To Dr. Thomas Shearer
Presenting a portrait-bust of the author.
Since you, rare friend! have tied my living tongue
With thanks more large than man e'er said or sung,
So let the dumbness of this image be
My eloquence, and still interpret me.
poem by Sidney Lanier
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Rare Friend
I will be your rare friend;
Spend many hours meditating on your success.
I will be your rare friend;
Be there for you when you are not at your best.
I will be your rare friend;
One who will take you home when your legs tire.
I will be your rare friend;
And will be beside you when go through the fire.
I will be your rare friend;
When others abandon you and laugh at you.
I will be your rare friend;
Not caring the color of your skin or what you do.
I will be your rare friend;
I will be your rare friend because its true, I am you.
poem by Saint Eule
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Tongue Tied
Before I spoke
Your voice was moving here
The water safe
This way
That way
I feel his thoughts
Your choice
It's all there
There comes a time to find
Piece of mind
Take some time to let go
'Cos I wanna know
So tongue tied
I can tell what's on your mind
So tongue tied
But I want you by my side
And I wait
And I wait here for a while
Just to see your smile
So tongue tied
I can tell what's on your mind
The day I mean
A sign a world too
To get you back in mine
For a time
The cloudy phase
But I do wanan hear from you
The only one to feel
In a here
You have a mind of your own
And I wanan know
So tongue tied
I can tell what's on your mind
So tongue tied
But I want you by my side
And I wait
And I wait here for a while
Just to see your smile
So tongue tied
I can tell what's on your mind
We appear there is fear
Be right here
So tongue tied
I can tell what's on your mind
So tongue tied
But I want you by my side
And I wait
And I wait here for a while
Just to see your smile
So tongue tied
I can tell what's on your mind
song performed by by Holly Valance
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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CAN'T TRUST THE BUST...by talile ali
CAN'T TRUST THE BUST
CAN'T TRUST THE BUST
CAN'T TRUST THE BUST
SUCCUMB TO LUST
CAN'T TRUST THE BUST
EVERY TIME I WALK AROUND
THEN SUDDENLY SEE A WELL SCULPTED PAIR
ALL OF A SUDDEN I FEEL A RUSH,
TOTALLY DAZZLED, JUST HAD TO BE THERE
SO FRAZZLED, BOUNCING WITHOUT A CARE
CAN'T TRUST THE BUST
CAN'T TRUST THE BUST
SUCCUMB TO LUST
CAN'T TRUST THE BUST
DON'T MATTER IF THEY MATCH OR NOT
REAL SATISFACTION, AND THAT'S SAYING A LOT
MY HANDS AND LIPS ARE IN CONTROL
I LOVE THEM BREAST, THEY ARE MY GOAL
CAN'T TRUST THE BUST
CAN'T TRUST THE BUST
SUCCUMB TO LUST
CAN'T TRUST THE BUST
poem by Talile Ali
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The unutterable Brotherhood
My elder brother and best friend 'Lalith' who taught me to read & write
And lot of things about the fading life.
He is a good chess player, photographer and sailor as same as a rare good human being.
I am worried of him being a bachelor.
He too writes poetry and I received a letter today including this sad poem;
All the trees,
All the singing birds,
And the little fish in the pond,
Even the gentle wind
That blows through the garden,
Yes...., all of them
All, except the flowers in the garden
Understand my heart very well.........
When I interpret my dreams
They become desires
And when I interpret my desires
They become dreams again........
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Dont Bust My Chops
Im sick and tired of you calling me names Im sick and tired of your childish games
Im sick and tired of your bullshit brats cocaine stupor and anxiety attacks
Picked up the magazine, I see your face youre nothin boy, a goddamn waste
With the lamest fashions on your back youre never happy, a hypochondriac
Dont bust my chops, baby, dont bust my chops
Dont bust my chops, baby, dont bust my chops yeah
Youre a styling queen and an alley cat too many chocolates keep a fat man fat
Youre a pain in the ass, and your on the loose all I get from you is your bad attitude
Dirty mouth, its all I can bear get outta here bitch, cause youre nowhere
Always wearin that cheap perfume can always tell when youre in the room
Dont bust my chops, baby, dont bust my chops
Dont bust my chops, baby, dont bust my chops ah
Dont bust my chops, baby, dont bust my chops
Dont bust my chops, baby, dont bust my chops
Dont bust my chops, baby, dont bust my chops
Dont bust my chops, baby, dont bust my chops alright
song performed by by Ramones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Friend Unseen
He is my other friend..
A strange image but a tall one.
He chit chats less, makes rare visits,
And never eats with or says 'see you'.
He is a guy who wasn`t there by me before
He is my other friend...
A breeze of the kind across the phases of my summer,
A soft hand touching my wounds for a healing.
My other friend is there by me.
He is a guy who is seen around my small abode.
In the depths of the torments
Inflicted by the rest and the well known
My other friend surfaces like a pearl.
He lifts me up from the nadir of despairs.
Oh unknown spirits, who is this guy?
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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Love is coloured.
That music has no language
Is not containable.
The song sung in your
Mother tongue is the sweetest.
The song sung by the one
You love is the sweetest
.
Music has language.
Love has image.
07.03.2002, Pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Her Prayerful Breath
She sat on the grass
beneath the summer sun
looking at you
as if for the first time
and as she looked at you
you looked beyond her
at the distant sky
and how the clouds
resembled a woman’s bust
and how humorous it was
when an airplane
went right through
on its way to some far off land
and as she took your hand
she said things about love
and how she felt
and did you feel the same
and you taking the image
of the airplane
and woman’s entered bust
said oh yes of course
trying not to let it show
on your 14 year old face
how funny that image seemed
and not realizing how deeper
and more loving she was
back then beneath
that summer sky
with you thinking
of that day and her
and her later death
and you hearing
in the silence
of the drawn out dawn
her soft words
in her prayerful breath.
poem by Terry Collett
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Presenting yourself
Presenting yourself
In all poems
And directing me
To write
This and that
Calling these fine
You made me great.
Living in this earth
I'm thankful to you
I'm just an instrument
In your hand
I'm getting self respect
Honour with family
Kith and kins
Friends and well-wishers
You appreciate me
And you made me great.
Presenting yourself
In everything and
Doing everything
Only for me
You made me great
Thanks and it is
I know not sufficient.
I'm nothing
You are really great.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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The Image of a Friend
As I look through the window of friendship,
I see in the gentle wind,
The whispered breeze of an angel,
It is in the image of 'friend'.
This friend has a heart of compassion,
Caring that comes without end,
The giving of love to others,
Characterizes my dear friend.
This friend has hands that carry,
The load of your burdens with ease,
Hands that will hold others' problems,
Grasping with love, not to cease.
This friend has eyes, understanding,
That see to the heart of a soul,
Eyes that are never condemning,
But rather see new ways to grow.
This friend has ears that listen,
And hear the call of a friend,
Ears that will cherish the moment,
And take the time to lend.
The image of friend described here,
Is the picture I see in my mind,
When I look through the window of life,
Your image is what I find!
poem by Jean Penner
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Early Works - Tooter
For Maurice Callard
The Great Gatsby in his forte
from the old man’s tears
to a group twinkling in the garden.
Alas, this is not my exercise,
I am supposing to big head the tooter.
I am supposing to what?
Oh yes, what he represents to me.
Well, let me see
a fellow author, a good-looking fellow.
Yes, I would agree with these.
Now what about his bad points?
You say he hasn’t any.
Well just one or two.
What are they you ask?
You cannot think of any at the moment.
Well, never mind we’ll discuss the good points in some depth.
A fellow author.
Well, yes, he is good in fact,
some might even say quite brilliant.
A good-looking fellow.
Well, with the romantic look of Robert Redford
and ruggedness of Clint Eastwood
need I say anymore?
A good teacher,
I don’t think there are any complaints.
Look, I’ve been going for five years,
but maybe I’m a slow learner!
A very helpful fellow.
Yes, I would agree with this.
I agree with anything,
but above all my comedy
and jest my work purposes.
I find him a good friend and honest critic
no author could ask for more.
25 March 1981
Authors Note:
This was written tongue-in-cheek about my good friend for nearly twenty years. When I read this out at one of his classes, everyone had a good laugh including Maurice himself. To me he was not only a teacher, friend but at times a surrogate father as my own father had no time for my writing. Although he is no longer with us all who knew him, miss him.
poem by David Harris
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Sonnet: The Tongue
Tongue, the muscle belly in the mouth’s floor!
That grandmothers used to narrate folklore;
With sensors to taste the food that we eat,
And speak fluently with neighbors who cheat.
The boneless tongue gives creatures satiety;
In misdemeanor, speaks words so nasty;
The tongue-tied man cannot speak out too well;
The one with a long tongue argues like hell.
The tongue can emit both a soothing word,
And also cut like a double-edged sword;
The tongue helps one to sing a sweet song,
And touch one’s nose-tip whenever too long.
The tongue can start a war or conclude it;
Some stars use it for their kissing habit.
poem by John Celes
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A Song Thats Sung..
A song that's sung
tells more than a story
a song that's sung
is sung from the heart
a song that's sung
is a story from the soul
a song that's sung
is the greatest love
a song that's sung
is a give from above
a song that's sung
is an emotion in a melody
a song that's sung
can be whatever you want it to be
a song that's sung
can have a million meanings
a song that's sung
is a diary of emotions...
poem by Emily Summers
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Just Another Day
It's a day like any other, A day to expect
Except
It's full of surprises
Trying to draw a portrait is tough
Because nothing that can be drawn is ever enough
A picture cannot represent who you are
It's not even close but far
Because paint, yolks, plaster, and pencil don't make a man
Instead what makes a man is not what is shown
But what is inside; the character grown
There is no artist who can
Show who I really am
Because even my appearance
Is about as trustworthy as chance
So painting a portrait is fleeting
And yet sometimes chance is a true friend
A trusted confidant that does bend
To your will even if unintentional
But when chance is on your side it's magical
With just a roll of the dice you get what you want
Even if you didn't know you wanted it
Double snake eyes is rare
But two sets of double is a scare
And yet as I said before, when chance is on your side
It's a wonderful surprise
So somehow this is what makes my day
Even those things that might not last, they're important I say!
Sometimes it's just those simple joys
That make this just another day, but a day to remember.
poem by David Knox
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Sonnet # 333
Sometimes to silence I myself commit,
Or oftentimes it seems is tied my tongue,
But now in writing I`ll my heat permit
To give you thanks with all of it that`s young.
Thanks for your help, your kindness that does show.
Thanks for your time, you williness to work.
Thanks for the job you do with nothing low,
And my return excuse too poor to perk.
There`re roses, roses beauteous beautiful,
And roses beauteous beautiful inside.
I like to think you are one wonderful
Because your beauty to the heart is tied.
So gentle, modest me do call you a friend,
And with this line my sonnet now does end.
poem by Luis Estable
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Presenting statues of honor to reporters for covering an earthquake is like presenting a first prize to a doctor for performing surgery.
quote by Phil Donahue
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Boyscout
He was a friend
of a friend.
A dirty undercover cop
that would set you up
and then bust your ass.
Selling drugs,
or guns,
or minors,
and then,
once caught,
for a price,
let you go,
and sell it
all
elsewhere.
I met him again
in his bar
doing a choke
kill all
hold
on a fat child
selling peanuts
He was drunk:
I knew
as he had left his gun
behind. Him
having the urge
and the tendency
to fire it
when drunk.
I didn't’t like what I saw,
but him being a friend,
of a friend
and a man
you:
living on the edge
in the gray zone
of the written law
didn't want as your enemy,
let it slide,
having sold out
of morals for less
than that,
like a god lay
or momentary oblivion.
I left at five
having sampled
and tried
everything
but the minors.
poem by Carsten Thomsen
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The Ah Goo Tongue
The queerest languages known to man,
Sanscrit, Hebrew, Hindoostan,
Are all translated and made as free
And comprehensive as A B C.
Yet the oldest language talked or sung,
The strange mysterious Ah Goo tongue,
The royal language of Babyland
No man living can understand.
Every soul in the world to-day
Was one time anchored in Babyland Bay,
And quarantined there for a year or more
Before he even could step on shore.
And everybody in Babyland Bay
Talks the Ah Goo tongue, so people say,
But once on land-why not a word
Do they understand of it when 'tis heard.
For the fairy rulers of Babyland
Who guard the kingdom on every hand,
Have willed that no one shall keep the key
Who crosses into the Grown-up Sea.
So the sweet court language has never been made
A common parlance of strife or trade,
But is kept in the kingdom where natives come
Versed in the language of Babydom.
They are all of them royal and that is how
The Grown-up people all kneel and bow,
When they hear that language talked or sung-
The strange mysterious Ah Goo tongue.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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It was an argument of rare power and eloquence.
quote by William Henry Moody
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Life Fatigue
Ahead of him my life revolves,
Agriculture is the best of whims,
My karate is exactly all that dissolves
Into fine powder, the silliest limbs.
Batting is the game we play
To take away the very cricket;
This is the game of a way
That my life revolves, this portrait.
Fatigue is the problem of a cockpit
To build life, inner light of conference;
My cocktail presides, past of a benefit,
The one befitting us and this eloquence.
My concert is bigger than most,
Wild living is grand at a chance,
We’re the ones the ones to boast,
Just the pitch of music to enhance.
poem by Naveed Akram
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