Related quotes: The birds Cutthrough The blue

Sky Soup

The birds
Cutthrough
The blue—
Thick, azure porridge
Of the astral plane.
Steam building,
Billowing in
Cumulonimbus clouds
Blowing in thhhhecool front.
The aluminum wings
Of an airplane
Tear a ____
Through it allllllllllllllllll,
` The stew drains simmering—
A whirlpool bent around the jagged edge
Of the sunbeams emanating
From the soup
We call a sky,
It all mixes
With alphabet letters
And faces
And animals
And images
That we'd like to think we seeeeeeeee
But who knows?

It just spills from the bowl
I call my head.
Quench
My thirst throat,
Parched of nature's saliva,
The water,
Brain juice
Stream of consciousness
Pouring down my esophageal tube
Parachuting.
I'm hungry
For something soothing
To sip up with my eyes.
I'm starving
Scrawny,
So the broth of stellar noodles drips in my empty gullet,
Churning in my stomach,
Squashing and squinching
Squeezing in my mind's canteen.
The ceruleandraping
Cascades
Crush My ocular nerve,
Foam wiping my white washed, subfuse pupils
Clean. Sky soup.

poem by Tim Stensloff
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Related quotes

Sexual Soup

A man so sick that the sexual soup
cannot save him -

the chicken soup of sex
which cures everything:
tossed mane of noodles,
bits of pale white meat.
the globules of yellow fat
like love...

But he is a man so sick
no soup can save him.

His throat has healed into a scar.
Rage fills his guts.
He wants to diet on dust.

I offered to feed him
(spoon by spoon)
myself.

I offered my belly as a bowl.
I offered my hands as spoons,
my knees as tongs,
my breasts as the chafing dish
to keep us warm

I offered my navel
as a brandy snifter.

"My tongue is gone," he said,
"I have no teeth.
My mouth is with my mother in the grave.
I've offered up my hunger to the air,
my nostrils to the wind,
my sex to death,
my eyes to nothingness & dust."

"What do you lust for then?"
I asked.

"I lust for nothing."

poem by Erica Jong
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You cook vegetable soup

You cook vegetable soup
and I look at you
while you cut green beans,
carrots, onions, celery, parsley
and tomatoes into two pots.

There are herbs, spices
and pepper that you are scattering
and two types of soup powder
that you throw in
and the pots steam and buzz
while I am washing the dishes
and the smell
makes me hungry
and I wonder
if the soup
are going to taste as good
as it smells.

We drink tee
and there’s medicine
that you give for flu
to me
and it’s great
to be with you
to read the look
in your beautiful eyes.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Soup Of The Day

Well she thinks shes looking so cool
She thinks shes great but shes just a fool
What awful lack of class makes this kind behave this way
I look and only think of one thing to say
Soup, shes just soup
Soup of the day
Shes thin around the waistline
Thin around the brain
You see this type so many times
Time and time again
How could they really think
Theyd be treated in any other way
Everybodys looking and everybody say
Soup, shes just soup
Soup of the day
Well youd think theyd know better
That behaving in this way
They think theyre being clever
But I really have to say
Youd better think it over
Youll regret it one fine day
When the circus partys over
And you were just soup of the day
Shes just soup
Soup of the day

song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Anger Shot Toward Heaven

A simmering storm
In my soul, swelling with rage—
A shallow sadness
Veiled by the clouds of passion—
Disembogues itself,
Drenching the dry vagaries
Of my mind, so parched
Through the steam and pouring rain,
Approached where the cold wind comes.

poem by Tim Stensloff
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Sound Floats Across Water

Sound floats across water.
Water falls steadily.
Steadily skitters down drains
To drain energy.
Drain away existence.
The slow churning river we call life,
Churning ever on,
On to oblivion.
Oblivious the river flows
Drowns out the human cry.
Relentless in its rush to the sea.
See it empty,
Empty us,
Drown us.
Sink us with a wash of disappointment.
Washing our souls clean.
Washing us away.
Clean off the earth's face.
Faced with oblivion.
Forgotten we forget.
Lose ourselves.
Are lost.
Sound flows across water.

poem by Paul Brookes
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Double Slit

Humor
humor and soup
and philosophy
and dreams of artificial splendor -
a thick, black turd
floating in the punchbowl
of life's
over inflated
expectations

a stream
a stream of thought
a stream of consciousness

does consciousness stream?

perhaps

but
I hear tell
that it moves
both as a particle
and a wave

©MMVI Derek R. Audette

poem by Derek R. Audette
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When the wind started blowing in the afternoon

When the wind started blowing in the afternoon,
some African red-knobbed coots rose in a screaming row,
while the sun hanged over the water red like fire

and the twilight only lasted moments
while they flew past with slapping wings,
when the wind started blowing in the afternoon,

I felt a light breeze blowing against my cheek,
there was serenity and peace that came to me
while the sun hanged over the water red like fire,

there was a kind of bliss in nature
when dappled Egyptian goose also tried to avoid me,
when the wind started blowing in the afternoon,

I was caught by the sheer beauty,
I heard the call of birds cutting through the reeds,
while the sun hanged over the water red like fire

while the sky was darker and no more azure,
while ducks glide magically through the water,
when the wind started blowing in the afternoon,
the sun hanged over the water red like fire.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Alphabet Lost And Found

On this fateful day, in the history of whenever,
An epidemic of missing letters has swept the land.
Whatever the cause, for the sake of future generations,
In the limited time we have been permitted, these stories must be told.
There was an apple that lost his 'a'
There was a zebra that lost his 'z'
There was a chauffeur that left his 'auffer' on the dashboard
Of the car that lost its 'r'
Well, the car had lost its 'r' in a pothole
On a street that lost its 'e'
When the garbage collector with a missing 'ector' swept it up
With a broom that lost its 'oom'
Where they gonna go without their letters?
How could they survive without their letters?
Where they gonna go to find their letters?
They gonna have to get together-
At the alphabet lost and found (alphabet lost and found)
At the alphabet lost and found (alphabet lost and found)
There was a school that lost its 'cool'
when they tired to ring the bell that had no 'l'
With all the letters gone, the spelling bee was canceled
Science teachers had their hands full
English classes could not be complete
Where they gonna go without their letters?
How could they survive without their letters?
Where they gonna go to find their letters?
They gonna have to get together
Where they gonna go without their letters?
How could they survive without their letters?
Where they gonna go to find their letters?
They gonna have to get together
Crowds of people, animals, and incomplete words have been seen at a previously unknown place to be referred to as-
The alphabet lost and found (alphabet lost and found)
At the alphabet lost and found (alphabet lost and found)
At the alphabet lost and found (alphabet lost and found) (how could they survive without their letters)
At the alphabet lost and found (alphabet and lost found) (they gonna have to get together)
At the alphabet lost and found (alphabet and lost found) (they gonna have to get together)
At the alphabet lost and found (alphabet and lost found) (they gonna have to get together)

song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thirst

My spirit wails for water, water now!
My tongue is aching dry, my throat is hot
For water, fresh rain shaken from a bough,
Or dawn dews heavy in some leafy spot.
My hungry body's burning for a swim
In sunlit water where the air is cool,
As in Trout Valley where upon a limb
The golden finch sings sweetly to the pool.
Oh water, water, when the night is done,
When day steals gray-white through the windowpane,
Clear silver water when I wake, alone,
All impotent of parts, of fevered brain;
Pure water from a forest fountain first,
To wash me, cleanse me, and to quench my thirst!

poem by Claude McKay
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When I was a young man, I had a mentor on women and he said when you meet a woman that you think you like, don't ask her for a drink. Take her out for a bowl of soup. Because a woman who can enjoy a bowl of soup is bound to be more interesting.

quote by Art Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Banana Soup

If juice can be extracted from a potato,
Like a tomato or carrot...
Why can't that happen to a banana?
Although it can be argued that potato juice,
Can be heated and called soup.
Banana soup doesn't sound too appealing.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Astral Plane

I lie down
On the bed
Relax into my own head

I start to feel
The power
Of the astral light

Rising through my body
Faster than
The speed of light

I feel a calm
As my body shoots
Into an astral time

As I ride along
On the colours
Of the astral plane
I see far away places
Sandy beaches
Seas so blue

I see places
With no faces
Faces with no places
People from my past life
People from the next

Then I return to my bed
With peace in my head
Knowing it's not
My journeys end

poem by Dave Alan Walker
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Soup of day

She said severely:
“God have said: the soup must be warm! ”
It was a Gazpacho, a cold soup to a warm evening.
I have mixed tomatos, cucumbers,
red and green peppers,
red onions, a few garlics,
a few parsleys and coriander.
This soup had a beautiful colour: red and green! green and red!
It was cold, very cold, iced.

I have warmed up her soup
I have grilled also some scallops
with a pistachio dressing
she said:
“It is delightful mostly the orange and red parts.”

It was only a question of colours
I have dreamt at a blue gazpacho, blue scallops
Blue like the sea but the sea is never blue
and the blue is not a tasty colour.

Then we have recited some french poems

This evening was quiet and tender
despite the heat wave.

I like to remember this iced soup
and the awful warmth.

poem by Jean Francois Le Goff
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I Feel Like The Sea-Gull

I feel like the sea-gull
That wanders the ocean-waves calm or tossed
With tempests in mid-Ocean or sea-shore:
I am the sea-gull
That with parched throat
Cries his piercing cry across the landscape
Where sea and sky are only and they meet
In my lone call:
I am the sea-gull that protests
And speaks injustice and its pains
And that is why
My throat is parched – yet I am free
Free in my flight across the air
Flipping around my wings; moving
Flying miles and kilometers moving
Flying near to land as much as can I
For I must bespeak – people must hear me.
My call I know will pierce
And the hearts
That lie now frozen by unjust hands
Will feel the warmth of summer in their innocence
Their throats no longer will be parched
Nor will they thirst
But by the springs of paradise will slake their thirst:
And they will have justice.
And the earth will flower again, no longer groan
Under its burdens
And I
And I, the lonely sea-gull of the ocean-winds
Will cry my eerie cry no more
My deed done my heart can break
And I
The lonely sea-gull will float
Float speechless on the Ocean’s bosom to the skies.

poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
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Nature

The sight of the hills is a beauty
The bright moon is the sign of purity
The flow of the river is a murmuring music
The act of the sun is so philanthropic.
The rain of the clouds is very refreshing
The blowing of the wind is so soothing
The roaring of the ocean has its own reason
How charming is the changing of the season!

The wide blue sky above and high
Gives us space to dream and to fly
How nice the dew drops on the leaves to see!
Everything has its own beauty, fly or a flea
The trees tells us how to give food, shadow and shelter
How sweet to quench our thirst with fresh cool water!
Does life thrive without the mercy of the great nature?

poem by Abdul Wahab
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Reality or Illusion

Thirst! Thirst!
Scorching thirst!

From head to groin
From hip to tip,
Fire rages.
My entrails shriek and crackle
As twigs in a forest fire
My nostrils flare
With the reeking smell of burnt flesh
My tongue and gullet
Melt like plastic on exposure to heat
Like a hornbill
I thirst for a dropp of water

Wow! Before me is poised a chalice
Full and to the brim
With scarlet, bubbling liquid
As elixir, suddenly lowered from Heaven!
Extending my hands to hold it
And drawing it close to my lips
Oh! How I missed it by a whisker!
By what magic
By what vanishing trick
From my chalice, the wine drained out
Leaving not even the lees

What terrible betrayal!
As its dry emptiness
Stared at me
Like a tree felled,
I collapsed to the ground
And faintly heard the liquid
Falling dropp by drop
Merging with the dark water of the drains

I felt myself gyrating
Into the churning cauldron below
Was it a dream or an illusion?
Reality or fantasy
Who can tell? ?

poem by Valsa George
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When I was having that alphabet soup, I never thought that it would pay off.

quote by Vanna White
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Coming Back....

would like to come back as a candle,
a bowl of soup held by hungry hands.
a simple wooden crutch for the crippled,
a bedpan for the aged.
a blanket for the homeless,
a small fire for the cold.
and the sound of a mother's voice,
quieting the child afraid.
a leaf, a turtle, perhaps a drink of water,
a tear that needs to be cried...
the straw that forms the sparrow's nest,
i could ask for nothing more!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Strike Me (And Be Done)

if i am a bridge,
i need to feel your feet
on my back...
if i am a walking stick,
keep me with you
on your journey.
if i am a blanket,
cover yourself against
the cold night...
if i am a bowl, a spoon,
the soup, and the taste...
fill your empty stomach!
if i am dead branches,
gather me for the fire.
if i am a match,
strike me, and be done.