Gouge Away
Gouge away
You can gouge away
Stay all day
If you want to
Missy aggravation
Some sacred questions
You stroke my locks
Some marijuana
If you got some
Gouge away
You can gouge away
Stay all day
If you want to
Sleeping on your belly
You break my arms
You spoon my eyes
Been rubbing a bad charm
With holy fingers
Gouge away
You can gouge away
Stay all day
If you want to
Chained to the pillars
A 3-day party
I break the walls
And kill us all
With holy fingers
Gouge away
You can gouge away
Stay all day
If you want to
song performed by by Pixies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Gouge Away
Gouge away
You can gouge away
Stay all day
If you want to
Missy aggravation
Some sacred questions
You stroke my locks
Some marijuana
If you got some
Gouge away
You can gouge away
Stay all day
If you want to
Sleeping on your belly
You break my arms
You spoon my eyes
Been rubbing a bad charm
With holy fingers
Gouge away
You can gouge away
Stay all day
If you want to
Chained to the pillars
A three day party
I break the walls
And kill us all
With holy fingers
Gouge away
You can gouge away
Stay all day
If you want to
song performed by by Papa Roach from Lovehatetragedy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A century of convulsive change leaves huge demographic gouge marks.
quote by Todd Gitlin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We can't allow multinational oil companies boasting of record profits to gouge consumers... We must do what we can to fix this problem.
quote by Stephanie Herseth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gouge
Gouge it out and throw it away,
For your mother had told you a lie!
And your grandmother is here toay with the facts,
And of your muse that laid bare last night.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Two Faced Wave
Gouge out my eyes
And fill these chambers
With your fragrant breath
Grow a garden on my ribs
And I will not heave it
Consume me, own me,
I'll pluck your petals dearly
Tether me for a moment
Make me submit to eternity
Pull the strings, spare no mercy,
Pat my head and comb my locks
This moment wouldn't last
But a lion for a moment
I will opt to become
Until you raise your sword,
Until you secrete the soul
And smite me in the chest
From where you treacherously bloomed
And I'll melt into a lamb
Head bowed, life tied
Into the setting sun
From where the horizon
Open its poignant mouth
To swallow this immolation
poem by Norman Santos
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Vampires Have Disappeared
Gouge the eyes of feminine lust,
Those dreary men do give a thinker
One good stare, and you compel her to order her
Into a riddance, one of those funny songs
In the mind of the ejaculator -
His life has spanned forever,
Now that the Vampires can hurt
Those in dire need of trouble.
Eyes shall giggle and awareness be spoken
Through the eyes of a monk who lives as a cleric,
He can never ever sight It - The Demon.
“I spoke of a creature that arrests our stay
Into the world under the Sky, with blood it
Shall accomplish. And forever this way
Is the accompaniment of dread that I speak.”
Now, and then, a master of sorcery has bellowed
Strange words of nuisance to the existing crowds
Which are under the Sun of the Blood Brothers,
Or should I say Sisters?
Let the nocturnal setting be a reminder
Of a sick age of dinosaurs that crept so sylph-like-
As they call themselves for their pretend size.
I rather think as a philosopher Vampires roam the woods
Of a night that haunts many and many who dwell therein.
No more thinking. The Vampires are upset
And their extinction was from something.
But what?
poem by Naveed Akram
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For Art Does Not Tolerate Reason
Truly fertile Music, the only kind that will move us, that we shall truly appreciate, will be a Music conducive to Dream, which banishes all reason and analysis. One must not wish first to understand and then to feel. Art does not tolerate Reason. (Albert Camus)
precisely my friend
i have too much of reason's justifications.
bored. fed-up.
drunk. hollow.
emptied.there is this boor.
another boar.
a bore. pestered. gouge out.
this analytical mind
causing so much
chaos in the world
of understanding
feelings.
i cross over the fence
of art.
lying on a hammock.
with a hat on my head.
a little warm sunshine
on my shoulder.
under the coconut trees.
beside a white sandy beach.
i welcome the sun
of feelings.
i breathe the breeze.
i touch the sand
and then i let loose the
grains through
my fingers.
this i like to do today.
just loaf and
dream.
i dream about us.
the two of us
in an island
our moans
music
to my ears.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Commons Brawl
All right and honorable gentlemen
And lady, too
Will kindly try to restrain themselves
In derring-do
As verbal hard graffiti flies
And echoes wall to wall
Our precious model of democracy
Its the house of commons brawl
One member from some dark mill town
Furious did cry
Spittle froth from folded chin
To dim the lie
Lets serve this brief and list the rush
Of whos allowed catcalls
Lets finish this right here and now
At the house of commons brawl
Kick, punch with the government
As with jackets off they fly heaven-bent
Scratch gouge with the other side
As the party firmly admit a fight
Another day in the lives of those
Who would guide us through
If all is prepped that we should
By their example do
But there again I think for less
For gyving to the wall
The wrong house but the right idea
To end the commons brawl
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Buddhist Hell III
And equally sure there're those who steal,
Lie, cheat, gouge for necessities, disdain,
Capitolize on vice, ruin faith, loll in adulterous beds,
Yet fall asleep convinced Signor God is standing near
Ready to bless their efforts,
And everything in-between.
Then, there's the Buddha, very Gotoma himself,
Sitting cross-legged, in a strew of lotus petals,
Smooth kernal, fountain of every flowing mercy,
Scented center of every center's center,
Smiling amidst the fires of enlightenment,
Lifting, assisting each thing born to its orb.
Forget it. Unh-unh, no,
I swear now, staring at the Morning Star
Who 'dare to be happy as you are',
Advises, twinkling with laughter,
'You as me, me as you',
There is little perfect.
One thing I...
poem by Morgan Michaels
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Does Not Measure Up
They leave themselves penniless.
And thieve on allowed greed.
Bankrupt themselves on bad loans and credit.
And have fed themselves into a diseasing gluttony.
Their decadence is marketed.
Sleazy sex aids and other remedies...
Are given prime time,
On national TV.
Disrespect is expected.
Discipline is,
Not what it use to be.
Today no one knows how to spell the word.
Or know what the word today should mean.
Some believe it means drinking diet coke at a feast.
And those who perfer pepsi,
Gouge themselves but claim to eat little meat.
Trying to convince themselves,
Not others.
Who clear the sidewalks,
As they wobble up and down public streets.
And they gather to meet,
To discuss their displeasure...
Of a new leader elected.
Who does not measure up to their expectations.
Nor does he they claim...
Have interest in protecting their messes.
Or their dwindling treasures.
'And the agenda is...? '
~I'll give you a clue.
You are not a priority.
Does that answer satisfy you? ~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Get Him Back
One man, he'd disappoint me
He'd give me the gouge and he take my glee
Now every other man I see
Remind me of the
One man who disappointed me
Wait 'til I get him back
He won't have a back to scratch
Yeah, keep turning that chin
And you will see my face
As I figure how to kill what I cannot catch
So I say "and on I go"
To another one who disappoint me so, oh oh
The next one up
A contemptible snob
He lived to put things in their place
He did a commendable job
He put himself so low
He can hardly even look me in the face
Wait 'til I get him back
He won't have a back to scratch
Yeah, keep turning that chin
And you will see my face
As I figure how to kill what I cannot catch
Oh, he made my blood just burn
I flipped so far
I thought that I would not return
But the last one I had
Who was getting my hopes up
I might have been a little fast to dismiss
I think he let me down when he didn't disappoint me
He didn't always guess right but he usually got my gist
So wait til I get him back
I'm gonna bring him home
And I'll watch him unpack
He keep turning that chin
And you will see my face
Is fixed on the one
I'm gonna get back
I'm gonna get him back
I am
I'm gonna get him back
I really am
song performed by by Fiona Apple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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En hiver
Le sol trempé se gerce aux froidures premières,
La neige blanche essaime au loin ses duvets blancs,
Et met, au bord des toits et des chaumes branlants,
Des coussinets de laine irisés de lumières.
Passent dans les champs nus les plaintes coutumières,
A travers le désert des silences dolents,
Où de grands corbeaux lourds abattent leurs vols lents
Et s'en viennent de faim rôder près des chaumières.
Mais depuis que le ciel de gris s'était couvert,
Dans la ferme riait une gaieté d'hiver,
On s'assemblait en rond autour du foyer rouge,
Et l'amour s'éveillait, le soir, de gars à gouge,
Au bouillonnement gras et siffleur, du brassin
Qui grouillait, comme un ventre, en son chaudron d'airain.
poem by Emile Verhaeren
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German
being the German kid in the 20's in Los Angeles
was difficult.
there was much anti-German feeling then,
a carry-over from World War 1.
gangs of kids chased me through the neighborhood
yelling, 'Hieneie! Hieneie! Hienie!'
they never caught me.
I was like a cat.
I knew all the paths through brush and alleys.
I scaled 6-foot back fences in a flash and was off through
backyards and around blocks
and onto garage roofs and other hiding places.
then too, they didn't really want to catch me.
they were afraid I might bayonet them
or gouge out their eyes.
this went on for about 18 months
then all of a sudden it seemed to stop.
I was more or less accepted(but never really)
which was all right with me.
those sons-of-bitches were Americans,
they and their parents had been born here.
they had names like Jones and Sullivan and
Baker.
they were pale and often fat with runny
noses and big belt buckles.
I decided never to become an American.
my hero was Baron Manfred von Richthofen
the German air ace;
he'd shot down 80 of their best
and there was nothing they could do about
that now.
their parents didn't like my parents
(I didn't either) and
I decided when I got big I'd go live in some place
like Iceland,
never open my door to anybody and live on my
luck, live with a beautiful wife and a bunch of wild
animals:
which is, more or less, what
happened
poem by Charles Bukowski
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Thumbnails and finger ends
A book of learned scholarship,
open in my hands, at the first page…
and then I saw, to the right of it,
my thumb nail…and marvelled –
at its perfection, at its beauty,
and at my own ignorance –
which strangely, was all part
of that same beauteous perfection…
the thumbnail: curved, as a hollowed claw,
the curve I knew would give it added strength;
sitting as secure as any child of love,
within the folded mystery of skin and flesh;
three-coloured: pale rising moon
emerging from its secret nail-bed
as some goddess might appear;
then the subtle shades of rosy pink,
hinting at blood serving readily
the nail’s demands;
finally, the top (long, shaped, as best to gouge
potato’s eyes, and other kitchen tasks…) :
I looked at it, and marvelled:
the whole creation, conspiring to present
this perfect thing…
Fifty years and more ago, I wrote,
in those years when I despaired
of making sense of so-called ‘adult’ world,
sitting at the desk, to find myself
before setting off to earn my daily bread,
I wrote – in lines that never quite linked up
their visioned moments into complete poems,
on white and yearning pages like a life unwrit:
‘we know not our own finger ends…’
The wrinkled thumb and finger – they have lasted;
the holy mystery - praise God - remains.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Purple Pain-A Parody
Inspired by Barny the purple dinosaur
Parody of Prince's song Purple Rain
Purple pain
You were always meant I know
To cause me sorrow
You were always meant I know
To make me wanna bleed my own blood and gouge out my eyes
You were always meant I know
To cause me pain
Now all I ever want
Since I saw you on my tv screen is for you
You damm purple pain to drown
In the purple rain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
I only want to see you drowning in the purple rain
Oh you damm purple pain
I never wanted my kids to love you
I only thought of you as some kind of fiend
Barney, I could never stand you for another minute
So my television now I must turn off
Even through I know it would make my babies cry
It's such a shame that your lifetime has't come to a end
Oh, oh yes it is
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
I only wanted to see you drown
You damm purple pain
In the purple rain
Oh yes it's true
Purple pain
In the purple rain
Honey, you must know
You must know
The channel I'm a changin'
It's time we all tune in to something new
That means not you
You say you could be a rating's leader
But your agent just can't seem to speak his mind
At the right time
I think you had better fire him
And let me drown you
You damm purple pain
In the purple rain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
Purple pain
If you know who I'm singing about up here
C'mon raise your remote
Purple pain
Purple pain
I only want to see you
See you drown
Oh yeah, drown
You purple pain
In the purple rain
2007 Ramona Thompson
poem by Ramona Thompson
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Friends
Friends stay together
through good and through bad
Friends stay together
through happy and sad
Friends stay together
through break-ups and tears
Friends stay together
over the years
Friends stay together
when different or alike
Friends stay together
through pain and through strife
Friends stay together
no matter the cause
Friends stay together
just because
Friends stay together
through love and through hate
Friends stay together
through destiny and fate
Friends stay together
they're just always there
Friends stay together
because they care♥
poem by Jade Just me
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Gouge, Adze, Rasp, Hammer
So this is what it's like when love
leaves, and one is disappointed
that the body and mind continue to exist,
exacting payment from each other,
engaging in stale rituals of desire,
and it would seem the best use of one's time
is not to stand for hours outside
her darkened house, drenched and chilled,
blinking into the slanting rain.
So this is what it's like to have to
practice amiability and learn
to say the orchard looks grand this evening
as the sun slips behind scumbled clouds
and the pears, mellowed to a golden-green,
glow like flames among the boughs.
It is now one claims there is comfort
in the constancy of nature, in the wind's way
of snatching dogwood blossoms from their branches,
scattering them in the dirt, in the slug's
sure, slow arrival to nowhere.
It is now one makes a show of praise
for the lilac that strains so hard to win
attention to its sweet inscrutability,
when one admires instead the lowly
gouge, adze, rasp, hammer--
fire-forged, blunt-syllabled things,
unthought-of until a need exists:
a groove chiseled to a fixed width,
a roof sloped just so. It is now
one knows what it is to envy
the rivet, wrench, vise -- whatever
works unburdened by memory and sight,
while high above the damp fields
flocks of swallows roil and dip,
and streams churn, thick with leaping salmon,
and the bee advances on the rose.
poem by Chris Forhan
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Hammers (A trilogy)
Hammered
The hammer is inside my head,
it's a never ending drum beat
that is my husband, berating me.
As he his key turns in the lock
my blood pressure
rises.
He'll check the wallpaper
for marks that the children
may have made.
He'll demand I keep them quiet,
take them away,
control them.
They are only toddlers
and I have only
one pair of hands
but he'll moan about it
until he goes to bed at
12 o'clock
As he gets into bed
his moaning will stop
but my head still aches
then at 7 while he shaves,
he'll continue to remonstrate
he won't stop
and I'm sure he's still talking
as he walks to the station.
It's the hammering,
the constant hammering
and it's driving me insane -
one day the hammer will fall.
Bad Fit
How many nails do I have to have
hammered into my brain to realise
we don't fit?
This liaison has always been flawed.
Gel, we never did, but we had passion.
A wealth of it.
Should I take this hammer
and strike the final blow?
I don't know.
Hammers strike memories,
as though they're all piano keys
and the sound is harsh..
They have me re-visiting old war wounds
that I should have buried years ago.
They are awakening.
They've been dormant for so long.
Maybe I should have had one final strike
and put them to rest.
The trouble is, if I pick up the hammer
and strike the first blow,
I may never stop.
Broken heart.
She took a hammer to the mirror,
the paintings, the vase, the table
and battered them to death.
She took a hammer to the car,
its bonnet, its boot and its roof
and made dents.
She took a hammer to her heart,
hit it hard, tried to gouge it out
with its claw
and then she realised -
it was already dying; bleeding,
all over the floor.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Samson's Fury
A fire is mounting; its smoke is consuming me whole.
Its angry flames are burning me alive…
Its raging blazes are suffocating me…
The heat is unbearable, I feel myself losing control.
A crimson haze clouds my vision,
Intoxication takes over... I’m gone!
I’ve surrendered to the blistering pain,
The pain of keeping everything so controlled.
I’m a calamity, burning everything in my way.
Waiting, prowling, hunting...
For the chance to lash out suddenly
And to scorch those who stroll too close.
A single mistaken utterance, a misinterpreted gesture,
Anything will fuel my fervor.
My tongue has become an inferno,
Blasting scorching flames at any naysayer.
Declarations spear through my mouth,
Intended to gouge at anyone’s heart.
My eyes are the daggers of defiance,
Ablaze with a challenge for anyone’s hateful glare.
Blistering those that decide that they
Have any say, here in my lair.
Vengeance is considered as justified
And such cruelty is somehow fair...
My thrashing conflagration dances around its victims,
Pulling them in, killing them slowly...
I’m crashing, boiling over...
My soul's roaring hunger to obliterate grows
And it keeps growing at a violent rate.
Patience is annihilated. Love exterminated.
Lord, what's to become of me? The only residue left
Is the thunderous desire to hate.
---------
The original text has been adapted from Amy lalala's
poetry called Corroding Soul because this, to me, is
a parallel with Samson and his desire for revenge.
poem by Denis Martindale
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Stay '81
Verse:
Am I just dreaming or did you walk through my door?
Do you still feel the same way that you did before?
Did you come to bring me sorrow?
Like all those wasted days
Let's not think about tomorrow
You can stay
Am I just dreaming or did you say you have to go?
If you can't stay forever, I don't wanna know
There's no need to talk about it
The way things used to be
I'm not living here without you
(Chorus:)
Won't you stay, stay darlin'
You could stay, stay darlin'
Won't you stay, stay darlin'
You could stay, stay darlin'
You could stay, stay, stay darlin'
You could stay, stay, stay darlin'
(repeat)
No, no, can't let go
No, no, can't let go
No, no, can't let go
Am I just dreaming?
(verse)
You could stay, stay darlin'
You could stay, stay darlin'
Won't you stay, stay darlin'
You could stay, stay darlin'
(repeat)
You could stay, stay, stay darlin'
You could stay, stay, stay darlin'
(repeat and fade
song performed by by Madonna
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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