Perhaps Chopsticks
What is it then that binds us to the mob,
and asks so much of our most precious inner lust?
Will they relent in their demanding heartbreak throb
or would plain sanity whip up a healing gust
of soft humanity and altruistic wallow
is this reality, god-given, an excuse
or fraying vanity with braids so very shallow
that even devils do consider it a ruse?
Could we be masters then, of life's intriguing plan
to sweep away the dust o f Cinderella's ashes
or will our fellow bastards fight us as they can
with ill-won skirmishes and convoluted dashes?
And I think not, so says the meek and humble vagrant
who sits and watches with detached and hollow eyes
he could not care about a body somewhat fragrant
and only welcomes little weevils and all flies.
Are we so righteous that the bums can teach us fools
that all those animals in zoos and in our beds
and even plants in pots who follow different rules
are far superior than the famous Mister Ed?
I have no answers, guys, perhaps you ask your preacher
or politicians, for the riddle's whole equation
I am no baker and no butcher and no teacher
perhaps a maker of great chopsticks, proudly Asian.
.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Related quotes
Thankful To God
(2/23/12)
Ashes to ashes - dust to dust
I put my life in gods trust
He has watched me every step of the way
And from him I will not stray.
When my life seems to be going wrong
He comes and makes me strong.
Just say a little mental prayer
And with god his love you'll share.
Look at the beauties all around
In the sky and on the ground
The birds that fly high above
Spreading their wings with his love.
Many of the two and four legged
Animals on the ground
Is the food that we have found.
He supplies us with all our needs
And on which plants we could feed.
Plants for food, plants to cure
Everything here, rest assured.
Why do we worry so
He takes care of us - this we know.
So be thankful to god above
For he is the one true love.
poem by Louis Rams
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Two birds on the same tree
Two birds rest on the same tree;
their eyes are bright;
they look alike; yet one
is the Teacher; one the Student;
the Student tastes all the many fruits
upon that tree; the Teacher sits, just watches,
filled with love and pride;
the eyes of both are bright;
when the Student has tasted all,
the Teacher asks what has been learnt; for
only the Teacher knows within their heart:
that now the Student is the teacher;
the Teacher listens as a student;
the Student speaks now as a teacher
who has learned this of themself;
the Teacher’s eyes are bright:
knowing that to live it through
shows the knowledge to be true;
the Student is teaching the Teacher now, of
how to teach; the Teacher glows to know
the Student may surpass the Teacher;
knowledge shines from both their eyes;
who is the more glorious of these two
who share both the same name?
who rejoice to need the other;
who rejoice to be the other;
now they are silent; now the tree’s rejoicing too;
Its roots above; its fruits below;
its leaves, a shelter;
its branches, home.
*
[ Leaning on a poem of Kabir: Indian readers will be familiar with
'two birds in a tree' as a metaphor for acting with detachment; Kabir takes this further, into knowledge gained from wise action...]
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Don't want to work in a factory
And what do you want to be
when you are older young lad?
me Sir, I want to be a footballer
or a Brickie just like my Dad.
And if not a great footballer
or a Bricklayer on building sites
I'd like to be a top wrestler
or a boxer who wins all his fights.
But I'd love to be a famous film star
and see my name up there in lights
because I'd hate to work in a factory
on a machine and doing nights.
So as you can see mister teacher
I'm not sure what I want to do
but hang on I really love animals
so I'd be a vet or work in a zoo.
Now I bet your all saying
I wonder what profession
did he finally choose?
was it a life in Hollywood movies
or did he play soccer for the Sky Blues?
Well, I never got to work with animals
and got knocked out in my first fight
failed all of my theatre auditions
too nervous called it stage fright.
Had a trial for Manchester United
but told I was not good enough
so I tried my hand at Wrestling
too skinny they said need to be big and tough.
So I never became a movie heart throb
and alas the sports world never ever knew me
all those childhood dreams never happened
so here I am working in a bloody factory!
poem by Kevin Halls
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The Meek Shall Inherit The Earth
All animals have a brain,
Some strong some weak,
There's the vicious or meek,
Some truly unique,
Yet we treat them with total disdain.
As partners they're great,
Either Dog or Cat,
A nice Hamster or Rat,
They come thin or fat,
Positivity is what they create.
They give us love and affection,
Help us to thrive,
They fight to survive,
Keep us alive
Like us they're a diverse collection.
They do sustain the Human race,
Yet we treat them cruel,
Some we ridicule,
That's the act of a fool,
Our behaviour can be a disgrace.
Animals are just like you and I,
They suffer depression,
Yes show aggression,
They make an impression,
As they live they also die.
I think now is the time to ponder,
None of us are superior,
Animals are not inferior,
They've the same interior,
Their viability we mustn't squander.
Does Gods Heaven really exist?
Will animals gain entry?
Waltz past the sentry,
Be classed as life's gentry,
While us Humans are readily dismissed,
Of compassion for animals there is a dearth,
So we'd better beware,
Unless we take care,
We'll be facing despair,
For,
‘' The Meek Shall Inherit The Earth ‘'
Sex Therapy
The pain is so much
That I just cannot bear it
Anymore…
Whatever comes my way
I use them as stop-gap
Measures.
Books, PC and the Net,
Music, Reading and
Writing…
Those healing nature walks.
Anything Goes
For short trips of
Rapid Respite.
Wish it could go
A long way…
For coping and healing.
May be, I should try
Sex Therapy.
All that love is now
Beyond me…
Have had enough of that.
No more for me now.
Your body speaks of
Lust to me.
And I can only talk
Sex now.
I don’t feel love
When I see your Photo.
Just Plain Lust.
So are you thirsting
To take on me?
As much as I am
Famished for some
Sex and sex and sex only
To whip the stress away…
No Holds Barred.
Let’s forget about love
And give in to our passions
With lustful abandonment.
I long for love no more.
Need the warmth of your body
To touch my aches and pains
With your healing sex therapy.
Touch Me –
Where it hurts the most
The bosom of my heart.
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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My Friend the Teacher
Your thoughtful, you’re smart, you’re wise
You’re caring, you’re generous, you don’t despise
With words of wisdom like a preacher
For you’re my friend the teacher
~~~
You’re the light, you’re the prophecy, you’re a guiding star
You’re helpful, your supportive, you care from afar
Teaching others that help has no end
For you’re the teacher my friend
~~~
Now as you look into students eyes hoping to see a sign of yearning
Knowing that you teaching is a fun way of learning
For its larger then any mathematical equation
Clearer then any English sensation
~~~
More knowledgeable then any kind of world history
Even more decipherable then any scientific mystery
More lenient then any P.E. criteria
Even more tempting then any food from a cafeteria
~~~
Because with words of wisdom like a preacher
You’re my friend the teacher
Still teaching others that help has no end
You’re the teacher my friend
poem by Poetic Philosopher
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Mortality
Ashes to ashes, dust unto dust,
What of his loving, what of his lust?
What of his passion, what of his pain?
What of his poverty, what of his pride?
Earth, the great mother, has called him again:
Deeply he sleeps, the world's verdict defied.
Shall he be tried again? Shall he go free?
Who shall the court convene? Where shall it be?
No answer on the land, none from the sea.
Only we know that as he did, we must:
You with your theories, you with your trust,--
Ashes to ashes, dust unto dust!
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Mister Powers
Excuse me, mister powers
What do we plan to do today?
Yes excuse me, mister powers
What do we plan to do today?
Were going to 43rd street sonny
To hear them blues boys play
Well, its midnight mister powers
Where are we gonna boogaloo?
Yes, its after midnight mister powers
Where are we gonna boogaloo?
Were going to kingston mines boy
To boogaloo with sugarblue
Why, gentle mister powers
What will the morning bring?
Oh, gracious mister powers
What will the morning bring?
Well were going down to church child
To hear them gospel women sing
Well, tell me mister powers
What is the meaning of all this?
Please tell me mister powers
What is the meaning of all this?
It means aint God a good god
And all the glory is his
Thank you mister powers
You sure put the power in me!
Oh, thank you mister powers
You sure put the power in me!
Well, think nothin of it buddy,
The best things in life are still free...
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: God is Beside His Righteous Souls
God loves His righteous people immensely,
And cares for them, protecting them always;
The snares of evil men can't harm truly;
With ease, the righteous on earth spend their days!
The Maker wages wars and wins them all;
The righteous feel secure with God beside;
God watches them and hears their every call;
The righteous shun all vices and all pride!
God plans the future of His beloved souls;
Nothing can go amiss in His schedule;
The non-believers are all merely fools;
Awards/ rewards come without any rule!
God will not lose a single righteous soul;
All righteous too have celestial a goal!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-08-12
poem by John Celes
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The Children Are The Future Of Humanity
The children are the future of Humanity so teach the children well
And as their teacher your knowledge of Life and Nature to them you ought to tell
And teach them to respect our Mother Earth the one who feeds us all
And in years from now to you they will be grateful when memories of you they will recall.
The children are the future of Humanity but for guidance on you they do depend
They need you as a mentor and they need you as a friend
Children are innocent and easily led astray good role models they do need
That you have been chosen as their mentor to you is a great honour indeed.
Children who do not have good role models in life are easily led astray
That they do not receive a fair go does seem so sad to say
Far too many young children become victims of abuse
For wronging children in any way there cannot be an excuse.
As the teacher of the children you've been chosen for to lead
And though of good mentors and teachers we seldom hear about or read
That you do your best as a teacher for you enough of success
To young people that you mentor you bring hope and happiness.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Pole Dancer
Sweat drips as she swing around the pole
her heart racing
She smiles at the guys as she pulls herself around
her eyes shining
She looks into the croud as she dances on the stage
her mind steady
She watches the guys who look intersted as she strips
her lust showing through her eyes
She spins around the pole again as she grinds with her body
her fingers wrapped tight around the pole
She lets her hair fall over her face and body as she stops
her body ready
She stands in a pose as the guys flood to her
her chest pullsing
Her eyes watch them as her mouth pulls into a wanting grin
her mid longing for their bodies
Her eyes searc through them as she sees him
as she walks away with him into the rooms and the music continues
poem by Bethany Maxwell
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Teacher, Teacher
Just when I thought I finally learned my lesson well,
There was more to this than meets the eye.
And for all the things you taught me, only time will tell,
If I'll be able to survive. Oh yeah.
Teacher, teacher, can you teach me?
Can you tell me all I need to know?
Teacher, teacher, can you reach me?
Or will I fall when you let me go? Oh no.
Am I ready for the real world, will I pass the test?
You know it's a jungle out there.
Ain't nothin' gonna stop me, I won't be second best,
But the joke's on those who believe the system's fair, oh yeah.
Teacher, teacher, can you teach me?
Can you tell me if I'm right or wrong?
Teacher, teacher, can you reach me?
I wanna know what's goin' on, Oh yeah.
So the years go on and on, but nothing's lost or won.
And what you learned is soon forgotten.
They take the best years of your life,
Try to tell you wrong from right,
But you walk away with nothing. Oh Oh.
Teacher, teacher, can you teach me?
Can you tell me all I need to know?
Teacher, teacher, can you reach me?
Or will I fall when you let me go?
Teacher, teacher, can you teach me?
Can you tell me if I'm right or wrong?
Teacher, teacher, can you reach me?
I wanna know what's goin' on, Oh
Teacher, teacher, can you teach me?
Teacher, teacher, can you reach me?
Teacher, teacher, can you teach me?
Teacher, teacher, Ooh yeah.
Teacher, teacher
Teacher, teacher
~Adams, Vallance
song performed by by 38 Special
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: God's Words
Believe in Jesus Christ, receiving joys;
The Almighty bestows grace in excess!
No more devils can use us as their toys.
The Word of God bestows true happiness.
Dispelling darkness, lighting life’s alleys,
The Word of God miraculously guides;
Have faith in Jesus Christ and He gives peace;
The righteous soul in Maker’s codes abides.
You cannot serve two masters- satan, God;
The Word of God will protect us from harm;
Devils rejoice when we receive God’s rod;
Scriptures provide souls God’s forgiveness-Balm!
Follow the Word of God in life on earth,
And realize the advantages / worth!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-11-2006
poem by John Celes
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Hollow Man
Emptiness consuming me
Head in hands, I can hardly speak
looking for solitude, Lost in humanity
True knowledge leads to suffering
A constant quest an endless dream
Searching for inner peace, hidden so deep in me
Don't wanna be a hollow man
Ain't gonna be the hollow man
Don't wanna be a hollow man
Ain't gonna be the hollow man
Sadness comes knocking constantly
Filling up my eyes, for all to see
Peace will come some day, I pray that it finds a way
Darkness caressing my mind and soul
My spirits rejecting, I'm feeling whole
Emptiness goes away, fills with the light of day
Don't wanna be a hollow man
Ain't gonna be the hollow man
Don't wanna be a hollow man
Ain't gonna be the hollow man
I rise up like the pheonix from the ashes of an older way
With wisdom gained, I turn away, I turned away
Hollow man, find yourself some other Plan
Don't wanna be a hollow man Ain't gonna be the hollow man
Don't wanna be a hollow man
Ain't gonna be the hollow man
song performed by by Iced Earth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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LOSERS in the GAME
Detached from reality
so many stray
into a game
that the Illuminati play.
They live in a world
that doesn't exist.
But in their minds
they still persist
in believing it does.
They follow the crowd
and close their eyes,
afraid of the truth,
followers of lies.
Too tired to explore,
they follow along
in the footsteps
of generations before.
Until the masses
understand the game,
they'll never change.
They will stay the same.
How do we reach them?
What does it take?
How can we make them
come awake?
There's an on-going battle
for this planet of ours.
The benefactors will be
the ones with powers.
We are losing this game
because we don; t know the rules.
The Illuminati are winners.
We are the fools.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Wallowings
I am in the Wallowing-
there I find my best and worse.
Pity-Wallow is where I focus
all on my self and go inward
for long moments of pity-filled indulgence of self.
Sorrow-Wallow allows me to grieve
on my own terms, yet not really suffer
too much.
Wallow-Defeats are my best
and where I re-learn over and over again
not to regret.
Good Wallow where I learn lessons
over and over again-
Down is the best way Up;
Out is the best way Back:
Wallow-Defeat is the path to Happiness-
if you Wallow quietly and accept
that a Good Wallow is where you
plan for the Wallow-Through
not stop and rest amid your Wallowings.
As my Mother used to say:
'Cry and Wallow that's ok
but use the time to plan to get
back on your feet again.'
A good Wallow is a terrible thing to waste.'
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Old Trouper
I was Mojeska's leading man
And famous parts I used to play,
But now I do the best I can
To earn my bread from day to day;
Here in this Burg of Breaking Hears,
Where one wins as a thousand fail,
I play a score of scurvy parts
Till Time writes Finis to my tale.
My wife is dead, my daughter wed,
With heaps of trouble of their own;
And though I hold aloft my head
I'm humble, scared and all alone . . .
To-night I burn each photograph,
Each record of my former fame,
And oh, how bitterly I laugh
And feed them to the hungry flame!
Behold how handsome I was then -
What glowing eye, what noble mien;
I towered above my fellow men,
And proudly strode the painted scene.
Ah, Vanity! What fools are we,
With empty ends and foolish aims . . .
There now, I fling with savage glee
My David Garrick to the flames.
"Is this a dagger that I see":
Oh, how I used to love that speech;
We were old-fashioned - "hams" maybe,
Yet we Young Arrogance could teach.
"Out, out brief candle!" There are gone
My Lear, my Hamlet and MacBeth;
And now by ashes cold and wan
I wait my cue, my prompter Death.
This life of ours is just a play;
Its end is fashioned from the start;
Fate writes each word we have to say,
And puppet-like we strut our part.
Once I wore laurels on my brow,
But now I wait, a sorry clown,
To make my furtive, farewell bow . . .
Haste Time! Oh, ring the Curtain down.
poem by Robert William Service
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Will O' The Wisp
Follow me, follow me,
Over brake and under tree,
Thro' the bosky tanglery,
Brushwood and bramble!
Follow me, follow me,
Laugh and leap and scramble!
Follow, follow,
Hill and hollow,
Fosse and burrow,
Fen and furrow,
Down into the bulrush beds,
'Midst the reeds and osier heads,
In the rushy soaking damps,
Where the vapours pitch their camps,
Follow me, follow me,
For a midnight ramble!
O! what a mighty fog,
What a merry night O ho!
Follow, follow, nigher, nigher -
Over bank, and pond, and briar,
Down into the croaking ditches,
Rotten log,
Spotted frog,
Beetle bright
With crawling light,
What a joy O ho!
Deep into the purple bog -
What a joy O ho!
Where like hosts of puckered witches
All the shivering agues sit
Warming hands and chafing feet,
By the blue marsh-hovering oils:
O the fools for all their moans!
Not a forest mad with fire
Could still their teeth, or warm their bones,
Or loose them from their chilly coils.
What a clatter,
How they chatter!
Shrink and huddle,
All a muddle!
What a joy O ho!
Down we go, down we go,
What a joy O ho!
Soon shall I be down below,
Plunging with a grey fat friar,
Hither, thither, to and fro,
Breathing mists and whisking lamps,
Plashing in the shiny swamps;
While my cousin Lantern Jack,
With cook ears and cunning eyes,
Turns him round upon his back,
Daubs him oozy green and black,
Sits upon his rolling size,
Where he lies, where he lies,
Groaning full of sack -
Staring with his great round eyes!
What a joy O ho!
Sits upon him in the swamps
Breathing mists and whisking lamps!
What a joy O ho!
Such a lad is Lantern Jack,
When he rides the black nightmare
Through the fens, and puts a glare
In the friar's track.
Such a frolic lad, good lack!
To turn a friar on his back,
Trip him, clip him, whip him, nip him.
Lay him sprawling, smack!
Such a lad is Lantern Jack!
Such a tricksy lad, good lack!
What a joy O ho!
Follow me, follow me,
Where he sits, and you shall see!
poem by George Meredith
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Student Teacher
I'm a student teacher
I love all my kids
Did'nt want to be a preacher
Like my daddy did
I go to work every day
Here at Jefferson school
I love it when we work and play
Man this place is cool
We teach whats wrong, we teach whats right
We teach the golden rule
We teach them songs and not to fight
At least not here at school
I am a student teacher
And yes I'm here to stay
I am the special feature
Of the teachings here today
poem by Kevin Seales
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Psalm 39 part 2
v.4-7
C. M.
The vanity of man as mortal.
Teach me the measure of my days,
Thou Maker of my frame;
I would survey life's narrow space,
And learn how frail I am.
A span is all that we can boast,
An inch or two of time;
Man is but vanity and dust
In all his flower and prime.
See the vain race of mortals move
Like shadows o'er the plain;
They rage and strive, desire and love,
But all the noise is vain.
Some walk in honor's gaudy show,
Some dig for golden ore;
They toil for heirs, they know not who,
And straight are seen no more.
What should I wish or wait for, then,
From creatures earth and dust?
They make our expectations vain,
And disappoint our trust.
Now I forbid my carnal hope,
My fond desires recall;
I give my mortal interest up,
And make my God my all.
poem by Isaac Watts
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