Bacterium
in a cloud like massive fog
where the peace does belong
where the waves smashes
against the rocks
I sense warning's
Behind this fog you hear a bird
sing us a song, in warning that we are not alone.
In this thick massive fog
from my beautiful Islands
I sense hunger for freedom
while on mine cheek bone my tears
like the rivers. And I hide my face
when the light get´s so bright
that it blinds my national right!
Because in this cloud like massive fog
I know in my thought a bacteria
that has poisoned the butterfly
so he carries on
with a bitter national song
poem by Malan Tyril
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Related quotes
Massive Reductions
Ive been sacrificed in the name of the company,
Ive been victimized for the sake of economy.
I had a big house, a big car,
Expense account and credit cards,
But now look what theyve done to me.
Theyre making massive reductions,
Its all mass production and assembly lines.
Theyre making massive reductions,
Massive reductions.
Theyre laying me off all because of inflation,
Im losing my job and my reputation.
Good-bye my big house, my big car.
Now its all up to welfare,
I hear that everybodys going there.
Theyre making massive reductions,
Massive reductions to stay alive.
Whoa, theyre making massive reductions.
Good-bye my big house, my big car,
Now its all up to welfare,
I hear that everybodys going there.
Theyre making massive reductions,
Massive reductions to stay alive.
Whoa, theyre making massive reductions.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rare Supermassive Celestial Stars
collapse
an
interstellar
gas
cloud
into
seed
massive
super
star
whole
cloud
zoom massive
star
center
create
stars
100
times
bigger
than
sol
planet
earth
sun
mathematical
models
gassy recipe predict
cosmic
potent realities
small
stars
can prime
superstar
formation
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Crimes and Criminals
Black crime has opposition and attachment,
And its properties are massive and mental,
Provoked by the national infantry, tried.
Each maiden of hatred has strong rallies and hawks,
One of them are you and you and you.
I seek seven rainy days to make sense of tension.
I seek eighteen minutes to eat an aching easterner
In the streets, in the said paths of categories.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The past, present and future
I was the usual detainee who stood out of the class most of the time.
The lean English teacher who has a slight dimple on the chin when she smiles, once called me in and asked me to write three sentences the past, present and future tense.
I wrote them without any hesitation.
***************
1.They built massive bridges.
2. They build massive bridges.
3. They will build massive bridges for whom and where do you cross?
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Cumoulous
On the sun-deck I saw two big clouds a man one
and a female, they met kissed and the man cloud
was transformed into a plucked chicken.
Not that the female cloud fared better for behind
her came huge troll cloud that absorbed her up its
nostrils. In the world of clouds you never see
the same formation twice, in this immaterial ever
changing world; it is as the saying goes: You can´t
cross the same river twice. Now a massive dark cloud
erased the picture, and as I didn´t want a drab cloud
hanging over me, I got up walked into the galley and
had a mug of coffee, while the cook fried pork chops.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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The Beauty That Resides In Sadness
it is with great sadness that
i write
you a letter,
everything in it is all about sadness
it is not just about us
or you,
it is about the whole massive humanity
that is never drowned
with sadness but struggles in that ocean
of choices and so alone
amidst the
storms and the
other survivors
it is with great sadness that we gather here
and begin to hear
the sounds of all these forms and shapes and
colors of
sadness
i listen to you on an impromptu
and you listen to me
with all patience and with all sadness we embrace ourselves
share sadness with hugs and
at the end
we are filled with so much beauty
feeling so beautiful with
these massive sadness that
never leaves us free
we are bound, and yet when we face ourselves in the mirror of
ourselves
my goodness, we are so
beautiful
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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For a band like us tracklisting is a massive, massive task.
quote by Ed O'Brien
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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They view massive immigration as a massive infusion of potential voters for the Democratic Party, and therefore will do nothing, absolutely nothing to stop that flow of legal or illegal entrance into the country.
quote by Tom Tancredo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Singing For Change
Before we begin, the audience chatters.
In the nearby café bar, cutlery clatters.
Stood on the stage, I look all around,
Taking in all the sights and the sounds.
With so many watching, I feel slightly shy,
But my spirit within, is soaring so high.
I open my mouth, and I sing out real loud.
Our concert has drawn a really big crowd.
The hall we are in, is a massive space.
We watch our Conductor keeping pace.
Our choir sings out many a great song.
A couple of times, I sing a note wrong.
There is a real bright sparkle in my eyes.
The joy within my heart begins to rise.
The smile on my lips, I just can't hide.
Singing with Voicelab, I feel such pride.
As a choir, we all sing out together as one.
It is hard work, but it is also really good fun.
We sing some classical; we sing some pop.
I want to keep singing: I don't want to stop.
The power of song ignites my inner light;
The aura around me burns so very bright.
I love it when my mind feels this way.
If only I could do this every single day.
At the end of each song, we get applause.
We leave the audience wanting some more.
I desperately don't want the end to come.
Afterwards, the songs, I continue to hum.
When our performance is over and done,
I want to do it all again: I want a re-run.
The Royal Festival Hall, we later leave,
Pleased with all that we have achieved.
poem by Angela Wybrow
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A Butterfly's Song
I hear the song of a silent butterfly
A song of solitude
Like the awesome symphonic tones
Of a lonely violin
I see the beauty of the invisible wind
On which the butterfly roams
It carries him where he wishes to go
Then brings him back again
I taste the sweet flavorless water
Which makes the flowers grow
They give the butterfly perfumed nectar
We haven't time to smell
I hear the laugh of the silent butterfly
A song of scoff and mocking
For in his flight of solitude
Lies freedom eternal.
poem by Wakefield Mahon
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The Flight of Birds
“a poem should be wordless
as the flight of birds.”
—Archibald Macleish, Ars Poetica.
birds don’t sing in their flight
for them flying is a muse
they compose mid-air
weave agnostic verse
sneering haughtily at our absurdity
as they float over our meaningless mosques and churches
and those patrolled international borders
and other disputed sites
where the guns go bang bang bang all the time
they swing over there losing their birdegos
(ego is difficult to retain in mid-flight)
wondering about and watching men plucking out
and quashing the lives of other men and women and
poor helpless children and they
shed a birdtear or two from there
a birdtear that is lost midway due to heat of some explosion
down below some crazy fanatical bomb detonating
killing instantly the people and the city and the forests
and even the pitiable babybirds who are yet to learn to fly
they contemplate of writing poems
about a bird’s egg charring
before even being boiled and scratch their beaks
unsure if this is a metaphor or simile or other poetic device
o the birds have lots and lots and lots to write about
o their writings will never be banned
they borrow freedom
to write poems in the sky
they come back and
pass it on to us
we take the song only
brutally
but at least we take the song
to take the poem
to unscramble the words from the song and to put it back again
as song so spontaneously that it remains the poem and the song
to remember forever this refrain whose melody haunts us
and to hum that refrain which preserves our sanity
perhaps we need to fly
a trifle aimlessly like birds
or because we are humans
six-sensed creatures with massive egos
and massive superegos and massive egos on the ego
and because of possessing gray matter
what doctors call medulla oblongata
we need to feel with our red hearts
than think with some unlocatable mind
we need to look deeper. . .
into ourselves, into eyes
we need to lose ourselves
then, and only then
the poems will come
silent
wordless
as the flight of birds
(First published in Indian Literature)
poem by Meena Kandasamy
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How Dark the Night
(Copyright (c) 2006, Kenneth Scott, All Rights Reserved)
17 June 2006
How dark the night
within your tight, undulating breast-embrace of sensuality,
your torso-sized udder-breasts burying my erect virility
deep inside your satisfying breast-valley, refusing to set me free
as my rivers, my warm, yearning rivers, flow abundantly
between your massive, thirsty breasts of ecstasy.
How sweet the song
all night long, as you moan with insatiable pleasure,
my thrusting tower your lifelong treasure,
your countless gallons of orgasmic udder-bosom claiming me
with overwhelmingly sublime jealousy, undulating udders of jealousy,
refusing to release me from their amorous embrace of tranquillity.
How beautiful the lady
who keeps me, passionately buries my virility
deep between her gigantic udder-breasts of serenity,
faithfully drinking my abundant rivers of love-seed
within her udder-cleavage of ardent need, for hours of delight,
fulfilling her soul this lovely night.
-
I am nourished by your sweet milk of love,
your thick, insatiable udder-nipples joyfully feeding me,
your delicious, lovely voice comforting me with blissful gentleness.
Larger than the rest of your voluptuous torso and hanging free,
your massive udder-bosom nurtures me, embraces me deeply,
squeezes every last dropp of my love-seed out of my aching-hard virility.
And I am at peace, faithfully nourished by your massive udder-breasts
with insatiable love. And I nourish you with my virile power,
filling your moist, deep, sucking blossom with my erect, pumping tower,
thrusting with ardent strength as your two wet petals caress my length,
your thirsty flower blissfully drinking my rivers of ecstasy
as your massive udder-bosom passionately feeds me
with sublime serenity. How dark the night
within your undulating udder-cleavage moist and tight.
poem by Kenneth Scott
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The demographic weight of countries such as China and India exercise a massive pressure on our wages and salaries. They have accomplished massive technological advances and the revolution in information technology has reduced the costs of transport.
quote by Laurent Fabius
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Black Feathered Songster
The black feathered songster with the golden bill
He sings on the tree by the babbling rill
The song of the blackbird melodious and clear
A familiar voice in the Spring of the year
In his song males of his own kind the message of warning does hear
To my borders you better not venture near
At this time of year his own kind not a friend
In his song a warning that his patch he'll defend
Concealed in her nest from predator eye
His partner sits on her eggs in a bush nearby
When she and her mate back to Nature have gone
Their genes in their young are destined to live on
Birdsong to us may seem a beautiful thing
But 'tis not out of joy that the songbird does sing.
poem by Francis Duggan
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A View
The narrow path towards Mt Toolbrunup
inclines through fragrant green enclosing wood.
He forged ahead, I kept up best I could.
A tumbled boulder slope leads ever up.
A wall of shale and quartzite borders right
and white mist tendrils slipped across its face.
I turned for one last gaze, as cool embrace
of cloud bathed all things near in pallid light.
The peak was wrapped in solitary peace.
We sat on massive thicket creviced slabs,
all patched with hard white crinkled lichen scabs,
in arbitrary mountain clime's caprice.
I lingered when he left for just a while,
a space to sample isolation's charms.
Then down the slick wet rocks ungainly style,
discreet descent on rear end, heels and palms.
We missed the view and so we have avowed
to reach that veiled unbounded space again
and maybe if we're fortunate, well then…
once more, we'll sit within a mountain's cloud.
poem by Diane Hine
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I Want A Warning
History is made, not repeated
And you hide behind words that make you feel needed
And what you read in those books made you so conceited
So in order for love to be true
My dreams will have to
Become my only rules
I want a warning
I want a warning
I want something more than a warning
I've been warned about you
I see through all your promises and warnings
I want a warning
I want a warning
I want something more than a warning
I've been warned about you
I see through all your promises and warnings
Wake me up on into a world outdated
And the older you get the more you seem jaded
As you search for the quotes to make it seem complicated
So in order for love to be true
Even my nightmares
Become my only rules
I want a warning
I want a warning
I want something more than a warning
I've been warned about you
I see through all your promises and warnings
I want a warning
I want a warning
I want something more than a warning
I've been warned about you
But I've seen through
Every promise is a warning
I want a warning
I want a warning
I want something more than a warning
I've been warned about you
I see through all your promises and warnings
I want a warning
I want a warning
I want something more than a warning
I've been warned about you
I've seen through
For a promise of a warning
song performed by by Idlewild
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Does God weep on the misfortunes of man?
the flood that kills a thousand men
and women and children
the massive mud that buried
them
looking like frozen statues
the lava, the tidal waves
that hit the islands
the virus without cure
the disease
the plague
the consumption of so much number
numbing
to our sense of dignity
the rape that fathers commit to their daughters
and even sons
the mothers that kill the fetus
to save their faces from shame
what more?
let us count the miseries of men & women and children
the fear that grip them
the chaos that always comes
in wars
in famine
in nuclear hatred of one country
to another
the hunger, many more deaths to come
the exploding population
too many neglected children
and too many to ignore
the rich & advantaged caring less
the insignificance of the voices of those
who speak
their valid concerns
does God really weep?
does God really care?
does God signify
any sign of presence
of any divine intervention?
did he say we are free?
did he say he respects this freedom that we take pride in
that we won from the snake in that paradise?
is God here?
do you really hear him weeping?
i want to hear my God
i want to hear Him speak
i want Him, forgive me, to weep,
but i have not seen the tears
i have not heard any sound of weeping...
i guess, if he is here, if he is here at all,
i will still respect, and worship & love Him,
even if i hear Him laughing....
for what am i?
i am just his slave, his servant, though he may call Me
brother,
or his beloved son
to Him, i can be, even
nothing
one that he can always
put in Hell and set aside as a useless spark
in the vast space that he owns
one that he can also save
by His Mercy and Grace....
i know, but i will always wait
for His answers, even from the passing wind
i am always thirsty and asking
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The song I sing
The song I sing
I sing ta u the song I sing is joy
If you were gone then part of me would die
I would go on and leave part of me behind
for you and I are one in twined
I sing ta u the song I sing is faith
But the thought of you would never fade
the thought of blue sky's would turn to haze
I would prefer to help you through this maze
I sing ta u the song I sing is love
your very footsteps are notes to a song
and many loved ones sing a long
and of that chorus I belong
poem by Paul Cutting
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It's Just A Song (Lyric) :
You hear the sound of the song.
It's coming on real strong.
It gives you a sense of strength.
it filters through the air.
It lifts you off the ground.
We hear from town to town.
It's just a song-sung-long.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
it's just a song.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
It takes you out in space.
Closer to second base.
It follows through so cool.
The smoothest thing for you.
A sound that sounds so clear.
A sound you'll want to hear.
It's just a song-sung-long.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
It's just a song.
It's just a-song-sung-long.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
It sends you through the air.
A sound that makes you high.
It makes you feel so good.
A sound that always should.
Just lifts you off the ground.
We hear from town to town.
It's just a-song-sung-long.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
It's just a song.
It's just a-song-sung-long.
A sing-a-long-song-sung.
It's just a song.
it's just a song..
Song-Lyric-Poetry by Kim Robin Edwards
Copyright 1989,2009..
ALL rights reserved..
See>>www.edwardspoetry.com
poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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The soul, song of love
The soul, song of love
I sing from the bottom of my heart
The soul song, I sing I cry I laugh
I cheer I love enjoy
Too sing for you to hear me cry
Sweet heart listen be happy
Tune penetrate into flesh to bone
To feel to touch
To get to hold
The heart sings the soul, song of love
Just to let you know only you I love
Only you I sing only you can hear
For love for comfort
For peace and happiness
Hold and touch
The soul, song of you
The soul, the song belong to you
with the heart
poem by See Fee Lee
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