En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The world is more than the sum of it's parts

The world is more than the sum of it's parts;
Things so unequal, it must be an art,
For nothing's predictable as it might seem,
From the hour of our birth to the death of our dream.

In real life Cinderella can win the prince,
No matter how unlikely the size of her prints:
If the quantum shoe fits the strange facts of the case,
We can acquit and find there no disgrace.

The sole home of Ripley and Guinness and Freud;
Guilt not allayed and surprise unalloyed-
No use to bother with syntax or diction;
In this world, truth is much larger than fiction.

poem by Patti Masterman
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Cinderella

Written by j. kimball and d. vidal, 1984
Found on perspective.
I was out last night having a ball
And comin home, I wasnt thinkin nothin at all
And there on the sidewalk what did I see
A little glass slipper starin back at me
Cinderella (cinderella)
Well Im not superstitious but Im smarter than I seem
And I knew it was love, if you know what I mean
When I saw that slipper it occurred to me
The shoe fit her and she fit me
Cinderella (cinderella)
Cinderella (cinderella)
When I find her it will be
A fairy tale for her and me
I will never let her go
Cinderella
Now the other girls hold no fascination for me
I just think of her wherever she may be
I will search my whole life through
cause no one else will ever do
Cinderella (cinderella)
Cinderella (cinderella)
When I find her it will be
A fairy tale for her and me
I will never let her go
She will give my heart a home
Until that day Ill be alone
With just a slipper and a dream
Cinderella (cinderella)
Cinderella (cinderella)
Oo (cinderella)
Cinderella (cinderella)

song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Real Fiction

There are two kinds of fiction to find…
One in the world and the other in the mind.

When unpleasant things happen for real
With which the real mind is unable to deal,
It creates a world of fiction so it can survive
In order to justify that its unreal beliefs are alive.

These unreal beliefs have a real world all alone
As they deny real facts with data of their own.
Their fiction continues as world events transpire
With interpretation to support beliefs they require.

The world of fiction will collide with the world of real
As its members seek reality, it will lose its appeal.
Unless it dispenses with its delusions of the facts,
It will disappear as it's devoured by the reality it lacks.

poem by Gregory Huyette
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Miss Cinderella's forgotten shoe

Miss Cinderella
O Miss Cinderella!

I reckoned my dreams would materialize true
When I stared into those beautiful eyes of you
Miss Cinderella
O Miss Cinderella
Thou forgot to cast behind thy only begotten shoe

I stand here in line in thy awaited queue
You enlighten from the limousine
I’m waiting for that heavenly sign
Miss Cinderella
O Miss Cinderella
What has become of you?
Thou forgot to cast behind thy only begotten shoe

So many miles I flew
Yet you have no clue
Of how much we can chew
Without your shoe, there is no preview
Of the fairy tale we could pursue
Miss Cinderella
O Miss Cinderella
Can’t you see this love tattoo?
Thou forgot to cast behind thy only begotten shoe

And now you have left the venue
Thoughts of your forgotten shoe
I will cherish and value
So close, so near, almost there
Miss Cinderella
O Miss Cinderella
If only you could undo
And cast behind thy forgotten shoe
But thou forgot to cast behind thy only begotten shoe

So the prince is gone
Life goes on
But my love for you is not withdrawn!

Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi

poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Complex Cinderella

Living in a fantasy world asleep
All her laundry left in a heap
She has a dream of being discovered
Her other life uncovered
Really a wall-flower who never knows what to say
She's not excused from the drudgery of each day
She's a complex Cinderella
Waiting to meet the right fella
Understanding her special dream
Wearing glass slippers is part of the scheme
If the shoe fits wear it
But it's so tight I can't bear it
This shoe was featured in a fashion magazine
It's one you probably have seen
A fairy tale contraption
Wearing it would take some adaptation
Fragile self image she's often left on the shelf
You'll find her sipping tea by herself
Until Mr. Wonderful comes along
She'll be doing housework and humming a song

poem by Carney Brown
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Cinderella

You always read about it:
the plumber with the twelve children
who wins the Irish Sweepstakes.
From toilets to riches.
That story.

Or the nursemaid,
some luscious sweet from Denmark
who captures the oldest son's heart.
from diapers to Dior.
That story.

Or a milkman who serves the wealthy,
eggs, cream, butter, yogurt, milk,
the white truck like an ambulance
who goes into real estate
and makes a pile.
From homogenized to martinis at lunch.

Or the charwoman
who is on the bus when it cracks up
and collects enough from the insurance.
From mops to Bonwit Teller.
That story.

Once
the wife of a rich man was on her deathbed
and she said to her daughter Cinderella:
Be devout. Be good. Then I will smile
down from heaven in the seam of a cloud.
The man took another wife who had
two daughters, pretty enough
but with hearts like blackjacks.
Cinderella was their maid.
She slept on the sooty hearth each night
and walked around looking like Al Jolson.
Her father brought presents home from town,
jewels and gowns for the other women
but the twig of a tree for Cinderella.
She planted that twig on her mother's grave
and it grew to a tree where a white dove sat.
Whenever she wished for anything the dove
would dropp it like an egg upon the ground.
The bird is important, my dears, so heed him.

Next came the ball, as you all know.
It was a marriage market.
The prince was looking for a wife.
All but Cinderella were preparing
and gussying up for the event.
Cinderella begged to go too.
Her stepmother threw a dish of lentils
into the cinders and said: Pick them
up in an hour and you shall go.
The white dove brought all his friends;
all the warm wings of the fatherland came,
and picked up the lentils in a jiffy.
No, Cinderella, said the stepmother,
you have no clothes and cannot dance.
That's the way with stepmothers.

Cinderella went to the tree at the grave
and cried forth like a gospel singer:
Mama! Mama! My turtledove,
send me to the prince's ball!
The bird dropped down a golden dress
and delicate little slippers.
Rather a large package for a simple bird.
So she went. Which is no surprise.
Her stepmother and sisters didn't
recognize her without her cinder face
and the prince took her hand on the spot
and danced with no other the whole day.

As nightfall came she thought she'd better
get home. The prince walked her home
and she disappeared into the pigeon house
and although the prince took an axe and broke
it open she was gone. Back to her cinders.
These events repeated themselves for three days.
However on the third day the prince
covered the palace steps with cobbler's wax
and Cinderella's gold shoe stuck upon it.
Now he would find whom the shoe fit
and find his strange dancing girl for keeps.
He went to their house and the two sisters
were delighted because they had lovely feet.
The eldest went into a room to try the slipper on
but her big toe got in the way so she simply
sliced it off and put on the slipper.
The prince rode away with her until the white dove
told him to look at the blood pouring forth.
That is the way with amputations.
They just don't heal up like a wish.
The other sister cut off her heel
but the blood told as blood will.
The prince was getting tired.
He began to feel like a shoe salesman.
But he gave it one last try.
This time Cinderella fit into the shoe
like a love letter into its envelope.

At the wedding ceremony
the two sisters came to curry favor
and the white dove pecked their eyes out.
Two hollow spots were left
like soup spoons.

Cinderella and the prince
lived, they say, happily ever after,
like two dolls in a museum case
never bothered by diapers or dust,
never arguing over the timing of an egg,
never telling the same story twice,
never getting a middle-aged spread,
their darling smiles pasted on for eternity.
Regular Bobbsey Twins.
That story.

poem by Anne Sexton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Glass Slippered Shoes

I know thats not going to happen.
I know it wont be okay.
But Im running out of words.
And things to say.

My hearts just not in it.
And Im so full of guilt.
I want to be a friend.
Break the wall Ive built.

Theres a line I must cross.
And a path I need to take.
But I dont have a map.
Its all up to fate.

But I know you need me.
You need me as a friend.
Im just waiting for,
this fairytale to end.

Your cinderella with your,
glass slipered shoes.
You danced with Prince Charming.
And he searched the world for you.

I was the servant.
Cleaning up the ball.
I wore peasent clothes.
Was trapped inside the halls.

But midnights struck away.
And now your just like me.
Cleaning up messes.
Just like it use to be.

But in real life.
Im still waiting for new day.
Midnight hasnt come.
You havent faded away.

Because Im not Cinderella.
I dont deserve a friend like you.
I didnt dance with a Prince.
Or wear glass slippered shoes.

poem by Silence Dogood
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Infusions

You'll not find me in no white lace frilly frock
there'll be no be no silver slipper
and prince charming laughing
you'll find me walking doubts corridors
still bewildered by choices I've made
unreconciled to shunting realities
which lay down with me at night in the dusty silence.

Instead, I stare ceiling-ward
counting chards of my school girl dreams
wondering
still dreaming
of that prince charming kiss
of that silver shoe
of chariots
kings and castles.

So I lay me down to sleep
to dream me another dream
of a dream that is not to be
until I make up my mind
to make of this my real life
a dream,
which infuses my real reality.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Fairytales

We all know fairytales are not real,
But can be very sweet.
The princesses always are the way we wish to feel,
Pretty, nice and petite.
Belle eventually got her beast,
Cinderella got her Prince Charming.
Who was left with the least,
Me who was left last and disarming.
It only lasted for a little while,
The heart ache and hurt,
But soon I bagan to smile,
Becoming more alert.
Fairytales keep hopes in tact,
And keep you thinking.
They keep distnace between fiction and fact,
Keep our world and theirs....linking!
Wishing to be in their stories,
Having fun as well as dreams.
Sharing their glories,
Always winning them, it seems.
But we all know there is never a happy ending,
Just death and sadness.
Let's enter their world..... Bending,
Ours into gladness.

poem by Tiffany Wolf
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Fairytales

We all know fairytales are not real,
But can be very sweet.
The princesses always are the way we wish to feel,
Pretty, nice and petite.
Belle eventually got her beast,
Cinderella got her Prince Charming.
Who was left with the least,
Me who was left last and disarming.
It only lasted for a little while,
The heart ache and hurt,
But soon I bagan to smile,
Becoming more alert.
Fairytales keep hopes in tact,
And keep you thinking.
They keep distnace between fiction and fact,
Keep our world and theirs....linking!
Wishing to be in their stories,
Having fun as well as dreams.
Sharing their glories,
Always winning them, it seems.
But we all know there is never a happy ending,
Just death and sadness.
Let's enter their world..... Bending,
Ours into gladness.

poem by Tiffany Wolf
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Abused Cinderella

Cinderella was a nice gal
Always did what she was told
Put others before herself
Cinderella had lots of hopes and dreams
One day in the town she heard of the ball
CInderella wanted to go
Really really bad
Her step mom gave her touble
Her sisters were ok
But she never went
Beucase no one cared
Poor cinderella cried
Dreams really don't come true
Fairytales are fake
Cinderella never found her prince
She never really went to any ball
She lost all her hopes and dreams in life
Cinderella never got a granted wish
Poor cinderella
True love never found her
When she was old
Cinderella died an old maid
When Cinderella went to heaven
She was treated like a real princess
Angels planed a ball for her
And made her a pretty white gown
Jesus danced with her
Then he took her by the hand
And led her to her handsome chosen prince
It was all worth the shattered hopes
And dreams in life
To have a fairytale ending in heaven

poem by Bella Ravenstar
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Sonnet: All Men Are Equal before God

The things we find are of unequal size,
Amongst mountains, rivers, places and trees!
Two men have unequal virtues and vice;
So are the beasts, dew-drops, the wind and breeze.

The surface of the sea has wavelets, waves;
Two grains of sand ashore aren’t equal-sized;
Unequal are all men on land and caves;
A hierarchy appears that looks much lysed.

Despite great differences, there’s harmony!
All things are equal ’fore the eyes of God;
Though different hives make differently honey,
The souls of men appear alike to Lord.

One isn’t made like the other in this world;
Yet, we can all make it to God’s Abode!

poem by John Celes
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A Ballade of Theatricals

Though all the critics' canons grow--
Far seedier than the actors' own--
Although the cottage-door's too low--
Although the fairy's twenty stone--
Although, just like the telephone,
She comes by wire and not by wings,
Though all the mechanism's known--
Believe me, there are real things.

Yes, real people--even so--
Even in a theatre, truth is known,
Though the agnostic will not know,
And though the gnostic will not own,
There is a thing called skin and bone,
And many a man that struts and sings
Has been as stony-broke as stone . . .
Believe me, there are real things

There is an hour when all men go;
An hour when man is all alone.
When idle minstrels in a row
Went down with all the bugles blown--
When brass and hymn and drum went down,
Down in death's throat with thunderings--
Ah, though the unreal things have grown,
Believe me, there are real things.

ENVOY.

Prince, though your hair is not your own
And half your face held on by strings,
And if you sat, you'd smash your throne--
--Believe me, there are real things.

poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Scared to Death

I feel my heart beat as I lie there and breath every breath in.I feel as if im scared to death and nothing there to support me as i fall.I dream dreams that could not have an explination to them.I wake up breathing as hard as before as my feet touch the floor, I am scared to death.I love my life but there comes a time when you just have to admit everything that is wrong.As I breath so calmly and smooth just then i find out the truth.Im scared to death.I walk around with a smile and realize this life has so many 'un-discovered' facts and as we learn the facts i see that the worlds going to waist.Im scared to death.I look around wondering if anyone else knows or feels my pain, only because im scared to death.I wish i could tell someone I wish they would know, so i dont feel as if im in the world alone.Im scared to death.I wonder how i live this life with all the secrets i hold my behind my breath just to realize im scared to death!

poem by Melissa Ramey
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Home Truth

I hung up the phone tonight
Just as you said I love you
Once this would have been coincidence
Now these things start to bother me
You still close your eyes when I kiss you
And I close mine too
But we didnt open them again
Quite as wide as we should
This is where the home truth ends
This is where the home truth ends
Does your touch feel the same as it should do
Or is it someone quite similar
Who killed me with kindness last night
Now do I look at all familiar?
But none of these things seem to matter
Since weve grown apart
Id put back the pieces of whats shattered
But I dont know where to start
This is where the home truth ends
This is where the home truth ends
This is where the home truth ends
And I feel like a clown
Its tearing me up
Its tearing me down
You say which are the lies that you tell me
Well where do I begin?
So I turn on the tv again
And the world comes crashing in
Is it my shirt or my toothpaste
That is whiter than white?
Is it the lies that I tell you
Or the lies that I might?
This is where the home truth ends
This is where the home truth ends
Chorus

song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Welcome to my dreamworld

There you stood
In front of me

You smiled
I couldn’t breathe

You took my breath away
An amazing moment
A moment to remember

Your eyes
The way you walk and talk

So breathtaking
When you walk by
The earth underneath me is shaking

I almost faint
At the sight of you

Then you wrap your arms around me
Preventing me from falling to a thousand pieces
Lying crumbled on the floor

You make me melt
Like snow underneath the warm sun

I just want to say
I love you so

Then I wake up in reality
A world were you are to good to be true

A world were someone like me
Doesn’t get a chance with a person like you

So welcome to my dream world
A world were Cinderella does exist
A world were the prince on the white horse still has a chance

Welcome to fiction
Were nothing is unimaginable

poem by Serenity Fay
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A Ballad of Theatricals

Though all the critics' canons grow-
Far seedier than the actors' own-
Although the cottage-door's too low-
Although the fairy's twenty stone-
Although, just like the telephone,
She comes by wire and not by wings,
Though all the mechanism's known-
Believe me, there are real things.

Yes, real people-even so-
Even in a theatre, truth is known,
Though the agnostic will not know,
And though the gnostic will not own,
There is a thing called skin and bone,
And many a man that struts and sings
Has been as stony-broke as stone . . .
Believe me, there are real things

There is an hour when all men go;
An hour when man is all alone.
When idle minstrels in a row
Went down with all the bugles blown-
When brass and hymn and drum went down,
Down in death's throat with thunderings-
Ah, though the unreal things have grown,
Believe me, there are real things.

ENVOY.

Prince, though your hair is not your own
And half your face held on by strings,
And if you sat, you'd smash your throne-
-Believe me, there are real things.

poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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Your Shoe-Size

Your shoe-size fits me but,
I don't sleep with my legs wide open;
Your head cover fits me but,
I don't pray with my hands down;
I have been longing for many years to see you.
Let us pursue the things which are peaceful,
Like life in the land of monkeys;
Let us pursue the things which are joyful,
Like life in the land of donkeys;
But do cancel my records out of your mind if,
You don't want me.

Twenty-three thousand fell in one day,
But flesh and blood cannot inherit the Kindom of Yahweh;
Death is the string of sin so,
Do cancel my name out of your history book.
Men have one flesh,
Birds have another flesh,
Beasts have another flesh,
Fish have another flesh,
But all flesh is not the same!

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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It Is Time To Change The World

It is time to change the world
By working together with the world
In order to bring peace for the people in the world
But first we need to accept each other
In real life
And not in a dream world
Because in the real world
We find things that can upset the black people
And the white people as well

poem by Aldo Kraas
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Beautiful Disgrace

I see the real you. You put me in my place.
Close to perfection. Youre out of control. Youre out of control.
Pardon me I feel the need to scream.
Im ill, stuck in the chemical abyss.
Im gripping at the walls around me.
Pardon me if I was laughing at the crimes.
I was laughing at the way you lie. Tell me why.
All my lies come down to this.
Cause I dont need friends who try to wrap me up in red tape.
Get em off my back theyre dead weight.
In case you didnt catch my signs the first time let me tell you again.
All my life I tried to explain how I love myself to release the pain.
Anti-magnetic so quit your bitching, lying, crying. Tell me why...
[ Chorus ]
Lately inside Im giving in to revenge.
Tell me why Im in over my head.
Why Im in over my head.
Im in so deep that...
When I wake up I dont wanna know you.
Tell me my name again.
Youre just a beautiful disgrace.
A beautiful disgrace. A beautiful disgrace.
Come with me so I can show you how to live.
Burning the candle at both ends.
Im gripping at the walls around me.
Dont complicate it.
Im addicted to this life.
Ill be your token of attention.
All my lies come down to this.
[ Repeat Chorus ]
Lately inside Im giving in to revenge.
Tell me why Im in over my head.
Why Im in over my head.
I see the real you. You put me in my place.
Close to perfection. Youre out of control.
I see the real you. I saw through everything.
Close to perfection. I saw through everything.
If I could take away this pain just one more time, I might.
I saw through everything. Tell me why Im in over my head.
When I wake up I dont wanna know you.
Tell me my name again.
Youre just a beautiful disgrace.
Such a beautiful disgrace (disgrace, disgrace).
Youre such a beautiful disgrace.
Youre so vain, vain, vain.
So grow your guilt from another vine.
Ive given this enough time (lately inside Im giving in).
Grow your guilt from another vine.
Ive given this enough time (lately inside Im giving in).
Grow your guilt from another vine.
Ive given this enough time (tell me why Im in).
Grow your guilt from another vine.
Ive given this enough time.
Grow your guilt youre a beautiful disgrace (disgrace, disgrace).
Such a beautiful disgrace. Youre so vain, vain, disgrace.

song performed by by Orgy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cinderella's Shoes

The ugly sister, Alice,
glared at the mirror with reflected malice;
gave a grin
and blew a bubble;
stroked the stubble
on her chin
and simpered, in unbridled bliss,
'What a charmer I iss! '
adding, with a grimace,
'Who's the prettier, glass face? '

'Cinderella!
Cinderella. Cinderella. Cinderella.
Cinderella. Cinderella.'
The mirror twinkled a little wintry.
'Cinderella. Cinderella....'

The tiny fragments of splintery
glass were swept up by footman Fred.
'What a wolatile woman! ' Fred said.
'A weally, wolatile woman! '

An officer guarded the small glass slipper,
passport to a prince and palace.
(But not for Alice.)

She queezed and pressed and sqealed and swore
and gave a most almighty roar.

More fragments of splintering glass
were swept up by footman Fred.
'What a woracious woman! ' Fred said.
'A most woracious woman! '

Cinderella slipped easily into the other shoe,
was whisked off in a guilded carriage
to a brave new world where her goodness drew
her, to liveried servants and a royal marriage!

And Alice?
She stumbled her bloody way
to a fate far worse than death.
To a tiny cell with walls of mirrors.
Unbreakable, bullet proof, everlasting glass!

(From Blondin & Other Poems)

poem by Brian Taylor
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