The Black Argument
Driving the moment
you swoop on the clock
expanding the grief of
blue mind.
You said,
I want to know the name
of spilled blood on the dirt road
to freedom of thoughts. The noun
was more repugnant than the verb.
The crowd was becoming
restive.
You cannot raise your children
by feeding them with your hands
and making them sleep in your bed.
Where were the books? the scraps
and waste?
You could have identified the code
of forgotten gods.
poem by Satish Verma
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Related quotes
The Grammar Lesson
A noun's a thing. A verb's the thing it does.
An adjective is what describes the noun.
In "The can of beets is filled with purple fuzz"
of and with are prepositions. The's
an article, a can's a noun,
a noun's a thing. A verb's the thing it does.
A can can roll - or not. What isn't was
or might be, might meaning not yet known.
"Our can of beets is filled with purple fuzz"
is present tense. While words like our and us
are pronouns - i.e. it is moldy, they are icky brown.
A noun's a thing; a verb's the thing it does.
Is is a helping verb. It helps because
filled isn't a full verb. Can's what our owns
in "Our can of beets is filled with purple fuzz."
See? There's almost nothing to it. Just
memorize these rules...or write them down!
A noun's a thing, a verb's the thing it does.
The can of beets is filled with purple fuzz.
poem by Steve Kowit
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Verbs v. nouns
Nouns…
they’re dead things; names
you give to things to render them
immobile; to make them yours, your very own; fit for nothing
except scrapheaps, museums, dictionaries, armchairs;
but they make you feel good;
you have control over their world;
you don’t have to think about them any more;
they’re all locked up safe in your collecting-box,
the noun for which is head:
you can sound important with nouns:
this government’s raft of measures
for fiscal stimulation of the economy
but verbs… ah, verbs!
you can’t own them, push them about,
collect them, be important about them;
they own themselves;
they’re outdoor words: going about their
lawful business, doing what they're best at,
measuring their own life as they work;
adapting themselves to what needs to be done
which nouns can’t do without a committee
and then it’s too late; happy
to be themselves, being; even
being while they’re doing.. don't you wish
you were a verb?
Nature – (that’s a verb, by the way,
not a noun) – is all verbs; evolution
is a verb (not a theory):
DNA’s a verb – you can’t own it
like a noun…it doesn’t even
want to own you…
so, be a child – put your boots on,
run, splash, shout look at all those verbs;
how bright the world, what fun,
nothing to put in your pocket to take home
(or if you do, it’ll change to a noun, your noun,
in your pocket, in your drawer, gathering dust:
verbs don’t have the time to gather dust…)
verbs are for observing; verbs are for
seeing for the first time; wow! Verbs are for
inventors, explorers, tree-climbing,
coming home after a day of verb-watching
tired and looking forward to tomorrow
and sleeping soundly, maybe even
thanking, laughing, giving, living;
God is a verb.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Freedom And I
many a time i wonder
what's freedom is all about
the world and i
are so much obsessed
that when freedom does dawn
it's hardly ever discerned
pity, chained to the idea, the idea
in itself is taken for freedom
what's freedom worth when
in its name we collectively
and individually cling to that
misrepresented ideology?
when we spend last dropp of energy
in defending a clinging ideology?
can we ever free our clinging selves
from the chain
of grief
of bonds
within and without
and the resultant nightmares
that make us restive
in sleep as well wakefulness?
can we ever succeed in drawing
atleast one breath in that
one moment of fleeting freedom
and cherish it?
20dec2009
19.22hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Stage Coaches, Hands No Longer - How It Is How I Am Otherly Conformed
...because in that moment you'll have gone so far
I'll wander mazily over all the earth, asking,
Will you come back? Will you leave me here, dying? - Pablo Nerud
You ask out of the blue: How are you?
(You want to test the waters first)
My answer: I thirst
Going into the wild west, I am
I am stage coaches
Hands no longer in my lap or yours
In a country of glow worms there are
no retreats only circles of wagons overturned
petticoats surrendered
ubiquitous white moon of buffalo skulls
curved horns
a spider web dew-dropped
between parted lips where
an arrow always misses/
rots the over-spun plot
thin thin
with only
you the
main
Me?
How now I am all scalp
and lips savaged free
untethered from the noun
the verb of thee
Who's driving the coach the dust will never reveal
poem by Warren Falcon
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Let Us Begin
This song was first released on the one world album. it is the only album it appears on.
I am the son of a grassland farmer
Western oklahoma nineteen forty three
I always felt grateful to live in the land of the free
I gave up my father to south korea
The mind of my brother to vietnam
Now there's a banker who says i must give up my land
There are four generations of blood in this topsoil
Four generations of love on this farm
Before i give up i would gladly give up my right arm
What are we making weapons for
Why keep on feeding the war machine
We take it right out of the mouths of our babies
Take it away from the hands of the poor
Tell me, what are we making weapons for
I had a son and my son was a soldier
He was so like my father, he was so much like me
To be a good comrade was the best that he dreamed he could be
He gave up his future to revolution
His life to a battle that just can't be won
For this is not living, to live at the point of a gun
I remember the nine hundred days of leningrad
The sound of the dying, the cut of the cold
I remember the moments i prayed i would never grow old
What are we making weapons for
Why keep on feeding the war machine
We take it right out of the mouths of our babies
Take it away from the hands of the poor
Tell me, what are we making weapons for
For the first time in my life i feel like a prisoner
A slave to the ways of the powers that be
And i fear for my children, as i fear for the for the future i see
Tell me how can it be we're still fighting each other
What does it take for a people to learn
If our song is not sung as a chorus, we surely will burn
What are we making weapons for
Why keep on feeding the war machine
We take it right out of the mouths of our babies
Take it away from the hands of the poor
Tell me, what are we making weapons for
Have we forgotten
All the lives that were given
All the vows that were taken
Saying never again
Now for the first time
This could be the last time
If peace is our vision
Let us begin
Have we forgotten
All the lives that were given
All the vows that were taken
Saying never again, never again
Now for the first time
This could be the last time
If peace is our vision
Let us begin, let us begin
Words and music by john denver
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Country Red Dirt Road
Down that red dirt road
Off to the side I see
Cattle gracing in herds
Staring sweetly at me
Yes, the red dirt takes us
Past old farmyard barns
Farmers standing ‘round
Spinning red dirt yarns
Daisies waving by the side
Of the red dirt road so fresh
Brilliant colors perfectly
Blend in with all the rest
More cows by the fence
Watch as I go by
Driving a red dirt road
Sure does make time fly!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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The noun of self becomes a verb. This flashpoint of creation in the present moment is where work and play merge.
quote by Stephen Nachmanovitch
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Give me space, give me time
It is the hands of time that
Heals.let its hands caress
My weary thoughts. So much
Have been lost in my fingers
Slipping away. I walk down
The road now, to freedom.
Hand in hand with the tree
And twigs. Feeling the
Caresses of the leaves
On the road to my freedom.
Give me space. Let my wholeness
Occupy. I need to expand
My choking life. Give me time.
Give me the healing hands
Of time. Let me sleep on its
Palms. I am throwing my
Hands in the air. I want to fly
Now. Sensational. I must.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Let Us Begin (What Are We Making Weapons For?)
I am the son of a grassland farmer
Western Oklahoma nineteen forty three
I always felt grateful to live in the land of the free
I gave up my father to South Korea
The mind of my brother to Vietnam
Now theres a banker who says I must give up my land
There are four generations of blood in this topsoil
Four generations of love on this farm
Before I give up I would gladly give up my right arm
What are we making weapons for
Why keep on feeding the war machine
We take it right out of the mouths of our babies
Take it away from the hands of the poor
Tell me, what are we making weapons for
I had a son and my son was a soldier
He was so like my father, he was so much like me
To be a good comrade was the best that he dreamed he could be
He gave up his future to revolution
His life to a battle that just cant be won
For this is not living, to live at the point of a gun
I remember the nine hundred days of Leningrad
The sound of the dying, the cut of the cold
I remember the moments I prayed I would never grow old
What are we making weapons for
Why keep on feeding the war machine
We take it right out of the mouths of our babies
Take it away from the hands of the poor
Tell me, what are we making weapons for
For the first time in my life I feel like a prisoner
A slave to the ways of the powers that be
And I fear for my children, as I fear for the for the future I see
Tell me how can it be were still fighting each other
What does it take for a people to learn
If our song is not sung as a chorus, we surely will burn
What are we making weapons for
Why keep on feeding the war machine
We take it right out of the mouths of our babies
Take it away from the hands of the poor
Tell
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Gods We Become?
we kill...
'holy' hands forming gods
out of our paper bag hungers,
in the image of our fears.
we sacrifice blood,
in the name of redemption.
and the ghosts of the innocents
burn our thoughts and our eyes.
what kind of father
teaches his children
to kill each other?
are we bastards, or liars,
afraid of our sins?
even the earth we defile,
cries against us in anguish.
the morality we buy and sell,
is bitter to the taste.
the voice of the eternal,
lost in the din and the madness.
leaving only the tug of the wind,
the cries of small children
the whimper of stray dogs.
words written in charcoal,
on forever grey skies...
'i have come to you,
again and again,
in countless forms,
speaking your own languages,
wearing your own skin...
why have you forgotten me?
and who do you follow? '
the voice behind gods,
or the gods we become?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Ticking Clock....
Overwhelmed.....just need a place to sit....
the thoughts in my mind,
well....they just won't quit!
Funny how a clock can grab my attention,
you know.....
the kind with the seconds...
counting down.
As I loose my mind in thoughts of the day,
that click...the seconds....
I have to weigh...
I'm here...
I'm now...
then seconds are clicking....
So I have a thought.
Why am I wasting now?
Just how do I love this second?
I don't want to waste precious time....
the clock makes me hear my stupid whine....
Damn you ticking clock! ! !
Child Predators
whats going on in this world today.
another child taken
peoples lives are shaken.
blood of children spilled
this is not GODS will.
we are living in a society where children
can't be free, to run and play.
as they did before.
to return to their home nevermore.
we are adults, and it's our responsibility
to make sure that our children can see
that they're living in a democracy.
we must take away their fears that
are locked up inside.
when they see a stranger they
must run and hide.
look in their eyes and see their trust
is that asking for too much?
caylee, haleigh are just two.
change the laws is what we
have to do.
predators should not be on the streets
where children play and love to meet.
they should be in jails or asylums
and treated for the sickness within.
children should not have to pay
for their evil thoughts and sins.
poem by Louis Rams
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Tickity Tick Tock
can't sleep.
don't sleep.
won't sleep.
shan't sleep.
never sleep.
never sleep.
never sleep.
tick tock
tick tock
tickity tick
tock
tock
tock
the little hand drills a hole into my tired mind.
can't
tick
don't
tock
won't
tick
shan't
tock
never
tick
nev er
tock
never sleep
the clock keeps ticking
as my mind struggles to keep up
too many ticks.
too many tocks.
the clock's too loud
it echos through the silent night
too many thoughts
all at once
i need them on paper
scribble
tick
scribble
tock
that fucking clock
it never fucking stops
i cant fucking sleep.
a dog barks
tick
a car screeches
tock
a horse neighs...what?
i can't be that tired
i can't be hallucinating
i
can't
sleep.
don't sleep.
won't sleep.
shan't sleep.
never sleep.
i need a digital clock
Have We Become...
do we fill the empty plate
with spent shells?
the empty cup with spilled blood?
do we sing of freedom
at the funerals of the children?
scratch 'equality' on their headstones?
do we sacrifice murder on the altar,
while praying to gods made of stone....
do we write infinity with an oily brush?
just what the hell have we become?
poem by Eric Cockrell
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In Hell
You live by the book of wonders,
The book has hell on it when opened.
The inferno carries pits too grilling,
The grills are offered by devils,
Contagious diseases are handed over
To the body and bones, full of hatred.
A hell of books is opened by the librarian,
You choose a simple verb to read,
Then this verb is read, the verb that signals death.
Your death must never come by reading books,
Long scrolls so wonderful,
Of books the world is made
And the reason for books is reading,
Not living in Hell.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Revitalizing Your Life
there is nothing
too serious about this
game of
adding life to
some tired
cells by way of
simply smiling at the mirror
seeing a face that you really own and
then affirming what you are and
will always be
or
trying to change the color of your hair
or
cutting your fingernails
to make you
feel clean
and perhaps whole again
like a noun
connecting to the nearest verb
to tell
another chapter of your
story
that perhaps may
interest
those who are
shedding off days like
dirt on their
skin
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Into The Blue
Into the blue
Falling and falling
My love to you
Never again calling
Freedom is harmony
Dust on the roadway
Now at last I'm free
From what you've to say
My road is new
Take out your heart
You never were true
Only a fire start
Freedom is breaking
From breeze at night
New thoughts awaking
In Pegasus flight
Into the blue
Never again to wonder
Those times are thru
Each of their ponder
Freedom is liberty
No dark reaching out
Now at last I'm free
Flying my thoughts about
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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Wallflower
6x6 - from wall to wall
Shutters on the windows, no light at all
Damp on the floor you got damp on the bed
Theyre trying to get you crazy - get you out of your head
They feed you scraps and they feed you lies
To lower your defences, no compromise
Nothing you can do, they day can be long
You mind is working overtime, you bodys not too strong
Hold on, hold on
They put you in a box so you cant get heard
Let your spirit stay unbroken, may you not be deterred
Hold on, you have gambled with your own life
And you face the night alone
While the builders of the cages
They sleep with bullets, bars and stone
They do not see your road to freedom
That you build with flesh and bone
They take you out - the light burns your eyes
To the talking room - its not surprise
Loaded questions from clean white coats
Their eyes are all as hidden as their hipppcratic oath
They tell you - how to behave, hehave as their guest
You want to resist them, you do your best
They take you to your limits, they take you beyond
For all that they are doing theres no way to respond
Hold on, hold on
They put you in a box so you cant get heard
Let your spirit stay unbroken, may you not be deterred
Hold on, you have gambled with your own life
And you face the night alone
While the builders of the cages
They sleep with bullets, bars and stone
They do not see your road to freedom
That you build with flesh and bone
Though you may disappear, youre not forgotten here
And I will say to you, I will do what I can do
You may disappear, youre not forgotten here
And I will say you you, I will do what I can do
And I will do what I can do
And I will do what I can do
song performed by by Peter Gabriel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Noun Song
There are many types of different nouns
Plurals, possessives, and compounds
But today we are doing specific nouns
Listen first then sing it around!
This is the noun song
This is the noun song
Listen first then sing along
Listen first then sing along
This is the noun song
This is the noun song
Come on guys let's sing along
Come on guys let's sing along
Possessives are nouns that belong to you
Let's see what you can do
The more you use them the more you got
So come on now give it a shot!
FOR PLURAL:
The students' don't have any homework!
Apostrophe after s or it doesn't work!
FOR SINGULAR:
The student's dog ate his book!
S after apostrophe hey just look!
Dude this isn't a lie,
So come on now give it a try!
This is the noun song
This is the noun song
Listen first then sing along
Listen first then sing along
This is the noun song
This is the noun song
We'll sing it all day long
Come on guys let's sing along
Two words together is a contraction
Let me see, What's your reaction?
What's, let's, don't, can't,
You can do it,
YES YOU CAN! ! !
This is the noun song
This is the noun song
Come on guys just sing along
Come on guys just sing along
This is the noun song
This is the noun song
You can't get it wrong
So come on now just sing along!
When you're all by yourself
And you need more than one
Add an -s or -es
Then you'll find someone
And that is...
A PLURAL NOUN!
This is the noun song
This is the noun song
Come on just sing along
Come on just sing along
This is the noun song
This is the noun song
Come on guys let's sing along
Come on guys let's sing along
This is the noun song
We sang along!
poem by Mystykka Mysterious
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His Red Dirt Life
So many red dirt roads he’s traveled
Along his long red dirt life
Children born and raised with
His charming red dirt wife
A home was built and furnished
Upon his red dirt land
He’s done the very best he could
Always taking a red dirt stand
Red dirt roads that lead up to
A bridge to the other side
He tries to go right with the flow
Along life’s red dirt ride
And during that ride it seems
There are some pot holes in the road
But he just keep pluggin’ along you see
Just carrying his red dirt load
The streams and valleys continue
Until the end of his red dirt time
And when the sun beats down on him
He loves to see that red dirt shine!
poem by Marilyn Lott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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