A Fresh Graduate With A Scholar Tag
The fresh bread out of the oven,
May smell good, but has to be toasted.
The fresh graduates out of the universities,
May look smart, but have to be experienced.
What knowledge that can be obtained,
Reading through these heaps of books?
What intelligence that can be settled,
Doing all these assignment and paper work?
How efficiently that we are molded,
Attending those seminars and half baked workshops?
How out of world scholars are we,
When the lay man on the sites call us fools?
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
OLd SOul
Wise beyond her years
With eyes that know the world
Mature before she's grown
And pushed out into the world
She's an old soul
With old world knowledge
Profound speech
Without ever attending college
Pushed before she was ready
Yet she didn't let herself fall
Out in the big bad world before she new it all
Beforehand knowledge
That could not be obtained
By regular real world practices
They are not the same
She's an old soul
With old thoughts
and fresh looks
Men stare
She doesn't care
She knows there all crooks
She's seen the ups and downs
Like all through a previous life
She's an old soul
Just living with more than half the strife
poem by Ashley Stone
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bottled Joy
The sounds of children laughing,
The fresh smell after rain,
The new buds in the Springtime,
The clatter of a train,
The buzzing of the bees
As they pollinate the flowers,
The ticking of the clock
As it counts away the hours,
The taste of Summer berries,
The smell of fresh-baked bread,
The memories of days gone by,
The pillows on my bed.
So many joys I'd bottle up
And keep them close to hand
To open when I'm feeling blue -
Oh! Wouldn't that be grand?
poem by Dawn Ferrett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sliced Bread
Sliced bread...
Whole wheat and toasted.
Buttered with jam,
And munched.
Either with tea, punch...
Or just plain water for lunch!
Sliced bread...
With cheddar cheese and tomato.
Add Romaine lettuce,
Topped with fried strips of bacon.
This too will certainly do.
Sliced bread...
Oatmeal raisin,
Oven baked and fed.
Sliced bread...
Crumbed to stuff a turkey.
And seasoned to gobble...
With an aftertaste on the tongue,
Deliciously nutmeged!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 2. Interlude IV.
When the long murmur of applause
That greeted the Musician's lay
Had slowly buzzed itself away,
And the long talk of Spectre Ships
That followed died upon their lips
And came unto a natural pause,
'These tales you tell are one and all
Of the Old World,' the Poet said,
'Flowers gathered from a crumbling wall,
Dead leaves that rustle as they fall;
Let me present you in their stead
Something of our New England earth,
A tale which, though of no great worth,
Has still this merit, that it yields
A certain freshness of the fields,
A sweetness as of home-made bread.'
The Student answered: 'Be discreet;
For if the flour be fresh and sound,
And if the bread be light and sweet,
Who careth in what mill 't was ground,
Or of what oven felt the heat,
Unless, as old Cervantes said,
You are looking after better bread
Than any that is made of wheat?
You know that people nowadays
To what is old give little praise;
All must be new in prose and verse:
They want hot bread, or something worse,
Fresh every morning, and half baked;
The wholesome bread of yesterday,
Too stale for them, is thrown away,
Nor is their thirst with water slaked.
As oft we see the sky in May
Threaten to rain, and yet not rain,
The Poet's face, before so gay,
Was clouded with a look of pain,
But suddenly brightened up again;
And without further let or stay
He told his tale of yesterday.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Stand Together(song)
Fresh out the oven
and baked like new
I do a wake and bake
for all of you
I become pleasant
and present
Aware of the peasant
who are always neglected
and some how uneffected
Able to live survive
Revive
No divide
Will reside
if we all just stand together
Alright...just stand together
(I will be on your side)
Just stand together
(I'll give you support)
Just stand together
Comin' fresh out of the oven
woke up to some lovin'
I declared my time to you
I was hoping that we grew
together not apart
It felt right from the start
Livin' in this crazy world
trying to get ahead
But everything always
seems dead
Shells that bleed
With the ability to move
and act
The streets are pact
Cause love is lost
cause we don't
stand together
Alright....Just stand together
poem by Cokbod Lodwogo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Early this morning
Early this morning
when you waked me up
I experienced your tender smell
like a garden of fresh flowers blooming
and your hot soft body were clinging to mine
and your breath was fresh like apples
in a orchard
but your eyes my love, flamed
as if being on fire
and something indescribable were
between the two of us
and some people call it love
but I know
that it was much more.
poem by Gert Strydom
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In Working With Images....
when we work with images
they become real, touchable,
i, too, smell
what has been transformed by
a dream
like a bread
baked
sending its fresh flavor
in the air
hot tea is served in the cold
corners of the mind
i am seeing beauty
and shapes of bodies come out from
glossy paper
i severed myself from the pains of
you
the images are real and they do not ask
if things are moral
i embrace all these images for the main reason
that i must live
my life
amidst the rules of this mundane games
every night i sleep late
transforming what this world thinks as invisible
in the morning
virtual leaves fall at the foot of the real tree
on top of grass, as green as my mind
flowers are flaming
like fire
in my belly.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Indolence
Fain would I shake thee off, but weak am I
Thy strong solicitations to withstand.
Plenty of work lies ready to my hand,
Which rests irresolute, and lets it lie.
How can I work, when that seductive sky
Smiles through the window, beautiful and bland,
And seems to half entreat and half command
My presence out of doors beneath its eye?
Will not the air be fresh, the water blue,
The smell of beanfields, blowing to the shore,
Better than these poor drooping purchased flowers?
Good-bye, dull books! Hot room, good-bye to you!
And think it strange if I return before
The sea grows purple in the evening hours.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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It Is Fresh If Kept, Cool
It is fresh if kept,
Away from that which spoils...
Those attitudes,
Quicken to darken by a mood.
It's fresh if kept,
Together without salt.
And a peppered tongue,
Spiced with words from a mouth to come out!
It is fresh if kept,
Away from evil people.
A mind that finds,
A peace inside...
Found from nine to five!
And from...
Five to nine!
It's fresh if kept,
Cool.
It is fresh if kept,
Away from fools.
It's fresh if kept,
Cool.
It is fresh if kept,
Away from fools.
It is fresh if kept,
Away from evil people.
A mind that finds,
A peace inside...
Found from nine to five!
And...
Five to nine!
Evil will have those you love dearly,
Convinced...
You are not who you are!
It is fresh if kept,
Away from that which spoils...
Those attitudes,
Quicken to darken by a mood.
It's fresh if kept,
Cool.
It is fresh if kept,
Away from fools.
It's fresh if kept,
Cool.
It is fresh if kept,
Away from fools.
Choose not to be annoyed.
It is fresh if kept,
Cool.
It is fresh if kept,
Away from fools.
It's fresh if kept,
Cool.
It is fresh if kept,
Away from fools.
Choose not to be annoyed.
Choose not to be destroyed.
Keep your mind kept fresh.
Choose not to be annoyed.
Choose not to be destroyed.
It is fresh if kept,
Cool.
Choose not to be annoyed.
Choose not to be destroyed.
Keep your mind kept fresh,
And cool.
Keep your mind kept fresh.
And away from fools.
Keep your mind kept fresh,
And cool.
It's best not to be annoyed.
It's best not to be destroyed!
Evil will have those you love dearly,
Convinced...
You are not who you are!
It is best to keep cool.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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5. The Baker
I remember in the fifties the baker and his van
He brought many treats for everyone to buy
I remember how he took his time to let you have a look
And pointed out the new lines we should try
I remember all the sliced bread came in paper with a wax
As the unsliced just sat there all crusty bare
I remember all the bread trays with co-op on the side
Holding fresh cream cakes for all of us to share
I remember all the neighbours with kids queued in the street
All the women with their rollers under scarf
I remember paisley pinny’s full of things that they had bought
And the ladies who liked butter in a half
I remember he came twice a week the first call was on tick
He listed everything within a book
I remember at the weekend when he came around again
We had more and settled up for what we’d took
I remember all the things he sold were loose in ones and twos
You could have a look then buy just what you need
I remember as he drove away without a second look
We all rushed inside to have a special feed
poem by David Threadgold (2008)
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bored With School
I became extremely bored with school,
At an early age.
I felt I was watched and scrutinized,
Unnecessarily.
AND...
I told my 5th grade teacher this.
AFTER given an assignment,
To write an essay...
Right there in the classroom.
I felt her hawkish eyes on me,
Like I was prey.
And she couldn't wait to see,
What I had written.
'Uh...
Mr. Pertillar?
Why are you looking out the window.
I've given all of you students an assignment.'
~I'm done.~
'That's impossible.'
~You've asked us to write an assignment...
And...
With an 'a' and a 'd' surrounding an 'n'
I said,
I was done! ~
'You are a fresh mouth little boy.
Bring to me your work.'
~And there are no spelling errors.
I check it.~
'Interesting.
Very 'adult' in expression.
But this is a 5th grade assignment.
And YOU are getting a 'C'.'
~A 'C'? ~
'Open your mouth again,
And it will become a 'D'.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If You Feed It Good
If you feed it good...
It stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
Yes.
And,
If you feed it good...
It stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
Yes,
Feed it good...
And it stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
I'm not gonna mock you anymore,
'Cause you're good to me.
You don't have to knock,
On that unlocked door.
No more...
I'll rock your needs
When we get it heated! .
Now,
If you feed it good...
It stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
Yes,
Feed it good...
It stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
Yes,
Just feed it good...
And it stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
Don't shout or scream,
To be mean and demean.
I'm not your enemy.
Nor do I owe a thing....
To ya!
You can pout with a frown,
Thinking it will bring me down.
To be around...
For your clown count!
To the ground.
But,
If you feed it good...
It stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
Yes,
Feed it real good...
It stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
Just,
Feed it good...
And it stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
Keep that in your head,
And let it feed real good!
Like it should.
Feed it good.
Keep that in your head,
And let it feed real good!
Like it should.
Feed it good.
Yes,
Feed it real good...
It stays fresh.
It stays the best,
One can get!
And,
Keep that in your head,
And let it feed real good!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If hope could be a colour.
If hope could be a color
It would be baby blue
As blue as the sky
If hope could be a taste
It would be sweet lemonade
If hope could be a smell
It would be fresh baked cookies right out of the oven
If hope could be a sound
It would be the melody of everyday things
If hope could be a feeling
It would be an indescribable love
If hope could be an animal
It would be a baby bird.
poem by Sarina Parsakhian
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I don't exactly know what it means to be ready. A cake when the oven timer goes off? Am I fully baked, or only half-baked?
quote by Jessica Savitch
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Which is better?
A genius knows when to dumb it down
A smart man knows when to know nothing
And an idiot can be all three
Well what does that mean?
Your only as smart as others allow
So if your too smart to be understood,
To others your intelligence level goes down
So to truly be a genius you must know when dumbing it down is good
To know nothing isn't unintelligence
It's best for different situations
Though very different from a genius,
A smart man recognizes when on his knowledge to put limitations
An idiot is in the best position,
Because it's second nature for them to put it in layman's terms
An idiot has the best potential for genius if it's his intention
And being an idiot is how others feel their intelligence is confirmed
poem by Martin McCollugh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Books
The universe (which others call the library). . .
-Jorge Luis Borges
Books which are stitched up the center with coarse white thread
Books on the beach with sunglass-colored pages
Books about food with pictures of weeping grapefruits
Books about baking bread with browned corners
Books about long-haired Frenchmen with uncut pages
Books of erotic engravings with pages that stick
Books about inns whose stars have sputtered out
Books of illuminations surrounded by darkness
Books with blank pages & printed margins
Books with fanatical footnotes in no-point type
Books with book lice
Books with rice-paper pastings
Books with book fungus blooming over their pages
Books with pages of skin with flesh-colored bindings
Books by men in love with the letter O
Books which smell of earth whose pages turn
poem by Erica Jong
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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That's It That's All
Back on the scene for ya'll people's delight
You want peace for the people then ya say alright
'Cause George W's got nothing on me
We got to take the power from he
When I'm on the mic I feel good to go
Like a snow day for school with hot cocoa
So don't speak what I heard, just say what I know
And my zodiac sign is Scorpio
Look what the cat dragged in
The creme de la creme without the skin
So take a rest and mind your own biz
And that's it that's all that's all there is
Fresh...fresh...fresh...for you...for you...for you
That's fresh...fresh...fresh...for you...for you...for you
One for Brooklyn, two for Manhattan
Let's go to work, get those hands clappin'
Make you bounce, rock, roll and skate
Don't underrate how I operate
It ain't what you say, it's what you mean
Intention leads to action, that is my theme
So pay attention now as I begin to recap
Puttin' words and ideas stacked back to back
Some rhymes go flat, well mine go fizz
I got no time for the drama 'cause stress is for kids
'Cause when you're dead and buried well you got no biz
And that's it that's all that's all there is
Fresh...fresh...fresh...for you...for you...for you
That's fresh...fresh...fresh...for you...for you...for you
Brand new
The time and place for the mind is here and now
Keep the mind present less to worry about
But like the hammer to the nail hit the nail on the head
Well I don't shoot blanks and I don't shoot lead
Well I'm a freaky streaker like Winnie the Pooh
T-shirt and no pants and I dance the bugaloo
Like George Whipple on New York One
Got a hairy ass and that's no fun
I'm in the rhyme zone a different time zone
And on the microphone you know that I'm at home
It's time we looked past all our differences
An' that's it that's all that's all there is
Come on
Fresh...fresh...fresh...for you...for you...for you
That's fresh...fresh...fresh...for you...for you...for you
An' that's
Fresh...fresh...fresh...for you...for you...for you
That's fresh...fresh...fresh...for you...for you...for you
song performed by by Beastie Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Like Smells
i like smells...
woodsmoke, and food,
black coffee in the morning.
the smell of rain,
of mud, of wetness.
the smell of the walls
of the cave, of the stone,
of the moss...
the smell of sex, of arousal,
of a woman's neck.
the smell of pine needles,
of an old house,
of fresh turned earth...
the smell of old books,
of old dogs, of shadows
without form...
i've even become accustomed
to the smell of death!
poem by Eric Cockrell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fresh Blood
All the neighbours never see me
But they wonder why I walk around at night
He gets hungry - I go hunting
In the moonlit streets
For somebody that's right
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast Is all he's living for
And he craves it more and more
Showgirls, businessmen in suits in the midnight rain
If they walk alone are never seen again
In the paper, seems a florist
Found in Lincoln Park, died of some anemia
No one raped her, poor Doloris
Just detained her and drained her on the spot
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast
Is all he's living for
And he craves it more and more
Old men, ladies of the night walking in the rain
If they walk alone are never seen again
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
No one calls and no one visits
We're like a couplet out of Desolation Row
We don't want them to want to know us
'Cause when they do, they get a little bit too close
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast is all I'm living for
And I crave it more and more
Bad girls, cops on the beat in the midnight rain
If they're out alone, are never seen again
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fresh blood (Lyrics)
All the neighbours never see me
But they wonder why I walk around at night
he gets hungry - I go hunting
In the moonlit streets
For somebody that's right
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast
Is all he's living for
And he craves it more and more
Showgirls, businessmen in suits in the midnight rain
If they walk alone are never seen again
In the paper, seems a florist
Found in Lincoln Park, died of some anemia
No one raped her, poor Doloris,
Just detained her and drained her on the spot
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast
Is all he's living for
And he craves it more and more
Old men, ladies of the night walking in the rain
If they walk alone are never seen again
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
No one calls and no one visits
We're like a couplet out of Desolation Row
We don't want them to want to know us
'Cause when they do, they get a little bit too close
Fresh blood, a sanguinary feast is all I'm living for
and I crave it more and more
Bad girls, cops on the beat in the midnight rain
If they're out alone, are never seen again
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me
Fresh blood it goes through me, flows through me
Fresh blood inside of me, cry to me, cry to me
poem by Satan's Sibling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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