Tusk
Written by lindsey buckingham.
Why dont you ask him if hes going to stay?
Why dont you ask him if hes going away?
Why dont you tell me whats going on?
Why dont you tell me whos on the phone?
Why dont you ask him whats going on?
Why dont you ask him whos the latest on his throne?
Dont say that you love me!
Just tell me that you want me!
Tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk!
Tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk!
Tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk!
Tusk! tusk! tusk! tusk!
Tusk!
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
A Useless Terror
Thou shalt not kill
Carved on an elephants tusk
Is the same useless statement as a
Suicide bomber’ task
poem by Ken e Hall
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The Thinking Man...
the thinking man...
always walks somewhere between,
the cross of Jesus,
an elephant's tusk,
and Hemingway's shotgun!
always exposing the ragged edge
to both sun and rain....
as if daring,
the soul to breathe,
and the hungered heart to beat!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Tusk
Justin Long, Michael Parks, Haley Joel Osment, Genesis Rodriguez, Johnny Depp, Harley Morenstein, Ashley Greene, Ralph Garman
by Kevin Smith from Tusk (2014)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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To A Sea Unicorn
In Paris once,
where these things can happen,
across the street from the Louvre, I came
to a stand of walking sticks.
Against the window
of an antique shop,
they leaned like bare trees
in the Tuileries, as if to get out of the wind,
though they were indoors.
I knew the feeling.
I drew my coat closer
against the Napoleonic cold.
The canes swaggered no more. Out on their own,
they'd taken a wrong turn
from the past,
only to find
their walking days over.
The one with a cut-glass knob, the silver-handled,
and the one with a snake turning back
on itself: in their midst,
towering over them,
a narwhal tusk as tall as I was—
like the one I'd seen in a room where it was still
the fifteenth century. Where,
in the unicorn tapestries,
only the lady aged,
panel by panel, until she and I
were of an age too old to countenance a unicorn,
no matter how handsome.
Narwhal, sea-unicorn,
your four-footed,
goat-bearded ghost no longer walks
this earth, avoiding capture except by the artist.
Its horn no longer parts the folds
of a maiden's skirt.
Is this enough
to save you, my unlikely one?
The ocean of the north is yours, as it always was.
The ice spreads a blanket over it.
Water falls on water,
mille fleurs of snow
through which you surface in air
cold enough to carve, a whale with a tooth
that spirals into a tusk of dream—
no one knows why.
poem by Surya Raman
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Afterthought
Stinking of hormonal musk,
Completely lost, distressed, distraught,
He's stiffer than an ivory tusk,
Upon this microscopic dot.
And yet he makes the best of things,
Without a plan, without a plot,
Strumming on his fine-tuned strings,
Harping on an afterthought...
poem by Joshua Dinkin
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The self forgets itself
The self forgets itself
as a frantic dog in a glass temple
barks himself to death;
as a lion, seeing a form in the well,
leaps on the image;
as a rutting elephant sticks his tusk
in a crystal boulder.
The monkey has his fistful of sweets
and won't let go. So
from house to house
he gibbers.
Kabir says, parrot-on-a-pole:
who has caught you?
Through A Porthole
If you could lie upon this berth, this berth
whereon I lie,
If you could see a tiny peak uplift its
tingled tusk,
If you could see the purple hills against
the changing sky,
And see a shadowed pinnacle lying in the dusk;
If you could see the sabre-moon shining
on the deep;
You'd say the world was not unkind, but just
a sleeping child,
You'd say the world has gone to sleep.
And while it slept
it smiled.
poem by Leon Gellert
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To You
to you
i come as a gnat
and your black tangled
hair
is always my favorite
niche
well, there is love
who can deny it
i was a gnat
but not that long
i hung like an elephant
tusk
a tail, a very long tail to
your dreams
your fantasies
of clumps of waterfalls
thuds of
feet-like creatures
on your thighs
there is this crunch
that we cannot forget
how can we? we always love
it somehow
like a trek on morning
on the mountain trail
to the top
comes the sun
busting between us.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Beautiful Child
(stevie nicks)
Fleetwood mac
Tusk
Beautiful child
Beautiful child
You are a beautiful child
And I am a fool once more
You fell in love when I was only ten
The years disappeared
Much has gone by since then
I bite my lip, can you send me away
You touch
I have no choice
I have to stay
I had to stay
Sleepless child
There is so little time
Your eyes say yes
But you dont say yes
I wish that you were mine
You say it will be harder in the morning
I wait for you to say, just go
Your hands, held mine so few hours
And Im not a child anymore
Im not a child anymore
Im tall enough
To reach for the stars
Im old enough
To love you from afar
To trusting... yes?
But then women usually are
Im not a child anymore
No, Im not a child, oh no
Tall enough to reach for the stars
I will do
As Im told
Even if I never hold you again
I never hold you again
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Elefans' Fans - Elefans' Fans - Gray Eulogy written in a Country Backyard
Enormous fan ears,
Like trees legs large, small rope tail,
Ends pointed, tusk spears.
Flanks walls, pack I derm trunk snake
ANSwer: blind faith tale's trumps wake.
21 March 2009 robi3_1871_saxe1_0003 PAH_NXX
Acrostic Tanka Elefans
The Blind Men and the Elephant
It was six men of Hindostan
To learning much inclined
Who went to see the Elephant
[Though all of them were blind];
That each by observation
Might satisfy his mind.
The first approached the Elephant,
And happening to fall
Against his broad and sturdy side,
At once began to bawl:
"Bless me, it seems the Elephant
Is very like a wall."
The second, feeling of his tusk,
Cried, "Ho! what have we here
So very round and smooth and sharp.
To me ‘tis mighty clear
This wonder of an Elephant
Is very like a spear."
The third approached the animal,
And happening to take
The squirming trunk within his hands,
Then boldly up and spake:
"I see, " quoth he, "the Elephant
Is very like a snake."
The fouth stretched out his eager hand
And felt about the knee,
"What most this mighty beast is like
Is mighty plain, " quoth he:
"'Tis clear enough, the Elephant
Is very like a tree."
The fifth who chanced to touch the ear
Said, "Even the blindest man
Can tell what this resembles most;
Deny the fact who can,
This marvel of an Elephant
Is very like a fan."
The sixth, no sooner had began
About the beast to grope,
Than, seizing on the swinging tail
That fell within his scope,
"I see, " cried he, "the Elephant
Is very like a rope."
And so these men of Hindostan
Disputed loud and long,
Each in his own opinion
Exceeding stiff and strong,
Though each was partly in the right
And all were in the wrong.
John Godfrey SAXE 1816_1887 saxe01_0003_saxe01_0000 PXX_EJX
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Gain and loss
I bought an idol made of ivory.
All said it was good; it got its glory.
Who must I be grateful to:
The seller, the maker,
The smuggler, the very tusk
Or the elephant slaughtered?
Is such gain worthy?
I lost the idol made of ivory.
A treasure was it; I got fury.
Who must I blame for the loss:
The inmates, the servants,
The thief, his need and creed
Or the society that valued it?
Is such loss a pity?
Credits and blames on tracing
Would fizzle out to naught.
03.07.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Sonnet- Which Is Easier?
Which is easier, to shave off your face-hair
Or to maintain a long and flowing beard?
Which is easier, to cycle like a hare,
Or to trudge your way uphill with the herd?
Which is easier, to float the logs downstream,
Or to tusk them one by one to the mill?
Which is easier, to shoot lion in dream,
Or to fight it in its den and to kil1?
Which is easier, to break a whole mountain,
Or to make it crumble into small stones?
Which is easier, to set a lit fountain,
Or to produce a grave of human bones?
Unnatural things are quite easy to do,
Natural ones sometimes, impossible too.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Which is easier?
Which is easier, to shave off your face-hair
Or to maintain a long and flowing beard?
Which is easier, to cycle like a hare,
Or to trudge your way uphill with the herd?
Which is easier, to float the logs downstream,
Or to tusk them one by one to the mill?
Which is easier, to shoot lion in dream,
Or to fight it in its den and to kil1?
Which is easier, to break a whole mountain,
Or to make it crumble into small stones?
Which is easier, to set a lit fountain,
Or to produce a grave of human bones?
Unnatural things are quite easy to do,
Natural ones sometimes, impossible too.
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ignorance Fuels Merciless Ivory Demand
Chinese middle class economic strong bursts
free of centuries poverty cycles in numbers
several hundred millions Chinese middle class
cannot honour live without new pride status
ivory luxury chopsticks jewelry 70% of Chinese
think are told elephant tusk teeth just fall out
of elephant mouths harvest like apples from trees
ignorance is reason merciless ivory traders can kill?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Recycled
The hollow of that empty shell
Now void of life but stands to tell
A lifeless carcass hard as tusk
Devoid of heart as upturned husk
As empty as one mindless act
That lures to death in sordid pact
So cold just likened winters face
No life nor favours given grace
Such fear that haunts our waking seconds
Unknown destiny that beckons
Face the bell that rings our name
Life and times the dying game.
I understand my mortal self
My worth not judged on merely wealth
And life must have a journey's end
Embrace it as you would a friend.
poem by Dave James
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The lunar blossom
I am the flower of the moon
Who stands tall in the darkness
I am the light of shadows
Who wander perpetually
I rest in serene silence
The music of the night
The dusk showers fall
And I stay ablaze
As small as a mouse
With purpose larger than life
I sail ebony waters
Obsidian winds fill my sails
I am the boat of life
The beacon of hope
I am seemingly irrelevant
Only to blind who do not seek their truths
Through the day I stay
My light spears dusk like tusk
I am the flower of the moon
Who stands tall in darkness
poem by Logan Fulk
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Well, Say It As You See It
it is nice
yes, always the feeling is nice
when you call a spade a spade
lets your heart out
nothing tightens
or chokes
nothing to vomit
at the end
nothing hidden
well, they laid the principle
of candid honesty
say it as it pleases you
not as it pleases them
always, yes, always
call a spade a spade
that is rule # one
honesty, that lonely word
well, i learned it by heart
learning to say
what is in my mind
but what do i get?
nothing
everyone is displeased
with my honesty
that i am one tactless
form of shit
this monstrous mammal
this elephant with a tusk
this snake with a venom
this mischievous child
laughing at the
naked emperor
without clothes
well, yes, i still say what i see
calling a spade always a spade
and what do i get?
yes, this one,
nothing but this one
this poetry
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Museum of Culture
Preserving the culture has been like the tusk of mastodons,
This is only suitable for preserving in the billiard balls,
Sustaining the culture has been like the extinct saber truth,
That is only suitable for experimental use.
Other customs are influencing on the real ones,
Like Mongols of east, east culture is ruling west,
And, as barbarians of west, west cultures have come to east,
So, preserving it has been a museum’s job.
In the show case of museum our tradition is seeing the change,
Youth are busy copying other’s tradition,
All are getting puzzled in culture,
Can’t we once again retain our own ethnicity?
The clear answer I hear is ‘no’.
Thanks to Museum of culture which is dong it.
poem by Sambidhan Acharya
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For Me To Love You Baby, You Simply Have To Tell All The Lies....
so you are the topnotch of my choice
i have many of your kind of my illusions,
but you make it inside my heart and i feel so blessed
having you inside me, like i am a cup filled with honey
and you are not spilled even if i have to run away
fast like a water ski,
i like your form most, i set aside content,
form is more satisfying, with content i really have to wait a little longer, like talking to you, and listening and
appreciating,
and i have no time for all these sweet-nothings,
it is the form of your body, and it is the most important thing to me now, i who is lost in my
hunger-desire, own you love you take you forever whispers.
you know the truth, i never touched you.
when i leave this room and then they ask if i am a brute
a beast, a tiger with sharp killer teeth or a lion with a
sharp lovers claw, or an elephant with an ivory tusk that
amazes a lady hunter rolling in the hills like a top,
....tell them, i am all those metaphors.
for me to love you baby, you simply have to lie.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Nightfall In The City Of Hyderabad
SEE how the speckled sky burns like a pigeon's throat,
Jewelled with embers of opal and peridote.
See the white river that flashes and scintillates,
Curved like a tusk from the mouth of the city-gates.
Hark, from the minaret, how the muezzin's call
Floats like a battle-flag over the city wall.
From trellised balconies, languid and luminous
Faces gleam, veiled in a splendour voluminous.
Leisurely elephants wind through the winding lanes,
Swinging their silver bells hung from their silver chains.
Round the high Char Minar sounds of gay cavalcades
Blend with the music of cymbals and serenades.
Over the city bridge Night comes majestical,
Borne like a queen to a sumptuous festival.
poem by Sarojini Naidu
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