Years Ago In Textile Showrooms...!
Years ago in textile showrooms
Eye-rivetting model replicas were on disply
Of both gents and ladies in great style
In ivory skin-tones looking gorgeous
In neatly dressed up colourful costumes
As if angels and fairies are treading on flower-feet
And blowing away our minds and thoughts
Dreaming passionately for a real life companion
With no heart to tear away our lingering looks!
In stage two, pitch-dark shapes
In uncaring looks and immodest postures
In so-called all modern outfits
Usurped these angels' glass-temples
Paining our looks with disgust!
There came stage three, these models
Again presented with still more atrocity
In clean-shaven heads, o both sexes,
In bitumen dark colours in featureless faces
With unbearable matchless costumes!
In stage four nowadays in showcases
An array of tar-black headless trunks
Represent the most modern men and women
As if someone unable to bear these ugly replicas
In utter fury had chopped off their heads,
Wearing hats in propped up sticks
With garments that sore our eyes,
Reminding nowadays one needs no brain nor head
Nor looks and charms to jump into these garments!
Lo..what about stage five?
Would there be monkeys and mongrels to greet in style?
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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Related quotes
There are many stages to a man's life. In the first stage, he is young and eager, like a beaver. In the second stage, he wants to build things, like dams, and maybe chew down some trees. In the third stage, he feels trapped, and then 'skinned.'' I'm not sure what the fourth stage is.
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Life's Last Curtain Call
The stage is empty, the curtain drawn
So loud the silence, everyone gone
The presentation, a life so dear
Has abruptly ended, the angels near
Life is so fragile, never to take for granted
The seeds we sow in life, will be what we planted
Be thankful for each and every breath you take
And for the morning sun when you awake
Your time on this stage will be so brief
Then the curtains called and so much grief
Help your brother and be pure in heart
And go with the angels when you depart!
By Dogs4donna
poem by Donna Nimmo
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Get Off The Stage
Oh, you silly old man
You silly old man
Youre making a fool of yourself
So get off the stage
You silly old man
In your misguided trousers
With your mascara and your fender guitar
And you think you can arouse us ?
But the song that you just sang
It sounds exactly like the last one
And the next one
I bet you it will sound
Like this one
Downstage, and offstage
Dont you feel all run in ?
And do you wonder when they will take it away ?
This is your final fling
But then applause ran high
But for the patience of the ones behind you
As a verse drags on like a month drags on
Its very short, but it seems very long
And the song that you just sang
It sounds exactly like the last one
And the next one
I bet you it will sound
Like this one
So, get off the stage
Oh, get off the stage
And when we get down off of the stage
Please stay off the stage - all day !
Get off the stage
Oh, get off the stage
And when weve had our money back
Then Id like your back in plaster
Oh, I know that you say
How age has no meaning
Oh, but here is your audience now
And theyre screaming :
Get off the stage
Oh, get off the stage
Because Ive given you enough of my time
And the money that wasnt even mine
Have you seen yourself recently ?
Oh, get off the stage
Oh, get off the stage
For whom, oh ...
For whom, oh ...
For whom, oh ...
For whom, oh ...
Get off the stage
Get off the stage
Get off the stage
For whom the bell tolls
song performed by by Morrissey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Who I am on stage is very, very different to who I am in real life. But I don't see that having a sexy image when you are on stage means that you don't love God. No one knows what I'm really like from that. I like to walk around with bare feet and I don't like to comb my hair. I'm always so glammed up and so diva on stage and that's what they see. People don't understand that... No one knows my personal relationship with God and it's not up to me to prove that to anyone.
quote by Beyoncé Knowles
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Happiness in change of stages
I went on foot to far away school.
Then I rode on a bicycle with a pride.
Later two-wheeler took me to pedestal.
Now a car. In each stage I was happy.
In each stage the intensity was same.
Every up stage is a happy stage
till it is replaced by the next stage.
31.12.2000, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Angel With A Dark Side
I like to imagine how you really are—
An Angel with a dark side—Mysterious and—
Heavenly— yet dressed in black—with—an—
Affinity for things that go bump in the night.
True beauty in the Flesh—my Dark Angel—
Not sent from up above to save humanity—
Just to save me—and heal yourself in the process—
Real Angels are not dressed in white with a
Golden Halo around their heads—I have seen—
A Real Angel—they are dressed in Black and have—
Tattoos and piercings—more beautiful than the Angels
That the fairy tales speak of—A real Angel has felt hurt—
And happiness—and battles demons on a daily basis—
Angels are a rarity—the real ones are anyway—
But—an Angel with a Dark side—Is the Rarest of
All Angels—The Darker her wings—the more pain and
Hurt and love and happiness she can feel—because a real
Angel—with a Dark Side—is one that has been to Hell and back—
That's how she earned her Wings—if you are ever lucky enough
To catch an Angel—with a Dark Side—love them—they are special!
poem by Dougie Fresh
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Morality is a venereal disease. Its primary stage is called virtue; its secondary stage, boredom; its tertiary stage, syphilis.
quote by Karl Kraus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We are fast approaching the stage of the ultimate inversion: the stage where the government is free to do anything it pleases, while the citizens may act only by permission; which is the stage of the darkest periods of human history, the stage of rule by brute force.
Oh, The Hats At Ascot
Oh, the hats at Ascot,
What a wonderful show on view,
Ladies parading,
Horses invading
The Course, for a race or two.
Oh, the hats at Ascot,
With all their bows and frills,
The fantastic styles,
And the Ladies smiles,
Will always give one such thrills.
Oh, the hats at Ascot,
An event that is Oh so true,
Just to outshine,
And look divine,
Is what the Ladies do.
Oh, the hats at Ascot,
Are way out and so very fine,
And with the Queen,
One must be seen,
As one watches the select equine.
Oh, the hats at Ascot,
Seen up and down the Course,
A glass of champers,
And gourmet hampers,
And a win on your favourite horse.
Oh, the hats at Ascot,
Which the Ladies heads do grace,
The Gents black toppers,
And the Champion Show stoppers,
Are all at this fashionable place.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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We Are Warriors Of Our Own Life
Depressions are the games of minds…
A journey through the eyes of the believer
Soul breaking is sometimes so awful
Brave on… and face the odds upfront
The smile that melts the heart
Some conversation can be pleasant
Will last for long in our minds
We are here to fill…
The emptiness of the life's stage
Carry on with normal life
Sometimes…..
We have to take what we hated most
The bitterness and the pains
Love is complex and complicated....
But once you have had it
It’s going to be a rollercoaster ride.....
All the way
A tear is a sign of purity
Love is a many splendid things…
A plain life is a real life
Sweet surrender of words that heal....
The world is the stage and we are the actors
A book is my world…
A friend in needs is a friend…..
We greet to a good deeds
A true friend will give you money
When u don't have none
It’s like……….
Father to child bonding
Holy and sacred
Fate is something written
Upon our faces but we can not see
Sins of depleted innocence
Suicidal inflicted by courage to die.....
We’re warriors of our own life
poem by Sulaiman Mohd Yusof
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Putting words on hold
some words, some elaborate words
they have not acquired a life
in my system, so they shall not have
the chance to grace my humble stage - the page
i reckon they are still in the makeup stage
bewildering over which colours
to choose for their cheeks, nails
as well as the most flamboyant
outfit to go with them all
until they claim a character
of their own, they shall be held
in silence behind the large red curtains
of my academic stage
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Stevie D Jimmy And Melodie
Melodie adores Stevie D,
she compliments his style of dress to a T.
She has the memory of going to City Place
Stevie goes on the Improv comedy stage
Stevie does comedy and entertains.
Melodie laughs with Jimmy Dean,
it is one funniest acts they have ever seen!
Then Jimmy is next to go on stage,
his act is funny it's all the rage.
Melodie is then to be seen,
she is with Razel puppet and me.
Lighters light up in the air,
wild whistling everywhere,
Razel yells without a care,
'You know why I have no pupils? '
right before Melodie can jump in-
Razel has finished her line and committed the sin.
People are shocked and begin to talk.
Lights go out and Razel starts to shout,
I bow with the girls before I walk out.
What a time in 2005, where the Improv Stage comes alive.
Sharing the stage with Stevie D, Jimmy, Razel and Melodie.
poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Stages Of Development
Every life goes through stages,
stages of development.
It starts with our birth,
the first stage in our lives,
and ends with our death,
the final stage when we
evolve to a higher plane.
Each stage along our journey
prepares us for our final stage
and the journey
that has to be taken by us all.
18 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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Each department of knowledge passes through three stages. The theoretic stage; the theological stage and the metaphysical or abstract stage.
quote by Auguste Comte
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Modern Poets And Modern Poetry
Modern poets and modern poetry seem far too complex to understand
For such as I a common labourer from the boglands of Ireland
Though whether it be good or not so it is not for me to say
As I'm not a poetry critic and so I'll keep my tongue at bay.
Maybe some of these modern poets are special and the poems they write are great
And maybe they are superior thinkers writing from exalted state
Most poetical critics now acclaim them and prefer the modern style
And 'twould seem that modern style poets are now the in thing and their efforts seem worthwhile.
But for me it's old style ballad, give me good old fashioned rhyme
To the modern style of poetry I'd prefer it every time
Like I say I'm just a labourer from the boglands of Ireland
And the complex modern style of poetry is far too hard for me to understand.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Convulsions of an old stage actress
Oh! The cracked lips are like a severe drought.
And the sunburn skin as an Ethiopian race.
Her sleepless eyes caught a bygone memory.
She was admired on the stage when the curtain raised.
And the incessant rain of clapping, where were they gone?
The playful audience.
Still she acts in the life-drama but no spectators.
The stage is almost dark and she hears the faraway theme song gradually draws nearer.
She does the rehearsal; 'Stagecoach has come with all the horses,
Before it gets dark I have to pass the woods.
So I leave the script here for my brothers & sisters and the drama is not yet over.'
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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X-ray inferno
They called me to be an extra
They did not know I had a camera in my soul
For some all the worlds a stage
For some all the stage is the world
Wonder if the great one knew this
When he shook his spears
I was in between
Neither the real actor nor the real lifer
Perhaps this was each interpretation gave up
The stage I was standing on
I could not grasp the text even though I got it in time
Perhaps it was quite enough for a stage
Certainly not for a life
Act 1 and its main character
He had a face unto which
An invisible hand of law left the visible scars
A quite sufficient number of them for a drama
He had those eyes hesitating between comedy and tragedy
There was laughter in one eye and tears in another
He laughed the way the dramaturge ordered him to do
But he cried quite independently
He had those arms destroyed by uncreation
He never knew the text as he had no camera in his soul
Great words of great minds so frequently he stammered
Little did he understand even less did he rehearse
He was a great actor but on this stage
Under the spotlight all he did was stand frozen
Act 2 The Prompter
He was in collusion with the sky
The Hermes of a contemporary theatre
He flattered all the laws of life
He knew exactly how low to go down into his box
So as to avoid the knocks from the stage
He knew exactly what and when
To whisper the texts into whose ears
He had known the text by heart
Even before it was written
Great words of great minds he recited out of his underground darkness
And he always knew the right moment
Because he knew everything about time
He never acted but he was a real lifer
He made more than art out of whispering
And put enormous effort into his role
Up to the point of having vocal cords damaged
Act 3 Dramaturge
His life role was creating illusion dramat urgent
He lived by apparitions and apparently lived
He was a little god of his own creations
He walked the planks his spirit split
He borrowed life to text without a single doubt
In any single moment
That stage is just an attempt of life
However
He knew how to make other not to doubt that
And that was all his power
With the sword of an illusion he cut the greatest actors
Even the greatest lifers feared him
He never doubted that he was just a slave of an endless creating
Whose purpose cannot be seen due to doubt
Peripeteia
A drunken night officer set fire to this theatre
Burning down deus ex machina as well
AD 2000 copywRITE of DESERT FeARTtre S&M HEARTiculated by M.O.
©Miroslava Odalović
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Players
The summer leaves in autumn fall
covering grass and garden walls.
A passing page on life’s stage
soon forgotten as the next season calls,
a circling unforgiving tide
that carries with it our passing lives.
Players are we upon the stage
of life’s ever turning page.
We live today and pray for tomorrow
that we may again grace the stage
of its next passing page.
And so life goes on
from birth and beyond
as players on the stage of life.
23 June 2009
poem by David Harris
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Centre Stage
There were times when I was young
I wanted to be centre stage,
the one everyone screamed to for more
whenever I sang my song.
As the years progressed
and I could see it wasn’t going to happen,
I grew content to sit in the stalls
and watch someone else take the applause.
I realized that centre stage
wasn’t where I wanted to be
and that I could entertain
just by being me.
I did not need a spotlight
to show the sparkle in my eyes.
I did not need to dress up
to be someone I wasn’t,
I didn’t need a centre stage,
I only need to be me.
I didn’t need glitz and glamour,
just an opportunity to give others pleasure
from any talent that I had.
I didn’t need the centre stage,
but just a means of escape
and just be ordinary me.
20 March 2010
poem by David Harris
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This stage
…
This stage will change
At any stage.
Bear it in mind.
Then you will find
No gay when up,
Nor pain when down.
03.01.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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