Quotes about strut, page 10
Sweet Acronyms (Revised)
One of the best with lovely meanings is
OMD: right there all rational thought is
gone, Oh My Darling, you are so sweet
she says and he replies - Oh My Damn -
like Rhett Butler in Gone with the Wind,
Off My Desk! A dreamy secretary orders
oily office pest, Oh My Dragon, he replies,
Secretary sighs - One More Day, she's met
someone special to date through the great
Online Membership Database
Little knowing it might get her killed in a
dazed haste; the stranger has planned
Orchestral Manoeuvres in the Dark while
Ozark Mountain Daredevils strut their
remarkable stuff -
Then there's me: Oh My Damn, the day's all
but done - I've dreamed it away in a stream
[...] Read more
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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A Song In The Front Yard
I’ve stayed in the front yard all my life.
I want a peek at the back
Where it’s rough and untended and hungry weed grows.
A girl gets sick of a rose.
I want to go in the back yard now
And maybe down the alley,
To where the charity children play.
I want a good time today.
They do some wonderful things.
They have some wonderful fun.
My mother sneers, but I say it’s fine
How they don’t have to go in at quarter to nine.
My mother, she tells me that Johnnie Mae
Will grow up to be a bad woman.
That George’ll be taken to Jail soon or late
(On account of last winter he sold our back gate).
But I say it’s fine. Honest, I do.
[...] Read more
poem by Gwendolyn Brooks
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If I was America's Next Top Model
Kepp your head high like a model, darling
Muster the confidence to strut down the catwalk
You're in the running towards becoming
America's Next Top Model
If you have fear keep it under that silly dress,
wrapped tight like a corset, darling
We all want what we cannot have
Any emotion must not surface,
Skin smooth and clear like a mannequin
Eye balls that jut out as if to say
'Who are you to pencil me in? '
I'm still in the running towards becoming
America's Next Top Model
I own heels that make me taller than the sun
If I fall I'll gain back my composure,
but only because that's what us models do
The paparazi must never know my weakness
But what's a darling to do when she's down?
'Congratulations, you're still in the running towards becoming
America's Next Top Model'
poem by Faith Wood
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Account
The history of my stupidity would fill many volumes.
Some would be devoted to acting against consciousness,
Like the flight of a moth which, had it known,
Would have tended nevertheless toward the candle's flame.
Others would deal with ways to silence anxiety,
The little whisper which, though it is a warning, is ignored.
I would deal separately with satisfaction and pride,
The time when I was among their adherents
Who strut victoriously, unsuspecting.
But all of them would have one subject, desire,
If only my own -- but no, not at all; alas,
I was driven because I wanted to be like others.
I was afraid of what was wild and indecent in me.
The history of my stupidity will not be written.
For one thing, it's late. And the truth is laborious.
[...] Read more
poem by Czeslaw Milosz
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Valentino of Valentine’s Day
When the fourteenth sun of every February rises
My body explodes my blood boils over,
As I become once again... begin the beguine Valentino,
I quietly tip toe from the bedroom
To climb the ladder for time umpteenth,
To the dusty cobwebbed attic for
There lies my trusty Spanish guitar.
I strut back to the boudoir
With a red tie around my head,
I strum the strings Paso dobla fied and
Tap the casing,
Rat a Tat Tat, Rat a Tat Tat,
Then…Oh my God
I see myself
In the mirror,
A sight for sore eyes,
Naked with a guitar
Placed In the right place.
I look like a shoe without a lace
Valentino needs some vino,
[...] Read more
poem by Ken e Hall
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No! Keep It
Why are you smiling so broadly?
It is clear you have been prevented,
From achieving your wishes and desires.
'Really?
Gee, I didn't know that.
And which wishes and desires,
Am I being prevented to achieve? '
I uh
Only you would know that.
Maybe those who are trying to prevent you,
Know that too.
'You might have a point.
Who are they? '
The ones preventing you from achieving!
You know
Your wishes and desires.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Measured Feathers
As vibrant, vivid...
And as tremendous as they appear.
Your strut that is peacocked...
Seem to be with measured feathers,
And not as natural as you wish us to believe.
'And...
You dared me to mention this.
And...
Naturally I paid no attention,
To the attention given.
However...
Since your curiosity,
Has obvious Murdered your cat!
I will say this to 'that'.
It is in the strutting done!
And I've learned that for a fact.
Although I will admit,
To using a bit of dye with stencil applied.
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Which Side Are You On
Which Side Are You On
Why do we think one victim
suffers more than the other
one deserves more sympathy
than the other
What guides us to identify more
with one and not the other
rhetoric that plays on emotions
twangs heart strings in one country
Falls on deaf ears else where
the same terrorist is judged
as patriot and martyr
A criminal act becomes moral
why do we equate a suicide terrorist
with terminaing the controllers
in fact why do we equate one act
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poem by Shimon Weinroth
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My mirror, My walkway
On summer evenings I go walking through the streets
Over my London Bridge, across the mississippi river
The place where I am to stay
When my beach is far away
Some nights I just strut across
With lingering stress on my mind
Other dawns I stop to watch the sunrise
Some evenings, I go to the right spot
And I look down into a large mirror
I catch the sun bidding me farewll
As I look into my mirror
As I see the sky
I catch my reflection in the sun's eyes
Sometimes, when I'm caught inbetween
I hear some commoners comment, then insult my bridge and mirror
If it's six feet long and falling, who cares?
If it's the city sewage dump, who cares?
[...] Read more
poem by DJD Quick/dd
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Spats
When young I was a Socialist
Despite my tender years;
No blessed chance I ever missed
To slam the profiteers.
Yet though a fanatic I was,
And cursed aristocrats,
The Party chucked me out because
I sported Spats.
Aye, though on soap boxes I stood,
And spouted in the parks,
They grizzled that my foot-wear would
Be disavowed my Marx.
It's buttons of a pearly sheen
Bourgois they deemed and thus
They told me; 'You must choose between
Your spats and us.'
Alas! I loved my gaitered feet
Of smoothly fitting fawn;
[...] Read more
poem by Robert William Service
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