The Aggravation
Hallowed be the academics
all those worldly astute
So be all the ill bred
and ones intellectually destitute
Endured I have their follies
and the toxins they continually spew
With warped their sensibilities
doubt my perspectives as gone askew
Having logic shrunk to triviality,
to plain gabble they are confined
With me treated as a sounding board
to their tirades get consigned
poem by Sunny Chopra
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Related quotes
From Love to Friendship
If you would have me love once more,
The blissful age of love restore;
From wine's free joys, and lovers' cares,
Relentless time, who no man spares,
Urges me quickly to retire,
And no more to such bliss aspire.
From such austerity exact,
Let's, if we can, some good extract;
Whose way of thinking with this age
Suits not, can ne'er be deemed a sage.
Let sprightly youth its follies gay,
Its follies amiable display;
Life to two moments is confined,
Let one to wisdom be consigned.
You sweet delusions of my mind,
Still to my ruling passion kind,
Which always brought a sure relief
To life's accurst companion, grief.
Will you forever from me fly,
And must I joyless, friendless die?
No mortal e'er resigns his breath
I see, without a double death;
Who loves, and is beloved no more,
His hapless fate may well deplore;
Life's loss may easily be borne,
Of love bereft man is forlorn.
'Twas thus those pleasures I lamented,
Which I so oft in youth repented;
My soul replete with soft desire,
Vainly regretted youthful fire.
But friendship then, celestial maid,
From heaven descended to my aid;
Less lively than the amorous flame,
Although her tenderness the same.
The charms of friendship I admired,
My soul was with new beauty fired;
I then made one in friendship's train,
But destitute of love, complain.
An Old Workman
Warped… gland-dry…
With spine askew
And body shrunken into half its space…
Well-used as some cracked paving-stone…
Bearing on his grimed and pitted front
A stamp… as of innumerable feet.
poem by Lola Ridge
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Logic suffers
Desire blurs the logic.
Passion wounds the logic.
Fear maims the logic.
Rage kills the logic.
They spring from instincts
To protect the self
And hence ignore the logic.
Logic is meant for the third person.
24.06.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Suspendancy
Suspendancy
Pendant pictures often hang askew
as if, personnified, they knew
most artists’ channelled tunnel view
is t[a]inted travesty seen through
perspectives missing rendez-vous
currrent observers’ key into.
Art is becoming ambigu,
bears tenuous relation to
contemporary contexts – true
and false corkscrew as red, green, blue,
suffice no longer, out of cue
compared to wave-length capture new
afforded by enhanced retinal cones
to ultra-violet spectrum sensor zones
22 April 1978 revised 11 March 2009 robi3_0154_robi3_0000
previously entitled Painted Pictures for previous version see below
Suspendancy_19780422_Pendant pictures often hang askew ROBIN Jonathan 1947_20xx robi3_0154_robi3_0000 SXX_MXX
ROBIN Jonathan 1947_20xx robi3_0154_robi3_0000 SXX_MXX Suspendancy_Pendant pictures often hang askew
Painted Pictures
Painted pictures, pendant, all-askew: -
as if their absent owners somehow knew
that every artist’s airy-fairy view
is but a t[a]inted travesty! - Untrue?
22 April 1978
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The belief that we are what the media says we are, what people perceive we are, is soon to be what we think we are. We are treated based on this warped perception. It is hard to get away from it.
quote by Kevin Eubanks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Logic
'Tis strange, but true, that a common cat
Has got ten tails, — just think of that!
Don't see it, eh? The fact is plain:
To prove it so I rise t'explain.
We say a cat has but one tail:
Behold how logic lifts the veil!
No cat has nine tails: don't you see
One cat has one tail more than she ?
Now add the one tail to the nine,
You'll find a full ten-tailed feline.
As Holmes has said, in his "One-Horse Shay,"
Logic is logic; that's all I say.
poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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As It Is In Heaven
Lyrics: traditional
Music: michael w. smith
Our father, which art in heaven
Hallowed be thy name
Our father, which art in heaven
Hallowed be thy name
Thy kingdom come
Thy will be done
On earth as it is in heaven
Our father, which art in heaven
Hallowed be thy name
Hallowed be thy name
Our father, which art in heaven
Our father
Hallowed be thy name
Hallowed be thy name
Thy kingdom come
Thy will be done
On earth as it is in heaven
Give us this day
Our daily bread
And forgive us our debts
As we forgive our debtors
Our father, which art in heaven
Hallowed be thy name
Our father, which art in heaven
Hallowed be thy name
And lead us not into temptation
But deliver us, deliver us from evil
For thine is the kingdom, and all the power
And the glory
Forever amen
Our father, which art in heaven
Hallowed be thy name
Thy kingdom come
Thy will be done
On earth as it is in heaven
song performed by by Michael W. Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Destitute & Loosin
Im destitute and loosin, all that I got.
I got too much booze in me, oh, and Ive been smokin a lot.
Sometimes I wish my memory, didnt serve me so good.
Maybe then I wouldnt think of the world, but you know that I would.
cause Im ...
Destitute and loosin, all of my mind.
But I know I got to meet my maker children, at the end of the line.
Nothing good lasts forever, not on this earth.
Im a victim of circumstance, my mistake was my birth.
cause Im ...
Chorus
Destitute and loosin, sure cant be choosin.
Destitute and loosin, sure cant be choosin.
Im destitute and loosin, Im loosin my way.
There will be no more choosin, come the judgment day.
Theres no place for me to go, but, I know darn well.
When it comes time for me to leave here, Im going straight, straight down to hell
cause Im ...
Im destitute and loosin, Im losin my mind.
Said, Im destitute and loosin, children, loosin all the time.
Ive never been a winner, at nothing Ive done.
I know that Im a sinner, and you know my time is come.
cause Im ...
Chorus
Chorus
Ive been soooo ... low children, I just dont know which way to go.
Lord, you know I just dont give a fuu ...
song performed by by Grand Funk Railroad
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Continually our love surprises me
Continually our love does me surprise,
as sometimes you bring me pain
and sometimes you hold on to me
while sometimes it feels as if I am reaching into a whirlpool
but sometimes you take away everything bad.
Continually our love does me surprise,
and sometimes tears run over your cheeks
but sometimes it's as if the sun shines through your eyes
and sometimes you hold on to me
while our love is much stronger than just a maybe,
and I am smitten by the look on your face.
Continually our love does me surprise,
as if new depths continually comes to it,
you become part of my awareness
and sometimes you hold on to me
and it's as if we perfectly fit into each other's lives
while continually you are part of me, of my existence;
continually our love does me surprise,
and sometimes you hold on to me.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Of De Witt Williams On His Way To Lincoln Cemetery
He was born in Alabama.
He was bred in Illinois.
He was nothing but a
Plain black boy.
Swing low swing low sweet sweet chariot.
Nothing but a plain black boy.
Drive him past the Pool Hall.
Drive him past the Show.
Blind within his casket,
But maybe he will know.
Down through Forty-seventh Street:
Underneath the L,
And Northwest Corner, Prairie,
That he loved so well.
Don’t forget the Dance Halls—
Warwick and Savoy,
Where he picked his women, where
He drank his liquid joy.
Born in Alabama.
Bred in Illinois.
He was nothing but a
Plain black boy.
Swing low swing low sweet sweet chariot.
Nothing but a plain black boy.
poem by Gwendolyn Brooks
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The want of logic annoys. Too much logic bores. Life eludes logic, and everything that logic alone constructs remains artificial and forced.
quote by Andre Gide
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blue Sky Memories (In Answer To O Ingrid Jonker, For Daleen)
Blue sky memories continually comes to me
of a day under a bright summer sun
as if a part of you stays lingering,
when I love you even more (if I could)
while continually you are snared in my remembering.
Even when times of bad weather want to come
there is an unbreakable bond between us,
while continually I am astounded by our love.
Blue sky memories continually lingers in my thoughts
when I forget all of my previous heartaches,
when continually I am lost in you
and I always know about the depth of our love.
The sparkling sun continuously brings new hope,
when we walk days, months and years together on a road.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Not of Matched and Mated Souls
Should one who speaks with malice,
Be expected to understand...
After saying something that offends,
And then grandstands in a public reprimand?
Should love forgive and let live again?
Is it okay when one of upperclass...
Degrade the ones who keep them paid,
By making comments said to demean
And with such esteem and crass!
It makes no difference who they are...
When tirades spoken.
Are just small tokens.
Of the dark and depthness...
A deftness honed to spew,
From an uncloaked shattered past
Without class and viewed.
Someone with these memories,
Burns inside with hate...
And the venom that boils within their hearts,
Will never change with condolences they make!
They are not of matched and mated souls!
Something has left a hole in them,
Nibbling to destroy and eat their bleak fates!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Feeling At 1: 04am,27/11/10
A night of mares
A night of many stares
A night when you appear hopeless
A night you seem helpless
A night you stand to be hapless
When you are treated like a dog
Noisy and best only in barking
When you are treated like a frog
Assummed cold blooded and best only in frowning
When you are treated like a log
Lifeless and best only in sleeping without a feeling
When you are treated like a criminal in the synagogue
Ruthlessly and left decaying
When you are treated myopic as if in fog
half blind and short of seeing
When you are treated as one who can only jog
slow and lame in running
When you are treated like a bog
With no respect, dirty and best only for waste disposing
When you are treated like a dog, a frog, a log, a bog
Will you stop doubting
Will you be a healthy person to be living?
poem by Julius Lenjatin
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The Moon and the Nomad
t is a long night.
The vehicles zoom on the highway,
Leaves ruffle,
The moon is veiled by pollutants.
The moon chokes,
Struggles to regain its serenity,
A nomad tries to purge the toxins,
The nomad knows he is somehow responsible for the discomfort.
The moon was used to purge itself from all toxins,
For the first time it needed the nomad,
The nomad was in pain too,
The moon wished to regain its tranquility to ease the nomad.
The night is long,
The nomad has a long way to go beyond the moon and the stars,
The moon is icy cold,
The toxins are consuming the moon.
poem by Susmita Biswas
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Pick Up The Pieces of The Mess That's Made
Pick up the pieces of the mess that's made.
Make sure no remnants get,
To be left kept as toxins.
Pick up the pieces of the mess that's made.
And don't have one regret,
This challenge you have met!
Pick up the pieces of the mess that's made.
Make sure no remnants get,
To be left kept as toxins.
Pick up the pieces of the mess that's made.
And don't have one regret,
You've met the challenge that's been swept.
Don't let this creep into your sleep.
As if a daydreamed lover,
Is a desire you wish to meet.
Get up and beat this need fatiguing.
If you want a peace of mind...
Don't become weakened by routines,
You know should be left behind.
No need to keep this stored and neat,
As if this is sublime.
Pick up the pieces of the mess that's made.
Make sure no remnants get,
To be left kept as toxins.
Pick up the pieces of the mess that's made.
And don't have one regret,
This challenge you have met!
Pick up the pieces of the mess that's made.
Make sure no remnants get,
To be left kept as toxins.
Pick up the pieces of the mess that's made.
And don't have one regret,
You've met the challenge that's been swept.
Make sure no remnants get,
To be left kept as toxins.
Make sure no remnants get,
To be left kept as toxins.
Pick up the pieces of the mess that's made.
And don't have one regret,
This challenge you have met!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Grocery Cart's lament
I see them on the higways and throughways
abandoned under bridges
or trucking the obligato of some homeless urchin
like a destitute's sation wagon
I've seen them stripped bare
toppled and lifeless
straining the filth of a cement river
I saw one hurled from an arch
crushing the sturdy chrome skeleton
the wheels askew and writhing like broken limbs
I saw one bearing a case of bottled water
and a bawling child
a mile from the store
poem by George Murdock
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Perspectives
We all tend to look at the world
from different perspectives,
mainly good or mainly bad.
Most perspectives are trained
on the bad and the good is pushed aside.
You read in the newspapers almost everyday,
and all the time the bad is all you hear.
The good deeds done are just merely shoved aside.
27 May 2008
poem by David Harris
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Enduring M's.
Mosquitoes have endured long
Biting people
The same old story of
Insects causing plasmodium
Marriage has endured long
Bonding people
The same old story of
Interested adults wed
Money has endured long
Buying people
The same old story of
Inflated goods sold
Misery has endured long
Bullying people
The same old story of
Injured hearts bled
Motherhood has endured long
Bearing people
The same old story of
Incarcerated fetuses freed.
poem by Samuel Nze
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A Boy in Church
“Gabble-gabble,… brethren,… gabble-gabble!”
My window frames forest and heather.
I hardly hear the tuneful babble,
Not knowing nor much caring whether
The text is praise or exhortation,
Prayer or thanksgiving, or damnation.
Outside it blows wetter and wetter,
The tossing trees never stay still.
I shift my elbows to catch better
The full round sweep of heathered hill.
The tortured copse bends to and fro
In silence like a shadow-show.
The parson’s voice runs like a river
Over smooth rocks. I like this church:
The pews are staid, they never shiver,
They never bend or sway or lurch.
“Prayer,” says the kind voice, “is a chain
That draws down Grace from Heaven again.”
I add the hymns up, over and over,
Until there’s not the least mistake.
Seven-seventy-one. (Look! there’s a plover!
It’s gone!) Who’s that Saint by the lake?
The red light from his mantle passes
Across the broad memorial brasses.
It’s pleasant here for dreams and thinking,
Lolling and letting reason nod,
With ugly serious people linking
Sad prayers to a forgiving God….
But a dumb blast sets the trees swaying
With furious zeal like madmen praying.
poem by Robert Graves
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