Sawn in Half
Her languid, prime speech drawls
‘tells it like it is’ tongue
skims stones, creates ripples
ushers vowels
past her white overbite_
I catch every exhaled pebble
from her gravelly voice
stoned on cigarettes and cider.
Her bricks and mortar vernacular
graduate to polysyllabic
mortar board remarks.
I am magically sawn_
in half by the me
drawn to her accomplished artistry,
the poet to the page,
and my jaw agape
at her sandy hair framing cheeky smirk
finding gems in conversational trivia
stoking the embers, stirring the pot
with ‘school of hard knocks’ confidence.
Related quotes
Everything Ages
Everything ages
Even bricks and mortar-
I was here at the beginning of this neighborhood thirty years ago
When all was fresh and new-
Now there is rust and chipped paint
On buildings that sag in tiredness-
It is not only the people
But the things of the world
Which age and die-
Time will take all
And these stones too will not be here one day.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Funnyossities
Where silliness borders on the realm of possibility –
that’s the blissful land where children play;
inventing for themselves, or helped
by those never-quite-grown-ups
who spend their working week
chortle-gurgle-wham-ouch-eeuucchh! -‘****? ’-
EEEKK! -AAaarrgghh! ! ! ,
illustrating Kidz Komix and such
in that blissful land
and there were books called ‘Funnyossities’
(they’d be nothing now)
the pages chopped laterally in three:
heads in the top section, every possible caricature,
bodies of every size, shape, dress, the middle section;
then legs of all sorts (lots of hairy ones, of course)
occupied the lower section;
and you turned them over, this way, that way,
to make the most ludicrous combinations…
sometimes just absurd, sometimes surreally possible…
I’m there on the page you’re turning now:
a wizened face, eyes popping;
from my mortar-board, it seems, a schoolmaster enraged
to apoplexy and beyond;
the body of a languid, greenery-yellery poet, wilting like
a stick of celery long past its celery-buy date…
the legs like ancient hairy sticks beneath the woeful shorts…
feel free to chortle, or to turn the page;
it could be worse.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Composing is like driving down a foggy road toward a house. Slowly you see more details of the house-the color of the slates and bricks, the shape of the windows. The notes are the bricks and the mortar of the house.
quote by Benjamin Britten
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bricks and mortar make a house, but the laughter of children makes a home.
I provide the bricks and mortar with the words and situations - the director and the actors and the designers build the house.
quote by Eric Bogosian
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The cost of acquiring new customers and maintaining those relationships in an online environment versus bricks and mortar is significant.
quote by Stephen Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I think your life is governed not by the bricks or mortar around you, it's governed by who holds your hand and who spits in your eye.
quote by David McCallum
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pebbles
The pebble I once tossed
Made ripples in the pool
Like gross word heard by all
Which made some quite so crossed
Tells me I'm such a fool
The pebbles in the sand
That I threw there to lie
Like half-truths that slipped by
Due to my sleight of hand
Might haunt me till I die
The pebbles in the grass
I scattered on the lawn
Like faults I left to spawn
Are now back doubly crass
And much flak it has drawn.
poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
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Fences
Fences are built from bricks and mortar,
Then wood is added to the list of torture.
Fenced in houses are loving and breezed,
By the winds, also the very gales that are pleased.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The Poet As A Pornographer
without the contours of the body
where shall the poet be?
without the feel of the palms
skimming through breasts and thighs
where can his poems be?
he cannot live on those clouds alone
he has no words that must dwell in air
his rhyme and rhythm are on their prime
on the hips and legs
that which lies between and not beyond
creates the meaning of his lines
the hair and nose and tender loins
the lips and tongue and cheeks
the poet takes some flowers and smell them
but with her something crawls in his head forever
do not judge him for he is happy and
he does not really care about what you say
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I Never Had Time To Explain Myself
there were stones thrown
on the water and so there were ripples
like the pain
the pain goes on and on
like circles spreading beyond a certain point
of my tolerance
my tongue forms some words like hammers
to hit the nails right on their faces
to break the monotony of destruction
without rivets no dovetails but
the story has become like a code of the samurai
to you, and you swing your head like arms
in disbelief how can all these be true he is not like this
and you become like a bone in my throat and i like
to remove every obstruction one by one
but i do not have the pleasure of keeping you
my hands inside my pocket are mine alone
the pebble inside it is warm and smooth
my treasure and like my conscience i keep it
inside my heart. I keep seeing ripples and then
i do not mind how many stones how far they spread.
i owe no one and no one owes me
i am an island and i wish there are no boats docked on my shore
any time, somewhere, any more.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Hands-on Involvement
Can you comprehend any of this?
With bricks crumbling to the ground...
Many collective in voice,
Are finding others to blame around.
Even though those bricks,
Were by them picked apart...
With a consciousness insisted.
And the blamed is laid on those trying to fix...
What the lips of those wicked,
Lay to say...
To remove themselves from it.
In well attended campaigns!
Used to smother any remembrance...
Of the many seeing them,
With their 'hands-on' involvement!
Can you comprehend any of this?
With bricks crumbling to the ground...
Many collective in voice,
Are finding others to blame around.
And the confused are alarmed,
Like guinea pigs addicted to abuses inflicted.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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It Tell's You Lie's With A Smirk
The darkness hides
Voices from the past
A voice whispers
In the dark
It tells you lie’s
With a smirk
You believe
What it says
You think
It’s the truth
Only to learn
It’s all lies
With a smirk
After years of lie’s
That you thought was the truth
You start to realize
That to be free
You need the truth
So regardless of pain
Of how much the truth hurts
To confront and to hear
Sets you free from the hurt
poem by Kaila George
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Marriages are not made in heaven! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! !
You smile at me gazing deep in my eyes
From the picture I pinned on the soft board.
As I untangle my wet hair and hurriedly blow dry,
Tying into a knot with pins, rush out on road
To catch 9 AM metro after all night work;
It’s Monday, deadline for a cover story
On long distance marriage; board and smirk
You can make it work, with trust, commitment.
poem by Mamta Agarwal
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Bricklayer Love
I thought of killing myself because I am only a bricklayer
and you a woman who loves the man who runs a drug store.
I don't care like I used to; I lay bricks straighter than I
used to and I sing slower handling the trowel afternoons.
When the sun is in my eyes and the ladders are shaky and the
mortar boards go wrong, I think of you.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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Pebble Passage Through Water
pebble rough pebble
smooth seen
vein colour adored
which makes
most beautiful ripples
on dark water?
behold beauty
of ripples
forget not
sound of entry
poem by Terence George Craddock
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3 Months
He is like a song.
i just want to listen to him all day.
i want to see him so bad.
the last time i saw him was June of 07.
me and you have been together for 3 months.
on may 18th 08 it was 3months.
on Feb.18th 08 is when my life changed
it changed all for the good and none for the bad.
life is pain.
you just have to learn how to deal with it
eventually instead of always running away from it
you just have to ease your way threw it.
when you realize you can the world don't give up.
keep moving forward.
you don't always need money to get what you want and need.
its all up to who you know.
and who you open your door to.
when i graduate out of high school in 2011
i want to take a year off and see the world.
then im going to go to college and graduate from there in 2016
then from there i am going to go to law school.
threw all of that become a famous poet
after law school i am going to be a lawyer
who is also a poet.
well if you already write poetry
then you already are a poet.
so all you need to do is get your poetry published.
i deserve thee very best in life
and i will not settle for anything less.
poem by Jenee Poindexter
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Sandy
Stranded at the drive-in
Branded as a fool
What will they say monday at school
Sandy
Cant you see Im in misery
We made a start
Now were apart
Theres nothing left for me
Love has grown
All alone I sit and wonder why
Why you left me
Oh sandy
O sandy baby
Someday when hi-i-i--igh school is done
Somehow someway our two worlds will be one
In heaven forever and ever we will be
Oh please say youll stay
Oh sandy
(spoken)
Sandy my darling you hurt me real bad
You know its true
But baby you gotta believe when I say
Im helpless without you
Love has grown all alone
I sit and wonder why-y-y oh why you left me
Oh sandy
Sandy, sandy
Why oh sandy
song performed by by Olivia Newton-John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love
Love is fleeing
Requires daily work to grasp its fashion
Like black and white rainbows
Impassioned rejection
Uncontrolable intimate addiction
Could saftely individualize
Walls built
Bricks of egotism
Neat impassive layered rows
Mortar made with efficent channeled efficaious pain
Impersonation of a contending composure
Courious,
Aluring Infatuation
Unoticed
Endorsing accumulative decietful foundation cracks.
poem by Howard Johnson
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Meaning of Death
when a poet writes of death
don't take it literally
death has many meanings
which differ significantly
to a poet death might mean
death of a past
which is a new beginning
one that might last
death to a poet is life
time to start a new chapter
turn the page
turn sadness into laughter
to a poet death is a new start
ending of strife
closing, locking the doors
of their old life
death has so many meanings
not only for a poet
all parts of life leads to death
some just don't know it
death means change
chance for a new beginning
put the past behind
stop losing, start winning
so to a poet
death is not always bad
we must write our feelings
whether good or sad
p.s.not sure this makes much sense
but i was buzzed ;)
poem by Sandy Nobody
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