Related quotes: Wavertree road used to have...

Liverpool Days

Wavertree road used to have a café there called
“Tasty Toaster, ” business was good till the formidable
M.T. came to power and low paid worker, my main
costumers, got the sack, and told to go on bikes they
couldn’t afford to buy in the first place.

Above the shop lived a lady teacher, she drank, at ten
in the evening, as I closed and cleaned up, I could hear
her sing, when filling her bathtub with water.
One night, it was raining; she must have had a stroke
or something, the water kept running, rotten floor she
and the bathtub ended up in my café.

Under the door the water ran and down the street, since
it was raining few has noticed. Called the police when
I got there, the landlord came, insisted that I had to pay.
I threaten to sue him; he called me a Polish shit and
blamed me for the holocaust I called him a Jewish shit
and blamed him for Palestine. I finally collected my
insurance money and retired from the catering business

poem by Jan Oskar Hansen
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Road to Success

The road to success is not straight,
There is a curve called FAILURE,
A loop called CONFUSION,
Speed bumps called FRIENDS,
Red light called ENEMIES and
caution lights called FAMILY.

But if you have a spare called
DETERMINATION,
An engine called PERSEVERANCE,
Insurance called FAITH and
A driver called JESUS (GOD, ALLAH, ISHVAR)
You will make it to a place called
SUCCESS

poem by Pratiksha Jain
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Cyber Cafe Embarrassment.

She embarrassed too much the moon,
And for the fact she enjoyed it the dawn,
Watching secretly not to open the truth,
But to open because of denials the moon,
I called a cyber cafe and school embarrassment,

She embarrassed too much the moon,
And setting her Dogs in watch the dawn,
But eyes open but couldn't see still,
She needs but denials the moon,
I called a cyber cafe distractions for Art,

She embarrassed too much the moon,
And brought in are confusions,
And still cannot understand still,
A naive may be the moon dawn,
I called in darkness cyber cafe embarrassment.

She embarrassed too much the moon,
And dash out and dash in of its different gimmicks,
For a confusion of no meaning,
For its beauty in glory,
They tried to catch but couldn't,
They tried to obstruct but its morning shine!
I called in its windy liars and denials,

She embarrassed too much the moon,
We spoke even if its called an unspoken words,
We spoke and communicate very silently,
We ate but very silenced also,
But denials in reality of its greed the moon,
I called its security what J. p Clark refers 'SEASONS OF OMEN',
I called cyber cafe embarrassment in-depth,
I called my cyber cafe embarrassment in lust of love!
A cyber distraction diaspora.

poem by Bunmi Orogun Samuel
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I'm the one who gets called up about a problem. I'm the one who gets called up about the street lighting and the abandoned car. I'm the one who gets blamed if the police don't arrive. I'm the one they blame if a city truck is broken down.

quote by Richard M. Daley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Road To Success isn’t As The Crow Flies

The road to success is not as the crow flies
There are derailments and breakdowns
Speed breakers are called uncertainty
Humps are called hurdles of life
Neon signs are called friends to guide you
And consciousness is called Family make you aware of
But if you have a spare wheel called willpower,
A strong engine called firmness,
Car insurance called confidence, and
A car driving skill is called Faith,
I m sure you will drive your car successfully
Towards the road of success

poem by Dr Shamim ali
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My road to success

Never be discouraged by other people's negativities towards your success. /
Stick to what you love the most some day it will turn out well. /
Some things are hard to get but are worth working hard for. /
So, it is better to support than to look down on other people's dreams. /
The road to success it is not straight there is a curve called failure. /
A loop called friends & flats called jobs, but if you have a spare called determination. /
An engine called perseverance, insurance called faith & a driver called 'jesus' /
You will make it to a place called 'Success' /

Author: Koena France Mokoena

poem by kfm Productions
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Raining Again

I never even stopped to dream and
That Id see anything and
The world is coming out so cold
Oh, and it's raining again
Light on your car light, bullets on tin
Oh, and its raining again
Open the door and pulling me in
Nothing here but nothing less
Cold heart is stuck in this
Couldn't say the kindest words we knew
Everything I tried to say but
no one listens anyway
I had to give up all that I knew
Oh, and it's raining again
Light on your car light, bullets on tin
Oh, and its raining again
Open the door and pulling me in
Oh, and it's raining
Raining again
Oh, and it's raining
Raining again
Nothing here but nothing less
Everything we both regret
Couldn't say the kindest words we knew
Cause it was winter time and
We wanted some more time and
We watched the girls try something knew
We didn't even stopped to see that
That It was breaking me and
the world is coming out so cold
What you want you couldn't get, you
Couldn't wait for something less, you
had to give up everything you knew
Oh, and it's raining again
Light on your car light, bullets on tin
Oh, and its raining again
Open the door and pulling me in
[2x]
Sadness like water raining down
Raining down, raining down, raining down
[5x]
Oh, and it's raining
Raining again
Oh, and it's raining
Raining again

song performed by by Moby
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Parrot

The Parrot.
The café in our village has shut. The couple who ran it left
when their parrot died. They had kept the place open for it,
since it was a genial bird. The parrot called everyone who
entered idiots; people laughed no one took offence, or so
we all thought. But someone must have taken umbrage, it
was shot through the window when the café was empty.
Feather everywhere the village was shocked, who could do
such a shameful deed? The culprit, was a farmer, who had
drunk his coffee at the café for twenty odd years, and had
enough of being called an idiot. The moral of this sad tale,
if there is any: if you call a man an idiot long enough he will
end up being one.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Thieves Like Us

Ive watched your face for a long time
Its always the same
Ive studied the cracks and the wrinkles
You were always so vain
Well, now you live your life like a shadow
In the pouring rain
Oh, its called love
Yes, its called love
Oh, its called love
And it belongs to us
Oh, it dies so quickly
It grows so slowly
But when it dies, it dies for good
Its called love
And it belongs to everyone but us
Ive lived my life in the valleys
Ive lived my life on the hills
Ive lived my life on alcohol
Ive lived my life on pills
But its called love
And it belongs to us
Its called love
And its the only thing thats worth living for
Its called love
And it belongs to us
Its called love
Yes its called love
Oh, love is found in the east and west
But when love is at home, its the best
Love is the cure for every evil
Love is the air that supports the eagle
Its called love
And its so un-cool
Its called love
And somehow its become unmentionable
Its called love
And it belongs to every one of us
Its called love
And it cuts your life like a broken knife

song performed by by New Order
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ears Are Closed

There is one basic problem that sits between them.
They all have been conditioned to believe,
Each one of them were born to lead.

And no one perceives a listening should be done.
Where the foundation,
Of true leadership begins for anyone.

That is why what's going on can not be fixed.
Those involve desire to captain their own ship.
And ears are clearly plugged to be closed

While those of flapping lips persist...
The resolving of their started problems,
Should lay on someone's shoulders.
But not on theirs to take the risk.

'You should be blamed for this! '

No.
You should be blamed for this!

'No.
You should be blamed for this! '

No.
You should be blamed for this!

*EVERYONE SING:

You should be blamed for this,
No.
You should be blamed for this,
No.
You should be,
You should be...
You should be blamed for this!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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It's Raining Red

It's raining, it's raining, it's raining red
I blasted a hole
Right through my head
It's raining, it's raining, it's raining red
I'm so relieved
I'm finally dead
It's raining, it's raining, it's raining red
I was killed by the lies
I was always fed
It's raining, it's raining, it's raining red
It's over I'm gone
So forget what I said

poem by Cassandra Hooper
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Larry Levis

My poem would eat nothing.
I tried giving it water
but it said no,

worrying me.
Day after day,
I held it up to the llight,

turning it over,
but it only pressed its lips
more tightly together.

It grew sullen, like a toad
through with being teased.
I offered it money,

my clothes, my car with a full tank.
But the poem stared at the floor.
Finally I cupped it in

my hands, and carried it gently
out into the soft air, into the
evening traffic, wondering how

to end things between us.
For now it had begun breathing,
putting on more and

more hard rings of flesh.
And the poem demanded the food,
it drank up all the water,

beat me and took my money,
tore the faded clothes
off my back,

said Shit,
and walked slowly away,
slicking its hair down.

Said it was going
over to your place.

poem by Larry Levis
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The Poem You Asked For

My poem would eat nothing.
I tried giving it water
but it said no,

worrying me.
Day after day,
I held it up to the llight,

turning it over,
but it only pressed its lips
more tightly together.

It grew sullen, like a toad
through with being teased.
I offered it money,

my clothes, my car with a full tank.
But the poem stared at the floor.
Finally I cupped it in

my hands, and carried it gently
out into the soft air, into the
evening traffic, wondering how

to end things between us.
For now it had begun breathing,
putting on more and

more hard rings of flesh.
And the poem demanded the food,
it drank up all the water,

beat me and took my money,
tore the faded clothes
off my back,

said Shit,
and walked slowly away,
slicking its hair down.

Said it was going
over to your place.

poem by Larry Levis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Once Was A Man...

There once was a man, they called brave
Who lived in a hole, called a grave...
Well, being the host
To many a ghost,
He arranged a big bash, called a rave

There once was a man, called a knave
Who lived in a hole, called a cave...
Not being too keen
About keeping it clean...
Well, he took on a wife, called a slave

There once was a man with a stave
Who lived in a holy enclave...
Maintaining a grin
While absolving the sin,
He assessed wicked tales and forgave

There once was a monk with a wave
Who wanted a head with a shave...
The barber was such
That she cut back too much
Thereby leaving his globus concave

There once was a man in the nave,
Although pious he could not behave...
They paid him no mind,
'Caus his name was maligned,
Simply being a sinner to save

There once was a man quite depraved
A voluptuous life was thus craved...
Well, continuous sin
Ended doing him in -
On his tombstone they carved ‘Misbehaved'

poem by Terry O'Leary
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter LXXX: Story

Story about future is called imagination
Story about past is called memories
Story about present is called reality
Story that becomes true is called prophecy
Story that becomes unfulfilled is called regret
Story that becomes no end is called boasting
Small story is called experience
Epic story is called history
Forgotten story is called lesson
Story that becomes obsession is called ambition
Story that becomes untold is called secret
Story that becomes go its own way is called life

poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Just a load of silly limericks about people I know

I know young lady called Dee
Who lived in a bubblegum tree
She savoured the view
Whilst big bubbles she blew
And she only came down for her tea.

I know I young lady called Carolyn
Who said she was gonna go travelling
She afforded the lot
By a pay out she got
When her ex got impaled by a javelin.

There once was a poet called Ben
Who couldn't let go of his pen
He had a 'to do'
With some strong super glue
And it's been stuck there ever since then.

There once was a young Mr bright
Who wanted his farts to ignite
When he lighted the match
His fart just wouldn't catch
Coz the pants he had on were too tight!

I know a young lady called Laurie
Who burped after eating a curry
By god it was loud
And for this she was proud
Then she giggled and said she was sorry!

There once was a young man called Will
Who found it quite hard to sit still
He did not sit down once
No not even for lunch
It eventually made him quite ill

I know a lady called Karen
Who hired a group of hit men
She payed a few bob
For this one special job
And her ex was not spotted again

I know a girl called Nicola
Who craved for a day at a spar
She wanted shellac
And a rub of her back
But thought waxing was going too far

poem by Stevie Taite
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The Scottish Cow

They call you a cow
When you walk down the street
That doesn't make any sense to me,
As I have been to a farm once before
And cows there, I have seen.
So I would like to know why
You are called that name
And what does it really mean,
As you don't look or act like a cow
But maybe there's something, I haven't seen.
Your daughters bow their head
Whenever they are next to you
As though as they are ashamed,
Is it their fault for that name your called
If not, then who is to be blamed.
Women still point at you
And the men they still smile
Whenever that you walk by
I still don't understand the name your called,
But maybe one day, I will ask you why.
Questions come to my mind
About the word your called
Every time that you are walking past,
Like will they ever stop calling you a cow
Or will that name forever last.
As you don't moo
And you are not fat at all
And certainly your not cover up in fur,
But your called a cow on a daily bases
And to me that seems so absurd.
So when your daughters get older
Will they also be called cows
Just like you their dear old mother
Maybe that's why they are bowing their heads
They are pretending or wishing they are some other.
And the women they still point
As the men they still smile and talk
Whenever you walk that mile,
Then maybe in fact you are what you are
And maybe indeed, you are a cow.

Randy L. McClave

poem by Randy McClave
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Level of Thanks

Where does your level of thanks start?

When you needed a place to live and had nowhere else
He moved out of his home, gave you a place to live
What did you do but treat it like shit

When you couldn't pay a full months rent
He paid it anyway
He did it cause he could
Cause you're his son

When he never asked you to pay
For the utilities you used
He did it cause he could
Cause you're his son

When you got a flat tire
He bought you 4 new tires instead?
He did it cause he could
Cause you're his son

You called him when you wound up in jail
He paid your bail, and he never said a thing about it
He did it cause he could
Cause you're his son

When you plates were expired
Who paid for them?
He did it cause he could
Cause you're his son

When you could no longer pay your car insurance
He told you he could help you
He did it cause he could
Cause you're his son

When he co-signed for you on a car
That later he put him into collections
He switched cars with you so you had no bill
He did it cause he could
Cause you're his son

Now when he can't any longer, jobless and drained
You riddle him with guilt and words that cut and mame
Why can't you see past your own troubles and blame
That it's time to man up and use your brain

Why be cruel to this man, he would give you the world if he could?
Your self centerness is so cruel
Or can you not even see or comprehend?

Whoa is me.... me me me

poem by Pookey's Poems
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Outside the Café

Outside the Café
where I was having coffee,
a red BMW without number plates
died on the driver
and was flashing lights
and its hooter went off.

Inside of it I saw a face
of a ugly white man,
with a wig upon his head
and the look in his eye
spelled out dread.

Be careful
he’s got a gun,
the café’s owner warned
and I looked away
as if the man was not there.

Thrice I called
that one zero triple one number
from my cell phone
and no police did appear,
while the criminal was near
as if my calls was in vain.

No cars are available
they said
and on the next morning,
a squadron of police
was knocking my door down
and eight cars and a helicopter
was waiting outside.

poem by Gert Strydom
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I Need Water

Scorching hot summer’s day
Devastation struck on our holiday.
Water, water running out
No more water left about.
Where is water?
What to do?
Stressing, thirsty, hungry too.
Need a shower!
Need a drink!
But there is no time to think.
Running, running to the store
“No more water” written on the door.
I need water, but there’s none,
Definitely not having fun.
Feeling dirty!
Feeling sick!
Needing something so basic.
Water, water I need you
Then I’ll be as good as new.
Water, water always there,
Once it’s gone we’re made aware
Wasting water is not right
Now it’s gone I’ve seen the light.
I need water to survive
I’m lucky to be alive!

poem by Salvatore Mazzeo
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What's In A Name

What’s in a Name?

Jesus had been thrown out of the café, he tends
to get laud and argumentative after wine.
Water into wine not a good idea.

Outside, he upended a few plastic tables, police
were called they drove him to the local station
put him in a cell at the back.

A cold cell after a few hours he was shivering
and they let him out he had a long walk home
to the cottage he shares with his mother

Jesus is a good lad, they all say so, and no one
but me is intrigued by his name, in this part
of the world it is a common forename.