(V – 2010) Laiku 165
Greed:
Feeds one with pleasures ephemeral
And leads to calamities too critical.
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Condition Critical
Oh the tension's mounting
The pressure starts to show
All the men in haunting
Please don't let me go
(Don't go)
Try to free my body
(Don't go)
Try to strap me down
(Don't go)
These'll never break me
(Don't go)
Free wheel to look at me
Condition critical
I'm feeling physical
Condition critical
Now I'm really cynical
The bells they are ringing
Or is it in my head
My nerves numb understanding
I'm falling out of bed
(Don't go)
So call it paranoia
(Don't go)
I don't see it that way
(Let's go)
You say I adore ya
(Hell no)
We're gonna rock they way
Condition critical
I'm feeling physical
Condition critical
Now I'm really cynical
Ooh ooh
Whips and chains
Don't feel no pain
What's so wrong
I think I'm going out of my head
Over heels
I can't feel
No pain, only pleasure
Get me out
Take me home
Can't you see my condition
Woo-woo-woo
Condition
Condition
Condition critical, critical
Condition
Condition
Condition critical
Condition critical
I'm feeling physical
Condition critical
Now I'm really cynical
Condition critical
I'm feeling physical
Condition critical
Now I'm really cynical (Cynical)
Condition
Condition
Condition critical, critical
Condition
Condition
Condition critical, critical
Condition
Condition
Condition critical, critical
Condition
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Condition critical, critical
Condition
Condition-aca
song performed by by Quiet Riot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One should be just as careful in choosing one's pleasures as in avoiding calamities.
Sonnet- Make Thine Life Happy
Who says he knows all things he ought to know
With clarity, for futuristic needs?
Who says he neither has a friend or foe
Or affirms he has done only good deeds?
No Man on earth exists who is all wise;
To no one Nature gives not good advice;
Perfect is no one or without a vice;
Despite its problems all, life is quite nice.
Happy's the man, who contented life leads
And does his duty as per conscience;
Who from Nature, her immense secrets feeds,
And learns about God more even with Science.
Our life on earth is too ephemeral,
After death only it turns eternal.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Opium Trail
I took a line that leads you to the opium trail
Oriental eyes reveal the lies, deceit, betrayal
On this journey behold one who travels far
You called him fool but now you are
The wizard wanders through the world made from dreams
The splashing whirlpool drowns the frightened streams
Exotic dancers, flashing lancers, this mysterious space
The fanfare advances, the warlord falls from grace
It clears your pain
But its got you claimed again, my love
You feel the need but it lets you bleed
You must concede, my love
No one to blame, no shame
You crave again and again, my love
No used to plead from you
It feeds on your greed, my love
I took a line that comes from the golden states of shan
The smugglers trail that leads to the opium den
The chinese connection refines to heroin
Depart the heart you crave again
It clears your pain
You soul is claimed again, my love
You feel the need, it lets you bleed
You must concede, my love
No one to blame, no shame
You crave again and again, my love
No use to plead
From you it feeds, my love
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The calamities
The calamities
Calamities are the beasts of prey,
They hide couching along the route of life,
And pounce on the each passerby,
When he enters into their hunting range,
Who knows who becomes the victim,
And where they prey upon him,
With the nailed paws and tearing jaws.
poem by Shahida Latif
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Without The Money
It is always the economy,
Affecting needs.
Always it is!
And not one's education...
Flaunted as perceived.
It is always the economy,
That breathes and feeds on greed.
And no matter if one goes to college...
It is not the Masters or Doctorate degree,
That keeps one perched...
High on a pedestal for all to see.
Without the money,
All pretensions can be dropped.
Oh without that money,
All the bragging seems to stop.
And it is without money...
No one talks about what they've got.
Or fingerpops with a bee-bop hopped.
If money is not felt...
A sobbing begins with a flow,
That can not be mopped.
It is always the economy,
That breathes and feeds on greed.
And no matter if one goes to college...
It is not the Masters or Doctorate degree,
That keeps one perched...
High on a pedestal for all to see.
It is that MONEY!
That holds a head higher than clouds.
It is that money making days sunny.
That ties that magic knot!
And if the economy doesn't feed,
A feeding of greed one receives...
A boo-hooing of tears becomes the reality.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The first stage in a technology's advance is that it'll fall below a critical price. After it falls below a critical price, it will tend, if it's successful, to rise above a critical mass, a penetration.
quote by Chris Anderson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Pleasure Is This To You, O God?
what pleasure is this to you, o god,
in creating and destroying me again and again?
are you not tired of this boring game?
you scatter around me a wealth of pleasures
all of them but beyond my tiny reach-
all my life i waste in greed and tears
i acquire nothing but wrinkles and silvery hair-
why not teach me the real pleasures of living?
-sundaram chandrakalaadhar
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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The One Who Leads
We the people...
Seem to become influenced,
By nonsense competitions.
Especially those that come to leadership.
If any wishes to acknowledge who is winning
Anything pertaining to the quality of one's life lived...
Needs only to be more observant.
And if that does not satisfy...
One needs only to contact those owed.
They will be quick to tell anyone,
Whose debts have yet been paid!
And give names.
They tell who leads,
In the repayment department.
The one who eats and feeds without concern...
Of receiving aggravating telephone calls,
From creditors.
Is the one who leads!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Lust is Satan
Lust leads to greed;
Greed leads to pride;
Pride brings envy;
Envy brings jealousy;
Jealousy breeds hatred.
Hatred breeds chaos.
Lust is the root.
Chaos is the blossom.
No God can stop it.
08.05.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Greed
“Greed”
GREED
IT IS SUCH A TERRIBLE THING
HEARTS IT TEARS AND MAKES THEM BLEED
AT TIMES IT BURNS SO BAD WHAT A STING
SO MUCH EVIL IT NEVER LEADS TO A GOOD DEED
GREED SUCH A VICIOUS THING
GREED
IT DESTROYS MARRIGES AND LIFES
IT DESTROYS WHAT WE WORK SO HARD TO EARN
IN CASES LEAVING MEN WITHOUT WIFES
BUT YET WE NEVER LEARN
TRUE TOO WIFES WITHOUT MEN
THE WORST PAIN UNDER THIS HAT
ARE CHILDREN THAT STAY WITH NONE OF THEM
SO UNDERSTAND WHAT A BAD BREED
THIS MONSTER IS, THIS MONSTER THAT
WE OFTEN CALL GREED
GREED
IT MAKES FREINDS INTO FOES
IT TURNS BROTHERS AGAINST BROTHERS
IT BRINGS SO MUCH WOES
IT TURNS MOTHERS AGAINST FATHERS
AND STILL WE DONT CONTROL THE NEED
AND TRY AND GET RID OF THIS BEAST
THIS BEAST WE CALL GREED
GREED
IT LEAVES FAMILIES HOMELESS
AND CHILDREN WITHOUT HOPES AND DREAMS
IT MAKES ALL FEEL LIKE SO MUCH LESS
IT BREAKS HEARTS AND MANY TEAMS
THIS TEAMS THAT AT MANY TIMES
WERE BEATIFUL AND HAPPY FAMILIES
BUT DUE TO GREED, FELL FOR THEIR CRIMES
SUCH A BAD CREATURE THAT LIKES TO FEED
ON THE HORRIBLE AND TRAGIC
FOOD WE CALL GREED.
SO PLEASE UNITE AND PRAY
THAT YOU CAN HAVE THE MAGIC
AND HOPE YOU’LL NEVER SEE THE DAY
THAT YOU BECOME THIS THING
CALLED GREED.
GOD BLESS.
MARTIN JAIME GONZALEZ
poem by Martin Gonzalez
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Suicide In The Village
Ah the drum sound,
The owl takes to flight.
Far away from civilization,
The deadly cult sound.
Bring to me the laborers tool,
Brig to me the drunkard's bottle.
Let appease the wrath of the gods,
No abomination has been cause.
There lies the disgraceful child,
From the womb of a holy mother.
Butchered to pieces in his own greed,
Lifeless leaflet, bring to me the drunkards bottle
Let appease the gods,
Distasteful wind of the night,
Send our plight to the gods,
Hence no calamities shall befall.
Bring to me the drunkards bottle,
Oh asaase efua.
Let not our feet be soiled,
From the fury of your wrath.
Bring to me the drunkards bottle,
Oh otwediapon nyame
Hear our pitiful soul cry out,
Let not your wrath, thunder us to death.
Ah, I say bring to me the drunkards bottle,
Oh, hmm bring to me the laborers tool.
This night has been defiled,
Let not our calamities see daylight.
poem by Samuel Donkor
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Détente
Do nothing, just relax, compulsion free.
Everything seems simple as the mind
Throws tribulations, troubles, trials, behind,
Enjoys the moment spent, content 'to be'.
Need leads to greed beads, feeds society,
Thus outward show no inner flow knows. Signed
Elegy for well-being's underlined
Denying rights to jungle creeds that see
Exhaltation when life's daily grind
Treads on others, egocentricity
Excuse for 'counter_wait' humanity,
No space retained to gain détente, unwind.
To find oneself one leaves self on the shelf:
Endless peace, release, spurn man's urned wealth.
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Greed is Good
“Greed is good! ” they say
Some say “Greed is great! ”
Will they say that when the masses
Are bashing down their gate?
Will they still pray to their god ‘Greed’
When they find that it’s too late?
All the starving children
They don’t think greed is good
They would rather have each day
A sufficiency of food
All the freezing homeless
How great is greed to those?
A bit of tin to shelter in
Would please them (I suppose)
What good is greed to anyone
When it is served with hate?
I’d rather have a shred of humanity
Sitting on my plate
poem by Neil Milliner
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Ephemeral
A red hibiscus that blooms
In the morning
Closes, wilts, in the afternoon,
You expect another one of its kind tomorrow,
A china rose,
Your night life,
At the outdoor café, sitting on light fabricated
Silver chairs, sipping tea, puffing smoke, sipping
Margarita, gazing
Slight stolen looks
At young handsome
Men rated per hour,
It is your policy of giving false names and wrong address,
They know
What you are doing,
They understand
Your needs & wants
For a fleeting night
A cure for an itch
Momentary piecemeal pleasures,
Allusions about a broken love of what used to be,
Illusions of what you could have been,
Momentary
Thoughts, momentary projections, when you make love with your catch, as you puff your smoke to
Confuse the ceiling with your gaze of momentary
Emptiness,
You are the first one
To leave, after paying the bills,
They always pretend asleep,
While naked,
As you leave his due on the side table,
You go home on shriveled hair,
Driving a red car,
Smokeless to the road,
Your celfon rings,
Your son in his father’s house calls
“Mommy, I want to go home”
“I am driving, ’ you call him,
A flash of momentary happiness,
A momentary sadness,
Flip-flopping to your mind,
What are these really, these that meet your gaze for something that should have been permanent,
That red hibiscus, that blooms only for a day,
Is ephemeral,
Like stolen nights,
Like the way your child calls you, because father is always away,
“I am in Cebu for a week”, said many times over and over again,
Her stint for a night is ephemeral,
Electronic calls are ephemeral,
A happy home, her dream, was sort of, kinda like red hibiscus
Ephemeral too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Six
A red hibiscus that blooms
In the morning
Closes, wilts, in the afternoon,
You expect another one of its kind tomorrow,
A china rose,
Your night life,
At the outdoor café, sitting on light fabricated
Silver chairs, sipping tea, puffing smoke, sipping
Margarita, gazing
Slight stolen looks
At young handsome
Men rated per hour,
It is your policy of giving false names and wrong address,
They know
What you are doing,
They understand
Your needs & wants
For a fleeting night
A cure for an itch
Momentary piecemeal pleasures,
Allusions about a broken love of what used to be,
Illusions of what you could have been,
Momentary
Thoughts, momentary projections, when you make love with your catch, as you puff your smoke to
Confuse the ceiling with your gaze of momentary
Emptiness,
You are the first one
To leave, after paying the bills,
They always pretend asleep,
While naked,
As you leave his due on the side table,
You go home on shriveled hair,
Driving a red car,
Smokeless to the road,
Your cellphone rings,
Your son in his father’s house calls
“Mommy, I want to go home”
“I am driving, ’ you call him,
A flash of momentary happiness,
A momentary sadness,
Flip-flopping to your mind,
What are these really, these that meet your gaze for something that should have been permanent,
That red hibiscus, that blooms only for a day,
Is ephemeral,
Like stolen nights,
Like the way your child calls you, because father is always away,
“I am in Cebu for a week”, said many times over and over again,
Her stint for a night is ephemeral,
Electronic calls are ephemeral,
A happy home, her dream, was sort of, kinda like red hibiscus
Ephemeral too.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The God’s role
The God feeds those who pray to Him.
The God feeds those who don’t pray to Him.
The God feeds those who ignore Him.
He terminates them all any time too.
19.08.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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These Corporate Crims
These corporate crims are no longer quite rare
And plenty of them in the big World out there
But of the Universal Consciousness so little we know
In karma 'tis true that we reap what we sow.
These super rich crims to themselves may drink a toast
But for their crimes 'tis the have nots who do suffer the most
The more money they have the more they seem to need
And many must grow poorer because of their greed.
They do not spare one thought for those in poverty
And they lack in compassion and in empathy
Their greed for more money it leads them to crime
And far better than them are in jail serving time.
To the laws of fair trade respect they do not pay
But we reap what we sow that is the karmic way
Their great lust for money to crime them does lead
But others must suffer because of their greed.
poem by Francis Duggan
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If someone is being absolutely critical of me as a driver, what could they say? I am also critical of myself to try and keep things in perspective. That is very important.
quote by Damon Hill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The critical method which denies literary modernity would appear - and even, in certain respects, would be - the most modern of critical movements.
quote by Paul de Man
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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