People Of Earth
Whenever I discover what an idiot I’ve been,
I turn to television — “Oh screen of wonders, flick me
on and off like an appliance,” I implore it
and it answers back
and I cackle away in the aftermath
of its buckets of canned laughter.
I lie on my little raft wondering
whose abduction is this
anyway? “People of Earth, I have
no intention.” Damned alien, chronic
master-plan — part of some system. I try
to asphyxiate one last program, switch
to the contactees. Seems that in 1981 Debbie
divorced and went to live with her parents
@ 32,000 kilometres per hour
happy to show off,
push buttons, poke around
the house for a while, hatching her evil plot.
She spoke, when she talked at all, Phooey.
Most witnesses have the wit, but Debbie
received the phone call. “Hello, I’m Mrs
Cleaveland.” It was a small, large-headed,
grey-skinned entity — guided, she said,
by remote control by her little Maude, who,
once dead, made it safely to Mars. “My stars,
they tell me, predict the weather” — but nothing
predicted whether or not she truly spoke
the Martian language, a propellor-driven vessel
featuring flapping, inflatable wings that,
suspiciously, Maude had taken off in.
“There’s this big ball of light,” she said.
Did you believe her? Debbie did — she’d seen
the tarted-up guests and reporters being fed
to the startled backdrop: it was aquamarine, like
Maude. But as this realisation dawned then bored her,
whaddaya know, she remembered her plot —
and boy did that buck everybody up,
bucked ’em up real good.
poem by Chris Edwards
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Tag, You're It
Let's assume
That he's the groom
And he's been waiting
To consummate all night
And you're the bride
You're locked tight
Inside the bathroom
And you're overcome with freight
Now here's the chiller
He's the killer
You've discovered
You're trapped, alone, you're scared
We cut to you, we move in close
You're catatonic
You get a close up there
And in this shot
Here's what we got
He breaks the door down
And tears your nightgown lace
You see a can, it's aerosol
You grab the hair spray
And light it in his face
There's a very hungry man in the cellar
Oh, waiting
Or is he in the attic closet
Waiting
Debbie? I like this game.
Debbie?
Debbie? Debbie? Debbie?
He blindly grabs you
Tries to stab you
But you're quicker
You over act right here
You see a cat, a ball of yarn
A knitting needle
His vision's still not clear
He's stumbling 'round
Don't make a sound
And then he grabs you
"Hide and seek, my dear?"
He shifts his glance
You see your chance
You grab the needle and you
You plunge it in his ear
There's a very hungry man in the cellar
Oh, waiting
Or is he in the attic closet
Waiting
There's a very hungry man in the cellar
Oh, waiting
Or is he in the attic closet
Waiting
And just like the scene
In "Halloween"
You think it's all over
And you're gazing into space
But you got to make sure
You hear something, you start to turn
And you're standing there frozen
Staring him face to face
And he looks at you and says
"Tag, you're it, Sweetie
Bye, Debbie. Debbie, Debbie, Debbie.
Goodbye, Debbie...
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dental Hygienist
Dental Hygienist
I met Debbie today...
On my trip to the V.A.(Veterans Hospital)
Which I was going to delay...
She...hosted me with a smile...
And lecturing me all the while...
In her very polite Debbie style...
She...the Dental Hygienist...
During more then her...
Job...
She was not a hob...nob...
But a 'good will bob'
And this day there was a smile and hell...
As we talked... she...
Wished me well...Keeping that smile...
On her face...
Even during my disgrace...
Making me feel this is the place...
A refuge if you will...
Giving me peace and still...
I am glad I met...Debbie...
A reflextion of women past...
A true hygienist with...
Class...
whisperkwane
[email protected]
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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Make Believe
Ive been lost
Since shes gone
The piano
Shes really on
I dont want you to
Marry me
Make believe
Youre debbie g
Come look down on
Who you are
She is love
With a voice
And a shape thats my guitar
I dont want you
You want me
Make believe
Youre debbie g
Make believe
Youre debbie g
Make believe
Youre debbie g
song performed by by Pixies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Maude Clare
Out of the church she followed them
With a lofty step and mien:
His bride was like a village maid,
Maude Clare was like a queen.
“Son Thomas, ” his lady mother said,
With smiles, almost with tears:
“May Nell and you but live as true
As we have done for years;
“Your father thirty years ago
Had just your tale to tell;
But he was not so pale as you,
Nor I so pale as Nell.”
My lord was pale with inward strife,
And Nell was pale with pride;
My lord gazed long on pale Maude Clare
Or ever he kissed the bride.
“Lo, I have brought my gift, my lord,
Have brought my gift, ” she said:
To bless the hearth, to bless the board,
To bless the marriage-bed.
“Here’s my half of the golden chain
You wore about your neck,
That day we waded ankle-deep
For lilies in the beck:
“Here’s my half of the faded leaves
We plucked from the budding bough,
With feet amongst the lily leaves, -
The lilies are budding now.”
He strove to match her scorn with scorn,
He faltered in his place:
“Lady, ” he said, - “Maude Clare, ” he said, -
“Maude Clare, ” – and hid his face.
She turn’d to Nell: “My Lady Nell,
I have a gift for you;
Though, were it fruit, the blooms were gone,
Or, were it flowers, the dew.
“Take my share of a fickle heart,
Mine of a paltry love:
Take it or leave it as you will,
I wash my hands thereof.”
“And what you leave, ” said Nell, “I’ll take,
And what you spurn, I’ll wear;
For he’s my lord for better and worse,
And him I love Maude Clare.
“Yea, though you’re taller by the head,
More wise and much more fair:
I’ll love him till he loves me best,
Me best of all Maude Clare.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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We probably, as primitive people, made music before we actually had a language, and that's where language comes from.
quote by Debbie Harry
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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My Twins
Of twin daughters I'm the mother -
Lord! how I was proud of them;
Each the image of the other,
Like two lilies on one stem;
But while May, my first-born daughter,
Was angelic from the first,
Different as wine and water,
Maude, my second, seemed accurst.
I'm a tender-hearted dame,
Military is my bent;
Thus my pretty dears can claim
For their Pa the Regiment.
As they say: to err is human;
But though lots of love I've had,
I'm an ordinary women,
Just as good as I am bad.
Good and bad should find their level,
So I often wonder why
May was angel, Maude was devil,
Yet between the two was I.
May, they say, has taken vows -
Sister Mary, pure and sweet;
Maudie's in a bawdy house,
Down in Mariposa Street.
It's not natural I'm thinking,
One should pray, the other curse;
I'm so worried I am drinking,
Which is making matters worse.
Yet my daughters love each other,
And I love them equal well;
Saint and sinner call me mother . . .
Ain't heredity just hell?
poem by Robert William Service
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For the most part our grassroots members are serious, nice, tolerant people.
quote by Francis Maude
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Womans Flow
A womans flow is like the river of life
that's what makes her such a great wife.
She's gentle and sensual with a rose for a soul
her spirit is that of the river of gold.
A womans flow ebbs like the river's tide
taking you over an enchanting ride.
Back and forth, In and out
that's what the river of woman is about.
Debbie Wagoner 7/16/09
poem by Debbie Wagoner
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Phone Rant
Just dial 611 and the nightmare begins.
To refill a straight talk touch screen phone without the walmart card.
First I have to unlock the screen then push some buttons.
But either it won't unlock, or the key I press are not the ones entered.
Finally I end up talking to a real person, but her English is as good as my Spanish.
Qué dijo?
Absolute gibberish to me.
If were so hard up on jobs in america, why don't we hire more in costomer service?
The reason I have to go through this is I can't always get to walmart cause I don't even own a car.
And the second reason is I'm not on the auto refill program.
They are two reason for that, if something has to go it will be the phone before my rent, and the other is I don't need them screwing up my checking account.
Anyways next phone I buy will not be purely touch screen...
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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When Good Meets Evil
When good meets evil the world twist into one.
When good turns bad the earth is right again.
When your mean im nice and im sound.
You try to make the world go round.
When good meets evil the moon meets the sun.
When good meets evil life truly has become.
Real or Fake?
Nice or Mean?
Love is rough.
Love is dumb.
When good meets evil love has truly won.
poem by Debbie Ledford
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An Echo Of A Kiss
He kissed me only once
I remember it that much.
An echo of a kiss
oh his lips I miss
The memory burns wild
not the kiss of a child.
Too passionate for that
I'm not over that kiss yet.
An echo of a kiss
brought unrequited bliss.
A love that may never end
echoing again and again.
Debbie Wagoner 7/15/09
poem by Debbie Wagoner
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When I was about 15... I made my first attempt as a leading lady, and was, of course, a complete failure.
quote by Maude Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If we do what we think is right, not try to point-score, people will begin to trust us.
quote by Francis Maude
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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But if we can work with people in other parties to get the right answer for the country we'll do that.
quote by Francis Maude
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Master Spoke.
Why is the world here today?
The Master Spoke.
Why are we sinners, like sheep gone astray?
The Master Spoke.
Why all this toil, no comfort of Eden,
Since man didn't obey?
The Master Spoke.
Why work the dust of the ground, from whence we came,
And eat 'By the sweat of our brow? '
The Master Spoke.
Why do we, naturally,
Posess the desire to before,
God, want to worship and adore?
The Master Spoke.
Why is Jesus glorified,
And why, for sinners, did he die?
The Master Spoke.
Why shall God return again,
To take away Isreal, His bride?
Why me, a sinner, justified?
The Master Spoke.
Why will there be Revelations, wars,
And roomers of wars,
Nearing the End Times?
The Master Spoke.
Why is God an eternal Being,
But the world shall be no more?
The Master Spoke.
Why is it, that when a man speaks,
His words blow away
As kernals of grain,
And yet, when God speaks, his Word is as rock,
Forever to remain?
The Master Spoke -
'Heaven and Earth shall pass away,
But my words shall never pass away.'
Why do these things occur,
And as it were,
The penalty of sin man did not have to pay?
The Master Spoke -
'For God so loved the world,
That he gave his only Son,
That whoever believes in him
Shall not perish,
But have the gift of eternal life.
Why?
The Master Spoke.
'Go now! Help the needy,
And the weak!
Save hearts that are broken! '
Hurry, now!
The Master has Spoken.
poem by Macy Dvirnak
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The production team's first meeting took place at my house. I had ideas and a color scheme in mind, how I wanted the movie to look, because that has to be a real collaboration.
quote by Debbie Allen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We should be the natural home for young mothers. But we're not. Because too often we sound like people who think the only good mother is a married mother.
quote by Francis Maude
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thirty Years
IT'S THIRTY YEARS THAT I'VE SLAVED.
LET'S TAKE A LOOK AT WHAT I'VE SAVED
I BOUGHT SOME STOCKS THEY SAID WERE STARS.
NOW BANKS OWN MY HOUSE AND BOTH USED CARS.
THE KIDS DO CALL, BUT NOT ENOUGH.
THAT ALIMONY MAKES IT TOUGH.
THINGS ARE BETTER SINCE I MET DEB.
SHE'S HELPED ME BACK FROM MY LOW EBB.
WE'LL MARRY SOON, BUT BOTH ARE NERVOUS.
WE CARRY SCARS FROM PREVIOUS SERVICE.
THE NEXT THIRTY YEARS I WON'T BE CONCERNED
WITH DEBBIE, FRIENDS AND WHAT I'VE LEARNED.
poem by Gregory Huyette
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Closedown
The incunabula of television,
Crystal palace, lipstick and clipped tones,
Muffin the Mule, then finally the flicks
crammed into tubes, inferior Bibles, cloned,
invaded all our evenings. Television
will kill the cinema! doom-pundits cried,
erroneously. We, mesmerised, pie-eyed,
in small square post-utility sitting rooms,
witnessed the small square triumph of the box,
Stevenson's toy theatre, exaggerating life.
Coach became pumpkin at eleven o'clock,
rooms shrank, books closed, bare remnants of the plot.
Goodnight. Remember to switch off your set.
The screen collapsed into a small white dot.
Split Screen (Red Squirrel Press)
poem by Sally Evans
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Green Man
The story I am about to tell
is about a man who fell down a well.
His real name was Costaswell
that was until he fell down the well
where the night before
in the shadows of the moon
someone tipped gallons
of green paint down the well.
Then poor Costaswell fell in
and when he popped his head out.
Everyone thought he was an Alien.
You all know the type,
a green man from Mars.
Someone called the army in,
they asked where his spaceship had landed.
He said he did not have one
and he did not come from Mars.
Now poor Costaswell is better know
as the green man
who did not come from mars,
but from Hampton Court.
Now when he walks down the street
dogs come and raise a leg up
as they think he is a tree.
Kids drag their mothers to come and see
the green Martian from Hampton Court.
Everyone is wondering now
in the winter what will he do,
will he turn a light green
or will he turn blue.
10 September 2009
poem by David Harris
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