Paris Hilton's Locks
Paris has been sued for wearing another's locks
I wish we could understand how much more is at stake here
Than the thirty five million being asked.
poem by Bill Grace
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Going To Paris
We are going to paris
In a ship with red sails
As the storm gathers slowly
We eat fishheads and snails
The mate jumps up, throws down a line
To a man overboard for the ninetieth time
And then he says with a wink
Sometimes I think
Ive been doing this forever!
We are going to paris
In a ship called the ? ?
There are signs in the sky at night
That the captain says hes seen
I keep books under my pillow
And read them before I sleep
Strange places I go to,
Strange companies I keep
We are going to paris
We are one and thirty strong
I can feel it in the air
Well be there before long
The wind has come
Like a man insane, insane
We are going to paris
It rains and it rains
We are going to paris
In a ship with red sails
We are going to paris
In a ship with red sails
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paris, Please Accept Me, As A Human Refugee
paris................
o paris................
Y paris................
the patience, eating the happiness
the pain, eating the patience
and the pain, eating the pain
I AM SICK, paris
treat me, sister
paris................
o paris................
Y paris................
exile, on my papers
restrained, ..
in my lines
so free me, paris
treat me, paris
I BELONG TO YOU, ..
sister
my home, the colours of MONET
my room, is a water flower
my air..
is the scent of FRANCE
and my refuge..
is a place by RENOIR shrine
so take me paris..
as your..
renoirian..
REFUGEE.
poem by Ahmed Khaled
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New Zealand is a country of thirty thousand million sheep, three million of whom think they are human.
quote by Barry Humphries
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shaved
He had wore a beard every since his early teens.
It had been at least thirty years since anyone saw him without it.
For those thirty years he felt he had something to hide.
But yesterday he shaved and freed himself from the thirty year mask he had been wearing.
He said it feels good to no longer have that itchy heavy beard weighing him down.
Yesterday he shaved when he finally told everyone he is gay.
Anything holy?
I thought it noble to rear cows.
I’ve been sued by the grass
In the court of God.
I thought it noble to grow crops.
I’ve been sued by the weeds
In the court of God.
I entered into fish farming.
I’ve been sued by the worms
In the court of God.
Could you do anything noble
In the world, sustainable
In the court of God?
18.04.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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To Mrs. Thrale on Her Completing Her Thirty-fifth Year
Oft in danger, yet alive,
We are come to thirty-five;
Long may better years arrive,
Better years than thirty-five.
Could philosophers contrive
Life to stop at thirty-five,
Time his hours should never drive
O'er the bounds of thirty-five
High to soar, and deep to dive,
Nature gives at thirty-five.
Ladies, stop and tend your hive,
Trifle not at thirty-five;
For, howe'er we boast and strive,
Life declines from thirty-five:
He that ever hopes to thrive
Must begin by thirty-five:
And all who wisely wish to wive
Must look on Thrale at thirty-five.
poem by Samuel Johnson
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Stake Stake Stake
Stake, stake, stake,
on the green felt fabric thrown, -
the croupiers, awake,
the players, weary, grown.
O well for the novice who
can cash in lucky play,
O ill for the gambler too,
rash not to end his stay
as the golden chips go on
back to stack within the till, -
but O for the touch of a vanish’d hand,
and woe for the crushing bill!
Stake, stake, stake,
while a camera all can see,
records both banks which break,
and counts accounts’ red plea!
poem by Jonathan Robin
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In Paris With You
Don't talk to me of love. I've had an earful
And I get tearful when I've downed a drink or two.
I'm one of your talking wounded.
I'm a hostage. I'm maroonded.
But I'm in Paris with you.
Yes I'm angry at the way I've been bamboozled
And resentful at the mess I've been through.
I admit I'm on the rebound
And I don't care where are we bound.
I'm in Paris with you.
Do you mind if we do not go to the Louvre
If we say sod off to sodding Notre Dame,
If we skip the Champs Elysées
And remain here in this sleazy
Old hotel room
Doing this and that
To what and whom
Learning who you are,
Learning what I am.
Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris,
The little bit of Paris in our view.
There's that crack across the ceiling
And the hotel walls are peeling
And I'm in Paris with you.
Don't talk to me of love. Let's talk of Paris.
I'm in Paris with the slightest thing you do.
I'm in Paris with your eyes, your mouth,
I'm in Paris with... all points south.
Am I embarrassing you?
I'm in Paris with you.
poem by James Fenton
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I Love Paris
Every time I look down on this timeless town,
Whether blue or gray be her skies,
Whether loud be her cheers, or whether soft be her tears,
More and more do I realize that...
I love paris in the spring time
I love paris in the fall
I love paris in the summer when it sizzles
I
Love paris in the winter when it drizzles
I love paris every moment
Every moment of the year
I love
Paris, why oh why do I love paris
Because my love is here
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Love Paris
Nat king cole
(cole porter)
(can-can)
Every time I look down on this timeless town
Whether blue or gray be her skies.
Whether loud be her cheers or soft be her tears,
More and more do I realize:
I love paris in the springtime.
I love paris in the fall.
I love paris in the winter when it drizzles,
I love paris in the summer when it sizzles.
I love paris every moment,
Every moment of the year.
I love paris, why, oh why do I love paris?
Because my love is near.
song performed by by Nat King Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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French Teacher
Being in Paris for over
Thirty years, he taught
French to younsters
At sixty five, reminscing
The Eiffel tower, the squares
Of Paris, the promenades
The painters, especially
The beuties, with a smack
Of his old lips, mentioning
Them quite often,
But not mentioning
The life of love he led,
He lived ina old fort like house
Looking after his
Wife and shy daughter,
With thought of france
Where he lived so long,
For company of his oldage.
poem by Ravikiran Arakkal
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Cell - 2
The cell is the only sanctuary
he will worship in.
He broke the law and got caught.
That's the only difference between us;
he got caught.
Condemnation scarred even his heart.
Society says that's what he deserved.
But He says, you are free.
How could this be?
After meal the locks click everyday.
So how could I be free?
He says 'believe in Me and you'll see'.
I don't understand this,
so I shared it with a friend.
At first, he thought I was joking
or maybe it was what I was smoking.
But I could not stop thinking:
how could I be free?
Then I heard a voice says:
'they can confine the body
but give your spirit to me,
I am free and where I am
you can be'.
I asked: who are you?
How do I know you are real,
and not just my mind
playing tricks on me?
He says: 'I am Jesus, let me in your heart
and I will bond with you.
These bars I will turn into straws.
Even the guards will unclock these locks.
Let me in and you'll see'.
poem by Buxton Shippy
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Yeah I'm thirty-six, but on the show I'm thirty-two. Nobody wants to watch a thirty-six year old woman, so they decided to make me thirty-two. Much more appealing somehow.
quote by Ellen DeGeneres
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Conversation with God
One day while I was dreaming I heard a soft like voice
It called me to a pond
and asked to recite
the stories of my childhood
I thought it very strange
Then with deafening noise it came
It took me to the pond and asked me 'what I could see'
'I see me' I replied
'Very good' it said
'Now do you see' it asked
'I see a little child with hair as bright as fire'
'Who is that child' it asked
'It is me' I replied again
'Do you remember what that child was like'
'No' I replied
'Until you become a child again you'll see no more'
'I do not understand' I said
'You will' came the voice
'When' I asked
'When you believe that I am real'
'But you are real' I answered
'Only one who truly believes can understand'
poem by Rachel Branscombe
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Paris(Lil Sis)
Paris is her name
Paris she beautiful
she got a pretty smile
pretty walk
pretty size
Paris..
Nice
cool
real
short
loveable person
Paris
take what u got and work it
let your haterz hate
your haterz are your biggest fanz
show that beauty
stop hiding it..
To My Bestfriend/ Lil Sis Paris Aka Mizz Killin U H**z
poem by Angel Wade
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The Used To Be Possible
I carefully explained to him that women
don't fall in love-
that is a luxury for teens.
The twenties are for fun
but after that it is serious business
to find a mate.
When you are a woman among boys
your vision changes;
fun are toys to be put away
which guys never leave
but us girls feel more responsibilty,
feel more,
have more at stake;
we are the ones who get pregnant
have the babies
balance the budgets
have a dream of the future
and the boy-men
only dream of womanizing
and giggling about it to their
boy friends.
We have more at stake;
love after thirty
is far more serious;
and second place
to the long term needs
of a child and a homestead
and if that is not to be
we have a career to think of
with a man
or man-free.
This mind-set is alien
to the man-child
who understandably
can't afford romance
or marriage
who retreats to his video games;
girl-chasing, bar-drinking and in-ward things.
So what is a girl to conclude;
one on one, or solitude,
adoption; or man-child on the week-end
for one's needs?
Well, that is the state of things;
things reduced to the affordable,
the minimum, and the possible.
We girls are the barometers
of what is going on in society
and the one's first
asked to make the sacrifice
to What Is
and to forego
the Used To Be Possible.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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My Next Thirty Years
(track 12 - time 3:37)
(phil vassar)
I think Ill take a moment, celebrate my age
The ending of an era and the turning of a page
Now its time to focus in on where I go from here
Lord have mercy on my next thirty years
Hey my next thirty years Im gonna have some fun
Try to forget about all the crazy things Ive done
Maybe now Ive conquered all my adolescent fears
And Ill do it better in my next thirty years
My next thirty years Im gonna settle all the scores
Cry a little less, laugh a little more
Find a world of happiness without the hate and fear
Figure out just what Im doing here
In my next thirty years
Oh my next thirty years, Im gonna watch my weight
Eat a few more salads and not stay up so late
Drink a little lemonade and not so many beers
Maybe Ill remember my next thirty years
My next thirty years will be the best years of my life
Raise a little family and hang out with my wife
Spend precious moments with the ones that I hold dear
Make up for lost time here, in my next thirty years
In my next thirty years
song performed by by Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter CXVI: One in a Million
A million feeling, one story
One feeling, a million story
A million question, one anxiety
One question, a million anxieties
A million smile, one meaning
One smile, a million meaning
A million languages, one will
One language, a million will
A million anger, one reaction
One anger, a million reaction
A million beginning, one ending
One beginning, a million ending
A million face, one heart
One face, a million hearts
A million dream, one happiness
One dream, a million happiness
A million love, one human
One love, a million human
A million trouble, one way
One trouble, a million ways
A million arts, one impression
One art, a million impressions
A million witness, one event
One witness, a million event
A million memories, one fact
One memory, a million facts
A million chance, one choice
One chance, a million choices
A million lives, one hope
One life, a million hope
A million reason, one lie
One reason, a million lie
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Please let me dance
Look at you there watching me
Let me be asked if I might take this chance
Please let me dance
I stolen this time do be here you know
I meant to be working and yeah I am wearing a dress
Please let me dance
You know that you want to
You are just too shy to ask me
Please let me dance
You not asked me so I ask you
Can I take this dance?
We have danced
Still I had to ask
The last dance you came to me and you asked
Will you dance with me?
poem by Kelly Berry
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Our last tango
I feel so lonely
In this room for two
Smoking your thoughts
And drinking your dreams
We're still in that Paris
Our Paris
Even we didn't dance yet
Our last tango
You're my sitting stone
I'm your throne
Just open your petrified heart
Only for a second
To understand
That stupid metaphor
Of being together
Which means
Occasionally
Love
poem by Marieta Maglas
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