language Bastardized
Isn’t it unfortunate how
the English language is bastardized
to suit someone’s twisted mind?
How good words cannot be used
in their proper context
without someone looking strangely
and giving a stupid grin.
Years ago, when I was at school
a beaver was a small animal with a flat tail
that lived in water and built dams.
Now most kids know its meaning as
describing a woman’s gentiles.
In England, we sometimes have faggots for tea
and again this had been corrupted from
food you eat to describing someone’s sexual gender.
Gay is another word that is taboo.
You will get strange looks if you used it in its proper context.
If I wrote a title forty years ago, I was gay
everyone knew that I was feeling happy
and not what it means today.
The list of bastardized words go on and on
and I wonder what the next word from our dictionaries
that will enter that no go area of words we cannot use,
being bastardized to suit some one’s twisted mind.
11 October 2009
poem by David Harris
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I Don't Believe 'You' Wrote This!
I am told I have a way with words.
I am encouraged when I hear that said.
I remember listening to my father talk.
And when he would sing...
He would bring a different meaning,
To each word I heard.
And what his singing to them he would bring.
My mother would play the piano.
Thunderous and loud!
And when I walked through the projects...
I would sing to the trees,
I once walked into one...
Humming to the clouds.
I would make up melodies and tunes with words.
Mocking my dad and my mother's love,
For gospel verse she would rehearse.
I didn't think anything really about words I wrote.
Until my sister read a poem of mine.
And I wanted to choke her by the throat!
YES!
She was the first to read something I wrote out loud.
I was embarrassed by that.
Her nosy grown up butt...
Reading my 'stuff' behind my back!
And then she said to me,
'I don't believe 'you' wrote this! '
I must have been 13 years old...
When I started to make my writing public.
I am told I have a way with words.
I am encouraged when I hear that said.
I remember listening to my father talk.
And when he would sing...
He would bring a different meaning,
To each word I heard.
And what his singing to them he would bring.
Each 'thing' I write now...
Is added to a mixed bag offering!
And reflecting how I'm feeling at the time.
I am grateful for this blessing.
It offers a comfort and a peace of mind!
And when someone says they enjoy what I do...
I must be honest with 'you', the reader!
I-do-too!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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No Horse Town
i lived for a while
the fish who eat milk
stayed with me
i ran faster than the speed of tears
back and forth
the fish went
i wrote another chapter
in the good book
take it home
got to break out
of this no horse town
the question is how
the fish who eat milk
stayed with me
their story is long
the church organ harmonica
played out of tune but
it still sounds good
i sell fear
see the tip jar
all these groceries to pay for
all my life i
searched for
something to hate
the fish who eat milk
they are not many but
they have strong bones
poem by Bobby Crawford
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A myth about the origin of evil
And satan said:
‘Let there be a lie! ’
And there was a lie.
It hid in the stones
Sliding from above.
And satan said:
‘Let there be hypocrisy! ’
And there was hypocrisy.
It hid in the words
Waiting to speak up.
It covered itself with cobwebs
Spiders to feed.
It hid itself from itself.
And satan said:
‘Let there be poison! ’
And there was poison.
The devils waving their swords
Spilled it from a stormy breath.
It layered on the earth
To run with its currents.
It hid within the blood.
And satan said:
‘Let there be hatred! ’
And there was hatred.
It spilled all around
Like blood that cannot clot.
It walked in tigers’ paws
And hid itself in the end
Under the cold mossy north.
And satan said:
‘Let there be a human! ’
And there was a human.
He hid in the hypocrisy and lie
The poison of hatred fed him like milk.
A pirate wrapped in his sails.
And there was a human
In beasts he hid.
And satan said:
‘Let him think I am not! ’
But it was not the way he said.
There was a lie in the beginning of his word.
Written in 1989 reconstructed in 2012.
©Miroslava Odalovic
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Glass Shatters
The glass has a flimsiness, frailty of course,
Do not deceive me with fraudulence or fraud.
Glass shatters from impulses,
Glass has love for the actions,
This glass I hold and dropp reminds.
The frantic wept, as no other weeper,
The fraternity has evaporated,
Never the escapade of shattering glass
Has gone by without returning,
And so the glass has an escapade.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Mr. Me
Once a boy named mister me bemoaned a great regret
I've floundered in the misty sea, but can't abide its mystery
I wound up sad, you bet
So onward go and edward ho into the bounding main
Enjoy the show look out below but mind the misty sea
Or end up sad like mister me
He ended up sad
He ended up sad
He ended up really, really, really sad
He ended up sad
He ended up sad
He ended up really, really, really sad
So take the hand of mister me and mister, make him glad
To swim the mister misty sea and cease the mister mystery
That mister, made him sad
He ended up sad
He ended up sad
He ended up really, really, really sad
He ended up sad
He ended up sad
He ended up really, really, really sad
He ended up sad
He ended up sad
He ended up really, really, really sad
He ended up sad
He ended up sad
He ended up really, really, really sad
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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America is embarrassed
Neither this nor that by race but mixed,
Neither this nor that by faith but mixed,
What else must the giant be to keep peace?
The giant’s been crowned; the giant’s been reined.
(The Nobel Prize for the world peace for year 2009 went to Mr. Obama, President of the U.S.A.; an Indian’s view)
15.10.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The army is the poison and the people are the water in which the poison is mixed.
Living The Fulness Of Life
the fullness of life is not in the overflowing
neither is it the shortage and the drying over
contemplate on a glass of milk
nothing spilt
nothing wasted
every dropp
inside your throat
flowing
satisfying just enough
for that thirst
in your heart
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Silver Sleep
A night I will commit
A most ungodly thing
I will commit suicide
With the poison I keep
A night I will commit
My last dropp of blood
I will commit suicide
Because you did too
I will commit my suicide
Tonight at sunrise, on the
Roof of Hell, I will commit suicide
With a poison of Silver Sleep
As I take the syringe
And fill it with
The one dropp of the poison
I begin to taste it before it touches skin
The syringe is filled
I place the needle in my skin
And I press the back of the syringe down
The silver liquid passes through my system
I feel no pain
I am now dieing
Lights show around me
As blood passes my lips
The one I love is next to me
But I can no longer hear his voice
My eyes close and I see only darkness
My commitment to suicide has been fore filled.
I dropp the syringe as I fall
To the city street below me
The poison from the Silver Sleep
Is now upon me forever.
poem by Jade DragonHeart
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A Pebble In The Ocean
I dropp
I dropp a pebble in to the ocean
just to see
just to see if there will be some kind of explosion
But I don't know
no I don't know
which way this worlds going to go
the summer
the summer seems like its ready to snow
and winter
winter wants to have summers glow.
so I throw
I throw a pebble into the ocean
just to see if there will be some kind of explosion
I'm waiting for it to explode
with all the destruction we cause it never seems to go
the smoke
the smoke makes the ocean
makes the ocean choke
the bottle doesn't reach you
the message was my love note that I wrote
for you
I wrote a love note for you
and now the maps gone missing
and I haven't got a clue
I don't know what to do
all I know is I want you.
So I dropp
I dropp a pebble in to the ocean
just to see
just to see if there will be some kind of explosion.
Yes I dropp
I dropp a pebble in to the ocean
just to see
just to see if there will be some kind of explosion.
poem by Daniel McCann
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Little words like Sorry
Little words make me cry
Common go ahead and try
Little words tell no lie
Like the simple word when I say goodbye
Little words tend to tease
Little words tend to appease
And when one says the word please
Life and love is given a new lease
Little words like sorry, don’t worry
Blossom slowly in little glories
And the moral of this story
Is that ‘sorry’ is often said in a hurry
Copyright 2009 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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