Faceless Journey
An insider was asking:
this was a very troubling question.
Why a culture becomes sick,
burns the book,
and beheads a god?
Forgive my loincloth. This
century was becoming very hot
till the nose bleeds
and fills the cauldron
of kiss.
The dust was settling
on the pages of history.
Strangly you want now a
sexless death. Porn and religion
were making you realy mad.
poem by Satish Verma
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Related quotes
Black History Month
In January...
There they are making history.
In February...
There they are making history.
In March...
There they are making history.
In April...
There they are making history.
In May...
There they are making history.
In June...
There they are making history.
In July...
There they are making history.
In August...
There they are making history.
In September...
There they are making history.
In October...
There they are making history.
In November...
There they are making history.
In December...
There they are making history.
But...
It's nice to know
The shortest month of the year
Was chosen to celebrate
The great deeds of African-Americans!
However...
It is those LEAP YEARS,
That really have the blacks jumping for joy!
Note: 'Black History Month' along with other
works of interest can be found in...
*'MindPrints from Untouched Places-VOL I'*
~Now available online at a PC near you~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Insider
Youve got a dangerous background
And everything youve dreamed of
Yeah youre the dark angel
It dont show when you break up
And Im the one who oughta know
Im the one left in the dust
Yeah Im the broken hear ted fool
Who was never quite enough
Im an insider, I been burned by the fire
And Ive had to live with some hard promises
Ive crawled through the briars
Im an insider
Its a circle of deception
Its a hall of stran gers
Its a cage without a key
You can feel the danger
And Im the one who oughta know
Im the one you couldnt trust
Yeah Im the lonely silent one
Im the one left in the dust
Im an insider, I been burned by the fire
And Ive had to live with some hard promises
Ive crawled through the briars
Im an insider
Ill bet youre his masterpiece
Ill bet youre his self-control
Yeah youll become his legacy
His quiet world of white and gold
And Im the one who ought to know
Im the one you left to rust
Not one of your twisted friends
Im the one you couldnt love
Im an insider, I been burned by the fire
And Ive had to live with some hard promises
Ive crawled through the briars--Im an insider
song performed by by Tom Petty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mr Paddy's Capers.
Just when she thought
She'd found a place alone
To read her book, Mr Paddy
poked his nose between
Her and the open book, so
That pages are blanked out
By his huge head. Mr Paddy
Go off and annoy another,
She said, but he stood there
Determined to be where he
Was, between her and the
Brown covered book, held
Out in her small hands. Oh
Mr Paddy I cannot see the
Pages. Please go off and run
In the garden or in the kitchen
And steal a bone, she said. But
He wouldn't leave her alone,
He pushed his head against her
Young girl body, his damp nose
Dampening her wrist and her
White dress with blue sash, and
Dribble from his lips was wetting
The pages. Mr Paddy please let
Me be, I'm trying to read can't
You see? Mr Paddy's brown eyes
Scanned the pages, nothing there
But scribbled lines upon white paper,
And still he stood wet mouthed with
Big brown eyes and his silly old caper.
poem by Terry Collett
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Kiss Me Dear
Kiss me dear kiss with softly soft*
Kiss me dear kiss with your desire*
Kiss me dear kiss with a little bite*
Kiss me dear kiss with your heart*
Kiss me dear kiss with your warm hug*
Kiss me dear kiss with your smooth lips*
Kiss me dear kiss with your hopes*
Kiss me dear kiss with your pray*
Kiss me dear kiss with your honestly*
Kiss me dear kiss with your loves*
Kiss me dear kiss with your happiness*
Kiss me dear kiss with happily*
Kiss me dear kiss with heartbeat*
Kiss me dear kiss with really*
Kiss me dear kiss with admirable*
Kiss me dear kiss with quietly*
Kiss me dear kiss with realy on*
Kiss me dear kiss with require*
Kiss me dear kiss me now and forevermore*
I'need you for strong standing with me**
Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder” (The Billion-Dollar Question)
We must all stay aware…..,
Of the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder….,
It’s been increasing for years….,
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….! ! !
Can’t dare turn our backs….,
On the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….,
It’ll sneak up and kill us…,
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….! ! !
It’s hard to believe and conceive….
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….,
That’s why so many are blind….,
To the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder …! ! !
We’ve seen the bloody attacks…..,
Of the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….,
So we must face the facts….,
On the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….! ! !
Yes they’re after us all…,
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….,
Their radical religion condones it….,
The Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder ….! ! !
Can we control it or stop it….,
So it won’t go any further….? ? ?
That’s the billion-dollar question….,
On the Insane Culture Of Mass-Murder …! ! !
poem by Trade Martin
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War Is Our Worlds History
I Look into a history book.
And what do I see?
Pain and agony, death and suffering,
I see history that tells a lot about our world.
War!
Our world's history is war.
It is the pain and agony, the death and the suffering,
I see large fields of dead bodies,
I see our heritage being destroyed by other people
because it is not what they believe in,
I see people begging for mercy, but they do not get it
instead they get a bullet in the head.
In our history I see many mistakes in which we can learn from,
but we obviously we do not.
They say not to judge a book by its cover,
to me this quote means nothing to our history.
Our history is our cover,
and the book is filled with pain and agony, death and suffering.
Plain and Simple
War!
poem by Christian Cervantes
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The History of Now
The recording of culture is history;
but our culture is more than that.
It's the world of human action,
and the myths we make of the fact.
The recording of history is culture,
but our history is more than that.
It informs a hidden agenda.
Unconscious of motive we act.
It's the history of now, the history of now.
It's only the present that exists as endowed.
It's the history of now. The moment - KAPOW!
That knocks you right over and muddies your brow.
Through the prism of language, we know what we know.
We carry our baggage and stories of woe.
Victor and vanquished pride cannot budge,
the dead weight of hatred and ancestral grudge.
We fight our good fights with our hand on our heart;
the music is swelling as loved ones depart.
As sheep to the slaughter, the script cannot chart,
a course more ignoble: the propagandist's art.
The recording of history is culture,
but our culture is more than that.
More than the great individuals,
the scholars so love in their tracts.
The recording of culture is history;
but our history is more than that.
Not simple dates or statistics,
the full horror and gore still attracts.
It's the history of now, the history of now.
A strange contradiction that makes sense somehow.
It's the history of now, a mystery and shroud.
The past and the future: best fiction allowed.
poem by David SmithWhite
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Racism and the Culture Of Racism
We must be aware…..,
Of the Culture Of Racism….,
It’s a slur and a swear….,
The Culture Of Racism….! ! !
Can’t turn your back….,
On the Culture Of Racism….,
Or you’ll feel the whack…,
Of the Culture Of Racism….! ! !
It’s hard to believe….
The Culture Of Racism….,
That’s why we all grieve….,
The Culture Of Racism…! ! !
We must face the facts….,
On the Culture Of Racism ….! ! !
Cause we’ve seen the attacks…..,
Of the Culture Of Racism….,
It follows us all…,
The Culture Of Racism….,
But we must stand tall….,
Against the Culture Of Racism….! ! !
Can we control or stop it….,
As long as it’s been livin’….? ? ?
That’s the priceless question….,
On the Culture Of Racism…! ! !
poem by Trade Martin
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When You're Sick
When your sick I swear you still look amazing.
When your sick I know that noodles you r craving.
Ur still happy when your sick and never degrading.
So im gonna doctor you up and work on my painting.
I'll start with your toes, you have the cutest little toes.
Then I'll paint your finger nails. And get some on your nose.
You'll tell me they're good and I'll turn the color of a rose.
And anything you ask of me I'll say "I suppose".
I'll hold you and kiss you who cares if I get sick.
Making you feel better is all that matters and I can do it so quick.
If it would make you feel better I'd let you hit me with a stick.
But only for a bit. Because you hit hard an it'll hurt like sh**
poem by David duckworth
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Sick I Am...
i am sick...please don`t be sad...
i am sick...please don`t tell anyone...
i am sick...please forgive me if i hurt you...
i am sick...going so faraway from here...
i am sick...saying this only for you...
i am sick...maybe will never come back...
i am sick...remember me and never forget me...
i am sick...pray for me and wish me all best what you can...
i am sick...all wounds i have inside my heart...
i am sick...please don`t be sad...
i am sick... and you will never see me..
poem by Hazem Al Jaber
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Ol Ben Lucas
(kinky friedman)
Ol ben lucas had a lot of mucus
Comin right out of his nose.
He picked and picked till it made you sick
But back again it grows.
Well, ol ben lucas had a lot of mucus
Comin right out of his nose.
He picked and picked till it made you sick,
But back again it grows.
When its cotton picking time in texas,
Boys, its booger picking time for ben.
Hed raise that finger mean and hostile
Stick it in that waitin nostril,
Here he comes with a green one once again.
All right, pick it, eric!
Ol ben lucas had a lot of mucus
Comin right out of his nose.
He picked and picked till it made you sick,
But back again it grows.
Everybody!
Ol ben lucas had a lot of mucus
Comin right out of his nose,
He picked and picked till it made you sick
But back again it grows.
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Anybody who comes to the cinema is bringing they're whole sexual history, their literary history, their movie literacy, their culture, their language, their religion, whatever they've got. I can't possibly manipulate all of that, nor do I want to.
quote by David Cronenberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Holocaust was an obscene period in our nation's history. I mean in this century's history. But we all lived in this century. I didn't live in this century.
quote by Dan Quayle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fascism is a religion. The twentieth century will be known in history as the century of Fascism.
quote by Benito Mussolini
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wind The Pregnant Sky
wind the pregnant sky
like old clocks rescued by a magic mechanism of time
for the future it's got to eat
vortex pages history lame
walking through the gusts of wind
forgotten names spelled upon the moonbean
say them aloud
in fingertips breathprints
in eyes closing down
and to a beheaded lion rising
to pronounce again his own death
a baby griffin groaning at his paws
'I am the new desert of those sworn
on ashes for us to find the sandclock
you may tick me off tick me off
still the death I'll guard
tenderly like a mother lap and kiss
soulfully like a wound below the heart
know not the depth the secret and the claws
that ruin this mighty shrine
for sacred I am sacred i will die.'
wind the pregnant sky
there's a life to be delivered in pain
swallowed by muteness of an ancestral choke
cherish the foods for the future it's got to eat
vortex pages history lame
through the walk of sandy hours
the dinas and dust to the desert prey
bow to a bird bless her flight above
sunslides of the sky it will survive
to be your first epitome of light
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The Most Usual Evening
engrossed again
to the pages of the book
you keep that
silence
contemptible silence
unnoticed by
this poet
lost in the pages of his thoughts
into the labyrinths
of barriers
forgive me
but it will always be like this
the wings of
ponder
never rest
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Kiss kiss and kiss
Kiss kiss kiss me again*
Afterwards kiss kiss kiss my thoughts*
Then kiss kiss kiss my spirit*
Still kiss kiss kiss my shadow*
Don't forget to kiss kiss kiss my hair*
Repeated again kiss kiss kiss my face*
I'wanted to be kiss kiss kiss by you my brow*
Don't forget to kiss kiss kiss my cheek*
Afterwards kiss kiss kiss ears and my nose*
I'will like if being kiss kiss kiss by you my heart*
More kiss kiss kiss my lips*
Don't forget kiss kiss kiss with the love*
Repeated still kiss kiss kiss in the hope that we *
I'wanted to be kiss kiss kiss by you before i'slept*
I'hoped was kiss kiss kiss by you when i'opened the eyes and got up from my dream*
I'will like if being kiss kiss kiss by you my wish*
Don't forget kiss kiss kiss with your loyalty*
Kiss kiss kiss was our prayer together in the love*
G(-_-) (-_-) D
Chaotic Crossroads
History is in the making
But the larger question is
Should one History be erected
Upon the tombstone of another?
Should a limb of Democracy
Be amputated severely
To graft a piece of skin
On another one so hastily?
History is in the making
But at the crossroads, now utter chaos!
The road blockage is lengthening
The streets are now pitifully full of
Woes and loss and egos!
2011
The Memory Place
Shelves tower over me; crowed with bound pages
of events, people, places, ideas.
Of memories.
Of captured feelings pressed like flowers between the pages;
for people to be inspired by someone else's words.
My eyes caress the titles printed on bright spines
as I run my fingers across
what holds the memories together.
I pick up a book, turning yellowed pages,
the scent of gentle time traveling to my nose.
I close my eyes and smile:
it brings back memories of my own,
but these pages are not for me.
I put back the soft bundle of pages
and continued to search in the Memory Place
until I find my own belonging among the words.
poem by Zoe Guillory
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From Death To Death
What do I do with the words?
They hurt, they flourish without thoughts,
destroying the civilities.
The sky cannot hold the conflict.
The strange friction
of the image blurs the colors.
Love has become a cauldron.
A tough question
tries to penetrate in my skin.
I come out of my body,
peeling off the conflicts
from the timeless silence.
The voices of doom hang on the trees.
Somewhere the tears
turn into watermark.
Not afraid of afterlife
I am ready
from death to death.
Another autumn
will take away all my greens,
water & grace.
But primordial smile
has a history of matching a face,
with the dead.
poem by Satish Verma
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