En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Ode to Crumbs

when I eat
a cake
of chocolate,
Crumbs are everywhere
All over the counter
my hand
the floor
a mess everywhere
tiny islands on
the counter
meaningless
though I can't help
but pay attention
to crumbs
on my hand
my counter
my floor
all over the place
why are they so obssesive?
small
tiny little specs
though I can't look away
so
I must clean them up.

poem by John McAdam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Life Is Worth Living

Piles of papers on the floor,
Color coded to master,
Eight hours a day to fiddle,
Oh, what a job to settle.

Lego toys and cereal crumbs,
Dirty clothes on the floor,
Piles of plates on the counter,
Oh, what a job thereafter.

But life goes on no matter what
Will it be in its deepest mystery,
And as we seek our own destiny,
We’ll trip and fall along the way.

Those of us who fell in to a pit,
Slum of poor among the poorest,
We strive life for what is best,
And what it’s worth than shame

There are dreams we believe,
Fractions of real and unreal,
Making our minds to wish more,
Things we cannot or do not have.

poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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0335 Indian file

Like a set of graded kitchen pans
the newsagent's children,
back from school, file into the tiny corner shop,
and all so small, this neat, obedient, clean set,
that no-one needed lift the counter flap.

And in a moment's flash of truth, or sentiment,
I saw the beauty of the human race.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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The Tablets

The tablet stood on the counter,
Pulling us aside like a trap;
The door cracked afterwards,
Like Saturn’s rings or eggs.
Only a year turned us upside down,
Left the door locked, at the end.
I grabbed the door before the floor
Collapsed and this ringing started.
The door cracked again, repetitively,
Once it broke, the door collapsed.
I pulled the refuse onto the counter
To await sleep and the medicine.

poem by Naveed Akram
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His Own Small Store

he's just an old man...
working behind the counter
of his own small store
for forty years...

the young toughs
kept robbing him...
grabbing stuff off the shelves
and running...

threatening him,
and the old woman...
till they lived in fear
day and night...

then they went too far!
coming across the counter
and grabbing him by the collar:
'give me the money, old man! '

quick, and sudden,
the gunshot rings out...
the young tough falls
to the floor in a
puddle of blood...

now the old man's going to court
for excessive use of force,
and an unregistered handgun...

to the halls of justice,
sterile and cold...
the stench of dignity dying
fills the air...

and the hands on the clock
cant be turned back!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Pantomime – Red Skelton and His Cat

The old man comes cautiously down
The stairs to the kitchen.
He takes the last step
That isn't there -
A bone shuddering stop.

Pausing, he searches the dark room
For the dangling light cord,
And moves toward
The center of the room -
Carefully.

It's unfortunate as the cat
Is discovered sitting in the middle of the floor.
As the old man steps on its tail,
It howls it great pain -
Startling the old man.

Finally, after groping the empty air,
He finds the cord.
Pulling it; he is
Blinded by the sudden light -
Causing him to cover his eyes.

Looking about the room.
He sees, in the corner,
The offended cat.
He ask for forgiveness -
Stoops to pet and caress.

He stands, with apparent pain,
Moves to the kitchen counter,
Sees a number of cans,
That must be cat food –
And selects one.

He shows the can to the cat;
Returns to the counter and
Taking a hand-cranked opener
He begins -
To open it with great difficulty.

Finally opened,
He places the lid on the counter,
Raises the can to his nose,
Smiles appreciately, bends and -
Offers the cat a smell.

Bracing his back he stands.
Takes a spoon,
From the counter,
And bends over the cat's dish. -
Placing a portion in the dish.

Pushing the cat away,
He adds a second helping.
Then, thinking he has
added too much, -
He spoons a bit back into the can.

Standing again with difficulty,
He straightens his back,
And once more sniffs the can.
Raises the spoon -
And takes a small bite.

Liking what he finds,
He turns his back to the cat,
And eats
All that remains -
Then wipes his mouth on his sleeve.

Guiltily he looks back at the cat,
Seeing there is liquid in the can,
He once again bends low
Over the cat and its dish -
And pours the remaining liquid into the cat's dish.

He stands,
Places a hand to his aching back,
Wipes his mouth on his sleeve,
Places the spoon and can on the counter -
And steps to the center of the room.

He pulls the light cord;
The room is dark.
From the darkness
You hear, -
'Good night and God Bless.'

poem by Sidi J. Mahtrow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Most of the results of using technical bugging devices were of little importance for my service. It may have been different in counter-intelligence, where bugs in flats, etc., were used to obtain a lot of information about what counter-intelligence was interested in.

quote by Markus Wolf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Clean Money

Paydays coming and we wash it away
Clean money, clean money
Paydays coming and we wash it away
Clean money, clean money
Thats what I want to do
I want to spend it on you
Checking on a checkmate
Grassing on a classmate
So beautiful and fortunate
He hates to love, you love to hate
He can fix you for good
cause he is the neighborhood
You cant get money for blood
Blood money for doin no good
But they wont take my love for tender
Paydays coming and we wash it away
Clean money, clean money
Paydays coming and we wash it away
Clean money, clean money
Thats what I want to do
I want to spend it on you
Have you made your selection ?
Are you ready for correction ?
cause the wages of sin
Are an expensive infection
And its under the counter
Under the geiger counter
Who stole your thunder ?
But they wont take my love for tender

song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gospel For The Day

even the dogs eat the crumbs
on the floor

sometimes we
his children simply do not recognize
the cake
reserved for us
on top of the table
with flowers
and the matching
sweet music
prepared by our father

we are the spoiled
brats in the house
but he is so
patiently
waiting

and very silent

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Jelly Beans

By the counter of the candy store
several small rumpled heads
are jumping up and down in joy.
They hear the store keeper's tread.

' What do you want? ' is the cry.
The moment he is in sight,
and if their tiny hands are penniless,
How embarrassing the plight.

They eagerly purchase the jelly beans,
They barely get outside
before they open the packages
and have them open wide.

An assortment of jelly beans is enough
to bring forth elated sounds of joy.
Such candy items it takes to please
a small girl or boy.

Oh! Could we all but remember
when the days of youth have fled,
the appreciation in the small things
like jelly beans - green, black, and red.

poem by Joseph T. Renaldi
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The Ballad Of St. Anne's Reel

This song was first released on the autograph album. it is the only album it has been released on.
He was stranded in some tiny town
On fair prince edward isle
Awaitin' for a ship to come and find him
A one-horse place, a friendly face
Some coffee and a tiny trace
Of fiddlin' in the distance far behind him
A dime across the counter then
A shy hello, a brand new friend
A walk along the street in the wintry weather
A yellow light, an open door
And a welcome friend, there's room for more
And then they're standing there inside together
He said i've heard that tune before somewhere
But i can't remember when
Was it on some other friendly shore
Or did i hear it on the wind
Was it written on the sky above
I think i heard it from someone i loved
But i never heard it sound so sweet since then
Now his feet begin to tap
A little boy says i'll take your hat
He's caught up in the magic of her smile
And leap the heart inside him went
And off across the floor he sent
His clumsy body graceful as a child
He said there's magic in the fiddler's arm
There's magic in this town
There's magic in the dancers' feet
And the way they put them down
People smilin' everywhere
Boots and ribbons, locks of hair
And laughter and old blue suits and easter gowns
Now the sailors' gone, the room is bare
The old piano settin' there
Someone's hat's left hanging on the rack
And empty chairs, the wooden floor
That feels the touch of shoes no more
Awaitin' for the dancers to come back
And the fiddle's in the closet
Of some daughter of the town
The strings are broke and the bow is gone
And the cover's buttoned down
But sometimes on december nights
When the air is cold and the wind is right
There's a melody that passes through this town
Words and music by david mallett

song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Is My World That Is Your World

This is my world, small as it is,
It is a planet by itself with very
Small moons, and tiny stars,
And so tiny, you cannot just
See me there, I am hiding,
But I still live here just the same,
Breathing atomic air, and drinking
Molecular waters, so you see,
How tiny I could be, how tiny
I could get, but this is my
Small happy world, my smile
My laughter so tiny, that you
Cannot hear, you cannot feel,

And that is your world as big
As the sun, with comets and
Meteors, and so big and so
Wide, with oceans and rivers,
And continents, and gigantic
Arctics, and snowy lands, and
We are then so different, and
With me, there is no problem,
I, in my small world, can fit
In yours, but you, you cannot
Fit in mine, that we must
Accept, I am a small world,
And you are a space still expanding,
Now, do you understand,
why I hide?
why I shy away from you?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Twenty

This is my world, small as it is,
It is a planet by itself with very
Small moons, and tiny stars,
And so tiny, you cannot just
See me there, I am hiding,
But I still live here just the same,
Breathing atomic air, and drinking
Molecular waters, so you see,
How tiny I could be, how tiny
I could get, but this is my
Small happy world, my smile
My laughter so tiny, that you
Cannot hear, you cannot feel,

And that is your world as big
As the sun, with comets and
Meteors, and so big and so
Wide, with oceans and rivers,
And continents, and gigantic
Arctics, and snowy lands, and
We are then so different, and
With me, there is no problem,
I, in my small world, can fit
In yours, but you, you cannot
Fit in mine, that we must
Accept, I am a small world,
And you are a space still expanding,
Now, do you understand,
why I hide?
why I shy away from you?

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There Once Was A Tiny Girl

there once
was a tiny girl
who grew up
in this world

there once
was a tiny girl
who cried herself to sleep
every night

there once
was a tiny girl
who wore the same dress
every day

there once
was a tiny girl
who wouldn't go out
and play

there once
was a tiny girl
who would bleed and have bruises
from head to toe

there once
was a tiny girl
who begged
daddy, please no more

there once
was a tiny girl
who the angels
heard her prayer
they came down
and took her
to a better place
where that tiny girl
found love
instead of hate

by: crystal sonier
age: 15

poem by Natalia Anna Joelie
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Heresy

Words by neil peart, music by geddy lee and alex lifeson
All around that dull gray world
From moscow to berlin
People storm the barricades
Walls go tumbling in
The counter-revolution
People smiling through their tears
Who can give them back their lives
And all those wasted years?
All those precious wasted years --
Who will pay?
All around that dull gray world
Of ideology
People storm the marketplace
And buy up fantasy
The counter-revolution
At the counter of a store
People buy the things they want
And borrow for a little more
All those wasted years
All those precious wasted years
Who will pay?
Do we have to be forgiving at last?
What else can we do?
Do we have to say goodbye to the past?
Yes I guess we do
All around this great big world
All the crap we had to take
Bombs and basement fallout shelters
All our lives at stake
The bloody revolution
All the warheads in its wake
All the fear and suffering
All a big mistake
All those wasted years
All those precious wasted years
Who will pay?

song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Girl in the Green Raincoat

Each evening she got
off the bus and crossed

the forecourt of the gas
station where you worked

wearing her knee length
raincoat and made her way

into the small shop inside
and you stood there open

mouthed gazing at her hot
beauty at her black hair and

dark eyes and she said I want
20 of those cigarettes and

she pointed with her thin
finger and red nail to cigarettes

behind you and you turned
around and took down the

cigarettes pack and put them
on the counter and she took

coins out of her black purse
and placed them one by one

on the counter top and said
There that's just right and then

off she went no more words
just a wiggle of her ass and you

watched her go out of the door
and along by the forecourt of

the gas station and you sighed
and sniffed the air to capture her

perfume and held on to the sight
of her and placed it in your memory

like some rich guy putting some
precious gem in his vault and you

would sense that memory of her
wiggling ass like some fresh fish caught.

poem by Terry Collett
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Small hole

I tried to dig the small hole
Could not make it out as whole
It was not difficult at all
But it was unwarranted call

The defense shield is like full cover
No one can think to penetrate ever
Still it is wroth to try and break the defense
The road can lay open even if forest is dense

Many lives are lost in probing the unknown land
You meet with hostile reaction from even friends
It is never given a free hand to have an easy access
It is in fact crucial and difficult phase

It is challenge and must be accepted
Somewhere lacuna can be found out and preempted
The risk may always be there to be bound you by thought
But the battles are never won without being fought

This is old concept and still relevant in present day
One gets whole review before deciding the way
It may not only be in depth preparation to meet the threat
But to counter and neutralize it when salutation arises to meet

It is not an easy task to make inroad in difficult terrain
It makes all the more difficult in rain
Whatever may be the difficulties and hurdles?
They have to be sorted out in deep forest or jungles

If one sees no reason or danger from any quarter?
He must take it as challenge and prepare to barter
It speaks of your great ability to counter and move
There has to be left behind nothing to remove

poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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There is no need to sally forth, for it remains true that those things which make us human are, curiously enough, always close at hand. Resolve then, that on this very ground, with small flags waving and tiny blasts of tiny trumpets, we have met the enemy, and not only may he be ours, he may be us.

quote by Walt Kelly
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chocolate Is A Food Group

I love chocolate.
So should you.
Milk chocolate,
Dark chocolate.
It's good for you, too.

Chocolate cake,
Chocolate candy,
Chocolate pie.
Take away my chocolate
And I might die.

White chocolate,
Hot chocolate,
Even chocolate soup...
Any chocolate lover knows
Chocolate is a food group.

poem by Rich Reitz
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Valentine's Day

Oh! I wish I were a tiny browny bird from out the south,
Settled among the alder-holts, and twittering by the stream;
I would put my tiny tail down, and put up my tiny mouth,
And sing my tiny life away in one melodious dream.

I would sing about the blossoms, and the sunshine and the sky,
And the tiny wife I mean to have in such a cosy nest;
And if some one came and shot me dead, why then I could but die,
With my tiny life and tiny song just ended at their best.

poem by Charles Kingsley
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Hot Chocolate

Black Butterscotch, Caramel
Coconut In A Cup
Cookies-N-Cream, Brown Sugar
With A Vanilla Scent Of Lust
Let Me Spin My Straw In You
And Watch The Waves Swirl Through
With A Thick Blast Of Honey Almond
It's A Hot Chocolate Whirlpool
So Hot The Heat Could Melt Marshmallows
And Make Our Bodies Feel Warm
I Could Feel The Temperature Level Rising
In Your Soft Steamy Form
When I Get You On The Table
Or On The Counter Top
You Are A Simply Delicious Delight
From Your Bottom To Your Top
Down To The Last Drop
I Just Don't Want To Stop
Hot Chocolate..... Hot Chocolate.....
So Many Flavors To Savor
Every Time I Finish
You Keep Me Coming Back Later
Addicted To Sweet Sips
By The Touch Of The Tongue
I Believe That I Need You
Hot Chocolate Got Me Sprung! ! ! !

poem by Cortez Maurell Lewis
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