Quotes about cursing, page 13
The Mark On My Heart
I once woke up to Love
he was humming happily
as he paced around an unfamiliar room
and when we spoke it sounded like magic
and we both knew but never said it.
A few words into the conversation and
I already knew he could reach his hand out
palm facing up
ask for my heart
and I'd hand it over without hesitance.
I simply know love when I see it.
Magnificent love it could have been
but now you're floating around the world
searching for that missing piece you always talk about
well maybe it's me.
I'm a sliver in your brain and you're a bullet in mine
and we are always cursing the hands of time.
You told me you're as free as a bird
however free they can be.
But you're some sort of angel in a dishevelled disguise.
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poem by Vanessa Grixti
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Its you I love
I was walking in the middle of the forest,
Hoping to see something good from it,
Perhaps a girl holding a basket of fruits,
I spared the expectations of beasts,
The clouds gathered beneath the sky,
Impulsing great fright and panic,
Should i go back home, should i stay?
Indecision tortured me to the bone,
Love when seeked its never found,
Love when avoided it approaches,
The lady i hoped for did not come,
Rain washed me vigorously and intensely
Upon my return without hope,
Cursing love inside out,
Believing love exists but not for me,
I saw a lady with a pure face,
My heart believed but my eyes did not,
Meeting love in the wrong time,
Finding a lover at the wrong place,
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poem by Gaylord Munemo
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Killing Field
I will fly
Maybe fall
But it won’t stop me to try
I will cry
And it’ll dry
But it won’t stop me to hope
Do you not love
Because it hurts
And avoid life
Because regret
My senses still clear
My heart still beats
I won’t give up
I won’t be like that
I will run
Even crawl
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poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Misty Pings
Sometimes fat fingers on the keyboard
produce the surreal that leaves me
not cursing as usual
at the way my brain brain he says
and hand were not wired up properly,
but laughing out loud
with sheer delight like a child
meeting the joy of absurdity in words
which somehow gets suppressed
in the years of growing... down?
I've just written a comment
about such matters of mistyping, and
there on the paper it is in black and white -
'misty pings'...
remember those old steam typewriters
with their tap tap and just before the end of the line,
a bell pinged to warn you?
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poem by Michael Shepherd
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John Ballard
In the lust of my strength
I cursed God, but he paid no attention to me:
I might as well have cursed the stars.
In my last sickness I was in agony, but I was resolute
And I cursed God for my suffering;
Still He paid no attention to me;
He left me alone, as He had always done.
I might as well have cursed the Presbyterian steeple.
Then, as I grew weaker, a terror came over me:
Perhaps I had alienated God by cursing him.
One day Lydia Humphrey brought me a bouquet
And it occurred to me to try to make friends with God,
So I tried to make friends with Him;
But I might as well have tried to make friends with the bouquet.
Now I was very close to the secret,
For I really could make friends with the bouquet
By holding close to me the love in me for the bouquet
And so I was creeping upon the secret, but --
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Too Much of a Good Thing
Snow’s been melting too soon—
passing the Río Grande every day, I note
water level is high,
all flowing down river.
What happens
when I need to irrigate pastures
in summer
and there is no water?
Farmers get edgy.
Start cursing neighbors under their breath
for using too much water.
Crops stunted,
only one alfalfa cutting
instead of three,
no feed for cows,
no money to buy feed . . .
and then like it happened a few years ago,
Mr. Gonzales goes out
and you hear rifle shots blister
cold morning air,
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poem by Jimmy Santiago Baca
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Quasimodo
The taxi slowed at the lights
and I spotted her.
Our paths crossed again,
for just a short time.
For warmth,
she'd wrap up in newspaper,
shuffling by,
rummaging through bins.
If you spoke to her,
she'd scurry off,
in short, stilted steps,
my little Quasimodo.
All bent she'd
glance, sideways,
scared, but defiant,
swearing at you, cursing
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poem by Ruth Walters
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Married But Not A Parent
MARRIED BUT NOT A PARENT
We have a couple living in the upstairs
sound of music, through the windows always blare
their house is full of modern wares,
yet, they are as sad, as having been lost in a desert so bare
a decade of marriage with pills and pilgrimages
cursing remarks befall on them in barrage
for some unknown defects in their human hardware
harvesting a child is to them, the biggest nightmare
one plus one, how much they would spend
with their bank balances growing in leaps and bounds
the purchasing power they have and wield
is not just enough for them, to fish out a child
not every child is the best asset
nor every parent is proud of his product
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poem by Santhana Louis
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Smoke
Smoke, it is all smoke
in the throat of eternity. . . .
For centuries, the air was full of witches
Whistling up chimneys
on their spiky brooms
cackling or singing more sweetly than Circe,
as they flew over rooftops
blessing & cursing their
kind.
We banished & burned them
making them smoke in the throat of god;
we declared ourselves
"enlightened."
"The dark age of horrors is past,"
said my mother to me in 1952,
seven years after our people went up in smoke,
leaving a few teeth, a pile of bones.
The smoke curls and beckons.
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poem by Erica Jong
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Happiness and joy
There is nothing like happiness and joy
Some may come very late to annoy
The ship has left the port
Only you are awaited to deport
One silver line makes you happy
The neck tightened and kept ready
Some respite in form of happiness takes over
You are at liberty to enjoy it with defensive cover
The soul was hunted in desperation for cover
Your pain and agony was continuous and not over
You had not lost hope and prayed for happy end
You got everything back including friends
Why do people desert you in critical days?
Why do they send or push you away?
Don’t they think same days may not remain?
Happiness may take over and relieve the pain
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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