Fresh Battle Infusions
lick wounds
impaled oozing sacrifices
histories pages
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Related quotes
How Bizarre Picasso's Guernica
had a strange bizarre idea
an explosive expression of force
a kind of Kung Fu high ya
to write split images
slicing Picasso's Guernica
are ambitious goals
‘Counting Skeletons
Maze Masterpiece War' cannon fodders
expendable human wave attacks
counting skeletons
military civilians animals
far too complex figures
for mind dumb numb critics
expecting classical critiques
lacking Geneva Conventions
tone deaf paint strokes
powerfully counting skeletons
symbolist blood cubism's
splitting images
is poetic cubism slices
shifting images
lenses
original concepts
shifts
heightened are purifications
lenses through looking glass
quality intensity frequencies
window frame shattered glass
reflects no light dust disembowels
nail polish veneer shade layers
behold I am the light sparks
cast upon yonder wall outpourings
what colours abuses decays?
images screaming ghosts
paper mache bull's horns
tearing apart peace dreams
bits of newspapers
blue shadings
ripe purple bruises
a red tear streams
from screaming eye woman's
nightmare deletes
colours
so must Picasso's
images
final phases
defeat reeks
flesh decays
monochrome metal monsters
political black white gray tones
felt impact descent bomb blasts
evokes deaths
flesh sufferings
war insanities
lick wounds
impaled oozing sacrifices
histories pages
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lick It Up
Dont wanna wait til you know me better
Lets just be glad for the time together
Lifes such a treat and its time you taste it
There aint a reason on earth to waste it
It aint a crime to be good to yourself
Chorus:
Lick it up, lick it up, its only right now
Lick it up, lick it up, ooh yeah
Lick it up, lick it up, come on, come on
Lick it up, lick it up
Dont need to wait for an invitation
You gotta live like youre on vacation
Theres something sweet you cant buy with money - lick it up, lick it up
Its all you need, so believe me honey
It aint a crime to be good to yourelf
Chorus
Come on - its only right now (its only right now)
Ooh yeah (ooh yeah) ooh yeah (ooh yeah), yeah yeah
Chorus repeats out
song performed by by Kiss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pages Of Time
In fields, multi shaded green
lie the bodies that are unseen.
The have laid there before records began.
They died from various causes,
some violent, some peaceful
and were soon forgotten
amongst the pages of time.
The fields are filled with colours
when the flowers start to bloom
so the dead lay quietly in the earth far below.
Their secrets gone with them
as did the struggles in their life.
Their histories remain a mystery
locked within the pages of time.
26 November 2008
poem by David Harris
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Society mends its wounds. And that's invariably true in all the tragedies, in the comedies as well. And certainly in the histories.
quote by Charlton Heston
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Sneak a Little Lick
Don't...just...
Fuzzy up and cuddle on a peach.
Or sneak up peeping,
When you should be eating!
Every single piece of it!
You can...
Leap up and down behind the scenes.
Screaming about your future,
And...
Destiny!
But don't...
Sneak a little lick,
Then leave.
Don't you,
Sneak a little lick,
Then leave!
Don't,
Sneak a little lick.
Sneak a little lick.
Sneak a little lick,
Then leave!
Leap up and down behind the scenes.
Screaming about your future,
And destiny!
If that's your wish...
To pick it up to ditch!
But,
Don't you...
Sneak a little lick,
Then leave.
Don't you,
Sneak a little lick,
Then leave!
Don't,
Sneak a little lick.
Sneak a little lick.
Sneak a little lick,
Then leave!
Don't...just...
Fuzzy up and cuddle on a peach.
Or sneak up peeping,
When you should be eating!
Don't you...
Sneak a little lick,
Then leave.
Don't you...
Sneak a little lick,
Then leave!
Don't,
Sneak a little lick.
Sneak a little lick.
Sneak a little lick,
Then leave!
Leap up and down,
If that's your wish.
But that peach found,
Might be your gift.
So pick it up and eat it!
Don't you...
Sneak a little lick,
Then leave.
Don't you...
Sneak a little lick,
Then leave!
Don't,
Sneak a little lick.
Sneak a little lick.
Sneak a little lick,
Then leave!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The histories of mankind are histories only of the higher classes.
quote by Thomas Malthus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Villanelle: Blackbird
The freakish cawing from the blackbird’s bill,
In autumn after other birds had fled,
Impaled the air and signaled winter’s chill.
I stood and listened, savoring the thrill
And wondered why the superstitious dread
The freakish cawing from the blackbird’s bill.
Perhaps they’d better reckoned why the shrill,
Outspoken, charcoal guardian of the dead
Impaled the air and signaled winter’s chill.
A witness of the seasons, it could fill
A tome or tomb with woe: I heard, instead,
The freakish cawing from the blackbird’s bill.
The raven’s kin, it played the brazen shill
And, morbid incantations having plead,
Impaled the air and signaled winter’s chill.
But as I yearn to hear the robin’s trill,
I think of when, now comforted in bed,
The freakish cawing from the blackbird’s bill
Impaled the air and signaled winter’s chill.
poem by Richard St. Clair
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Wounded Liars
May we lick the wounds of liars
To qualm their furious outpour;
Pouring from their veins are words
Too strong, too fast and talkative.
The liar of strength shall prove his prize
To be at the centre of the Earth;
Find him or herself to proudly batter
With the sportsman’s trick, a good punch.
May licking the wounds be doubted
By the ones who defeat, who conceive
Different thoughts and ideas so solid
And illness-filled, too much has event.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Hugh Everett's work has been described by many people in terms of many worlds, the idea being that every one of the various alternative histories, branching histories, is assigned some sort of reality.
quote by Murray Gell Mann
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Book with Four Backs
I put our books face to face
so they could talk.
They whispered about us.
I put yours on top of mine.
They would not mate.
Like poor dumb pandas in the London Zoo,
they would not come together.
I put them back to back.
They would not sleep.
I put them right side up to upside down.
They would not lick each other's wounds.
The night we met
you fed me fish eggs & dark beer.
We spoke of animals & Shakespeare.
You talked about acidic inks & papers.
You told me how our books digest themselves.
You laid the pages of your body over mine.
You printed my face with kisses.
The letters fell into a heap under our bed.
The sheets were dust.
The fish eggs swam our mouths.
poem by Erica Jong
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The Hollows round His eager Eyes
955
The Hollows round His eager Eyes
Were Pages where to read
Pathetic Histories—although
Himself had not complained.
Biography to All who passed
Of Unobtrusive Pain
Except for the italic Face
Endured, unhelped—unknown.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Dogs are wise. They crawl away into a quiet corner and lick their wounds and do not rejoin the world until they are whole once more.
quote by Agatha Christie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In An Old Diary
Faded pink petals
tween old yellowed pages
In a time worn ol’ diary
Filled with eras and ages
Leaves, red and golden
Pressed between old yellowed pages
Of old diaries beholden
to lives unfolded stages
Still linger on pages
Faint aromas and memories
Of phases and stages
All now, long lost histories
Tarnished brass clasps
Still holds e’er so tight
As did young hands once grasp
To their breast in the night
Fervent feelings writ in faded black ink
Young hopeful yearnings from the past
Love and longing, an enduring link
Diaries, as do lives, grow old e’er so fast
on withered old hands one laid on the other
Lines of blue veins trace out as a map
In repose on a tattered old cover
Of an old diary, in an old lady’s lap
poem by David Whalen
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Epics Are The History
Ancient stories are held as histories;
Recent histories are built as stories.
We are misled by both about the past
And what is perceived from it is a myth.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Dear Diary
i am writing like i am talking to you dear diary
my true friend
mama and papa died a long time ago
and i am left with some wounds and scabs and
some injuries that refuse to hear about those
that must die and go away
today, i will tell you something but i will not write it
in your pages
i am happy because i do not think anymore
i am happier because i do not have to write anymore
i am happiest because now i live in my mind away from the
the cage of your pages, i have learned to live and fly away like a bird
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Loser
the loser is ruled
by anger
it is licking the blood
oozing from its
wounds
it is like a dog
yelping
but there is no
master around
to help it
it is looking for a house
but it is far
the loser looks at
you now
as its enemy
it refuses any memory
of you
it rests under a big rock
taking the shelter
of the shadows
of its past.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It's Oozing...
I am loving the feel
Of the way
It is oozing...
Wet and Warm,
Soft and Tender,
White and Clear
With a misty smell
Nature's Spell -
Feel at home
With the way
It is oozing...
Drop by Drop,
Flows and Stops
Flows again...
Stops to Pause
And makes me feel
Like an amorous woman.
And then it again
Oozes...
I love the smell
You would too
On such oozing days
I really miss you.
I am sure, you would
Love the taste of it too.
Though I leave it to you
How you would like to
Lip it, Sip it,
Savouring...
Every dropp of it.
Come to me,
When you are thirsty
And I'll quench you.
Do let me know
How best I can serve you.
Would you like to
Follow me down
To drink me divine
From my oozing Yoni?
Or
Would you like to
Explore, finger and feel,
The source of all my oozes,
The smell of all that amuses
The oozing woman in me,
And the thirsting man in you?
Pray, do let me know
How you want to explore -
And I'll take you to the Forest
Deep down there...
And amongst the many,
Soft and tender, supple and slender,
Layers and layers of love and warmth,
You will savour the taste,
The feel and the smell,
Of Nature's Spell -
That succulent, juicy
Nectar of mine
The oozing Amrit
Of my dripping Yoni.
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Destiny Life Leaf Pages
manuscripts we all life write
destiny life leaf pages
some leave empty pages white
others shimmer reflecting light
some smear pages with dirt
record chaos rip rub out hurt
how shall we fill manuscript pages...
poem by Terence George Craddock
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The gentleman
A gentle man is who makes petty sacrifices.
He has an eye for sacrifices in return.
He never hurts nor pleases unintentionally.
01.07.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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How I Am For The Freedom God Has Given Me
God wants to remove all your doubts concerning who brings the victory in your life.We fear-sacrifices. But the thing is that we also make what sacrifices. When we are not living in the will of God.
poem by Susan Garelick
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