Monilia
Irreverent arsenic of lake bottom
was seeping in me
I was riding on waves, moon-stuck.
The nude shot
of anemone, blindfolded
after the criminal assault.
Why they were throwing the lewed comments?
A raw cave
of white pain, drags the deity out
and dances on hawthorns.
The butchers become sick,
sick to the bones.
O democracy, king was not wise,
wise was not king.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Sex Never Goes Out Of Fashion
She's the kind of girl who likes to do it stand up
From the back or anyway you want it, love
From the top if you keep it going all night
You're as good as the next for a fun time
Lookie here like a rabbit on the dancefloor
Party girl like you comin' in the back door
"c'mon boy, give it good, give an encore.."
Never leave a hungry sister begging one more
You keep it good and she'll beat you at your own game
Flip a switch and she's crying out her own name
Keep a lady happy as a little lamb
Give her head and you're riding on a sure shot
It's a sure shot... Honey, it's a sure shot
It's a sure shot, sure shot, sure shot
It's a sure shot... Honey, it's a sure shot
It's a sure shot, sure shot, sure shot
It's a sure shot... Honey, it's a sure shot
It's a sure shot, sure shot, sure shot
Wham bam slam it like a mama's man
Baby's on her back doin' the can-can
Such a babe-licious poco loco
Make her bob, make her beg and sweat it hardcore
Honky tonky lovin' keep her trembling
Funky style's never out of fashion, man
Keep it fresh with something for the weekend
Get some, daddy... You're riding on a sure shot
It's a sure shot... Honey, it's a sure shot
It's a sure shot, sure shot, sure shot
It's a sure shot... Honey, it's a sure shot
It's a sure shot, sure shot, sure shot
It's a sure shot... Honey, it's a sure shot
It's a sure shot, sure shot, sure shot
A little bit more
(Down her legs)
A little bit more
(Down her back)
A little bit more
(Down her neck)
A little bit more
(Down her arms)
A little bit more
(Down her breast)
A little bit m
song performed by by Garbage
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fairy tale queen [Crăiasa din poveste]
White and brightly shining mists
Spins the moon, like airy shields,
Then it spreads them over streams
And across the fallow fields.
Flowers gather on the loom
Where the spider web is thrown
Hanging on the black night's gown
Many beads of precious stone.
Near the lake, on which the clouds
Warped a shade as black as night,
Which the waves break here and there
As if they were balls of light,
Putting the tall reed aside
Bends the maiden, shy and grave,
Throwing roses red like blood
Over the enchanted wave.
Looks ahead to see a face
Where the water's really stirred,
For the lake has been spellbound
By Saint Wednesday's witty word.
And to make the face come out
She is throwing roses young
For they all are surely charmed
By Saint Friday's clever tongue.
She is looking... Her blonde hair
And her face are lit by moon,
While within her deep blue eyes
Fairy tales will gather soon.
poem by Mihai Eminescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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Dancing On Leash
It was a failed attempt
to employ the eternity
for breathing.
Iris, I cannot find the moon
behind the rainbow, when
I was throwing petals at your feet.
O, white truce of anemone,
why phosphrous was given up
at the fall of an oak?
In heaps of praises,
a monologue of the lamb
in the den of lions.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rough God Goes Riding
Oh the mud splattered victims
Have to pay out all along the ancient highway
Torn between half truth and victimisation
Fighting back with counter attacks
Its when that rough God goes riding
When the rough God goes gliding
And then rough God goes riding
Riding on in
I was flabbergasted by the headlines
People in glasshouses throwing stones
Gaping wounds that will never heal
Now theyre moaning like a dog in a manger
Its when that rough God goes riding
And then the rough God goes gliding
Therell be nobody hiding
When that rough God comes riding on in
And its a matter of survival
When youre born with your back against the wall
Wont somebody hand me a bible
Wont you give me that number to call
When that rough God goed riding
And then that rough God goes gliding
Theyll be nobody hiding
When that rough God goes riding on in
Riding on in
When that rough God goed riding
When that rough God goes gliding
Therell be nobody hiding
When that rough God goes riding on in
Riding on in
Therell be no more heroes
Theyll be reduced to zero
When that rough God goes riding
Riding on in
Riding on in
Riding on in
Riding on in
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Reflection of God
Thoughts are like ripples,
gently flowing over
the surface of the mind.
Deep inside us
we bear the image of God,
the ripples of thought break that image
into fragments.
It is as if you are looking in
a lake full of ripples-
It is a full moon night,
and the lake is reflecting
the beautiful moon.
But the lake is full of ripples
You cannot gather the moon together;
the moon goes on splitting
into a thousand fragments.
The whole lake seems to be
spread over by the moon-
the silvery beauty, softly broken apart;
many a fragments is seen floating-
all around.
Then the wind stops,
the ripples disappear:
those fragments start falling into one moon.
The silver that was spread
all over the lake,
now becomes more concentrated
into one place - into one moon.
When the lake
is completely without ripples,
the moon is reflected perfectly.
God is reflected perfectly
when there is no ripple in you.
poem by Nazmul Haque
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Moon-Lake
i
the moon
crying
moon-lake
ii
war
comes early
and silently...
iii
the baby
smiles
at the gun
aimed for
it's head
iv
the smile
lingers
as life
goes
silently
coldly
v
red moon
crying
moon-lake
of blood
vi
the killer
looks up at the moon
and says of it
'it's beautiful
tonight'
vii
war
co mes early
and silently...
viii
the moon
moon-lake
poem by Jacques du Lumerie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Surfer Moon
Theres a moon in the sky somewhere I know
Waiting for all the love to burn below
If you fall and it happens all to soon
Blame it all on the surfer moon
neath the hill hind the cloud one dreamy night
Rising up throwing down its golden light
If your heart hears this melancholy tune
Then youll know its the surfer moon
Brings the tide in
Takes it all away
Helps us ride in
Brings us waves each day
I say
Other moons have brought light and love before
Promising to remain for evermore
But they all disappeared with each new tune
They make way for the surfer moon
Moon
Moon
Moon
Moon
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Arsenic sticks around and today it's easily found after death if somebody thinks of looking for it, because the problem with arsenic, it isn't looked for in the common tests for drugs.
quote by Michael Baden
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Shot The Sheriff
By bob marley
I shot the sheriff, but I did not shoot the deputy.
I shot the sheriff, but I did not shoot the deputy.
All around in my home town
Theyre trying to track me down.
They say they want to bring me in guilty
For the killing of a deputy,
For the life of a deputy.
But I say:
I shot the sheriff, but I swear it was in self-defense.
I shot the sheriff, and they say it is a capital offense.
Sheriff john brown always hated me;
For what I dont know.
Every time that I plant a seed
He said, kill it before it grows.
He said, kill it before it grows.
I say:
I shot the sheriff, but I swear it was in self-defense.
I shot the sheriff, but I swear it was in self-defense.
Freedom came my way one day
And I started out of town.
All of a sudden I see sheriff john brown
Aiming to shoot me down.
So I shot, I shot him down.
I say:
I shot the sheriff, but I did not shoot the deputy.
I shot the sheriff, but I did not shoot the deputy.
Reflexes got the better of me
And what is to be must be.
Every day the bucket goes to the well,
But one day the bottom will drop out,
Yes, one day the bottom will drop out.
But I say:
I shot the sheriff, but I did not shoot the deputy, oh no.
I shot the sheriff, but I did not shoot the deputy, oh no.
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Nude Artist
A Nude Artist
he says he is a nude artist
because he is naked when he paints
such nakedness has
nothing to do with being a nude artist
a naked artist who paints a cat or a chicken
is not a nude artist
there is no nude cat
thyere is no nude chicken
just paint a naked woman
and he will be called a nude artist
an artist is not an art
he must know that
- Frog Mantra, Accents Publishing,2012 -
poem by Suchoon Mo_
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dreaming
Going nowhere.
Stuck in middle of road.
Bruised castle.
A paradise,
thinking about windows.
Air palace.
Lips to lips in grass,
moon to moon. Roses
jumping on lake.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Across The Lake Unto The Sky
Across the lake
Unto the sky
There bloomed a rainbow
To feast my eye
That late afternoon
After a brief spell of rain
When my heart was still
Entangled with the lake's heart
There the sun rushed in
Leaving the lake half-thirsty
The archer hiding deep under the lake
Aimed and shot an arrow
At the unruly sun and left
His bow across the sky
As if telling the sun 'beware! '
Lo, vanished the sun in fright
The lake had its fill!
Do you hear the clouds applaud?
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Across the Lake Unto the Sky
Across the lake
Unto the sky
There bloomed a rainbow
To feast my eye
That late afternoon
After a brief spell of rain
When my heart was still
Entangled with the lake's heart
There the sun rushed in
Leaving the lake half-thirsty
The archer hiding deep under the lake
Aimed and shot an arrow
At the unruly sun and left
His bow across the sky
As if telling the sun 'beware! '
Lo, vanished the sun in fright
The lake had its fill!
Do you hear the clouds applaud?
poem by Indira Babbellapati
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Soul Dies
Sky overcast, moon was sad.
Ashes were sent to the lake.
Who killed the bird in morning rain?
Ashes were sent to the lake.
A hidden slaughterman did not die.
Ashes were sent to the lake.
The good old name now spells the doom.
Ashes were sent to the lake.
I will call you in pitch-dark night.
Ashes were sent to the lake.
Ascending gods have ruined my life.
Ashes were sent to the lake.
A child was stolen from a mother’s bed.
Ashes were sent to the lake.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I never got hurt when I was in Morocco doing all the horse riding and my own stunts. But on the last day on the last shot I slid off my horse and landed on my bottom. I did not get hurt but it was very embarrassing.
Know what you're trying to do before you do it. Turning knobs at random isn't enlightening any more than throwing paint at a wall blindfolded will let you paint a nice picture.
quote by Steve Albini
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter II: Criminal
Good criminal will judge like a cop
Bad criminal will think as a victim
Smart criminal will use the brain
Fool criminal will be burned by emotion
poem by Maria Sudibyo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I love being irreverent. But I hate being irrelevant. I love being irreverent because at the end of the day your actions belie your intentions.
quote by Esai Morales
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I Could Be The Moon
i could be the moon
where you can be a body and a
shadow
i could be a lake where
the moon may shine
and you can still be the body
and the shadow
and the voice
i could be a candle in the dark
where you may put
your hope and you can still be the
body and the shadow
and the scent
i could all be your moon
your lake and your candle
and you can still be the body and the shadow
and you shall walk
under me (if i were the moon)
and around me (if i were the lake)
and you may have the power
to put me off (if i were just a candle
in the dark
where you are the body
and the shadow and the voice
and by the mere sigh
of your whimper
i may die
so i still prefer to be your moon
or your lake so i can be your full light
so i can be your mirror
larger than your body
not helpless to your shadow
in silence, i still like to be myself
not a slave, not someone whom you can just
give away as easily as a flicker of a candle
as fickle as you are
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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About Her (Villanelle)
She having filthy finger nails like that of a workingman
She being found down by the shore, of Ice Lake
She being the frozen nude woman
She being the apparent victim of a madman
She being pretty like a one of a kind snowflake
She having filthy finger nails like that of a workingman
She, being frozen solid! Said the newsman
She being, negative 33 degrees below zero for God’s sake!
She being the frozen nude woman
She, must be vindicated by the hangman
She must be accounted for, never to forsake
She having filthy finger nails like that of a workingman
She must have a name? Asked the police man
She must have had some identification for heaven’s sake
She being the frozen nude woman
She was a beautiful woman
She is now but a-heartache
She having filthy finger nails like that of a workingman
She being the frozen nude woman
poem by William Cavanagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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