Quotes about schemes, page 2
My Elusive Dreams
You followed me to Texas.
You followed me to Utah.
We didn't find it there,
So we moved on.
You went with me to Alabam,
And things looked good in Birmingham.
We didn't find it there,
So, we moved on.
I know you're tired of following
My elusive dreams and schemes!
For they're only fleeting things'
My elusive dreams.
You had my child in Memphis.
Then I heard of work in Nashville.
But we didn't find it there,
So we moved on'
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song performed by Charlie Rich, lyrics by Billy Sherrill & Curly Putman from The Silver Fox (July 1974)
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A Deliberate Movement
you plan it
and think about it for nights and nights
precisely
the reason why you cannot sleep
you draw on paper your schemes
for escapes
you put the arrows there
and mark the ultimate
freedom where light
is
with an x,
a big
X,
there are caves there
and secret
doors and canopies
and false windows
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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White Sheet
White sheet resembles virgin bride,
unblemished, waiting tender hand
to st[r]oke the fire which out of hand
flares up in ph[r]ases to deride
conventions, rhyme schemes cut and dried.
Rhymed reasons often Time test stand
through feelings all may understand,
communication deep inside
soul sanctum which can't be denied
a share in wonderland while sand
still trickles, while the wedding band
runs circles round true love defied.
Both lover, writer, radiate
when, selfless, they communicate.
(1 March 1995 revised 16 October 2006 robi03_0750_robi03_0000 SXX_ILZ)
for previous version entitled Sheet see below
Each sheet is like a virgin bride,
Unblemished, waiting for the hand
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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January as Poet-Lover
Those claims to summer far exceeds its charm
and slush of lines can't toboggan sonnet;
for winter's octave storms, but isn't warm,
sestet swoons- fringed with frost upon it.
Then wind will howl sheer air that it's a poem
for First of Months must bluster: 'I'm adored! '
It schemes blooms, find some dirty glee in loam-
Such dreams! unless what's frozen wets to poured.
Sure, northern lights style flair-yet coat of leaves?
That fashion's fallen season! Jan. will go
to parties; just with ice, and dance solo
avalanche at night; party slides like skis....
Month's quick as chills and yet it's sprawls slow ice
and tries to end with couplet, July twice!
Those claims to summer far exceeds its charm.
No slushy lines toboggan-glide on sonnet;
nor winter's octave storm go down as warm
while sestet swoons- cool, frost moon upon it.
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poem by Glenn Bagshaw
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One Never Knows
One never knows,
What 'truths' are left standing.
When so much depends,
Upon lies...
Told,
And shattered!
One never knows,
If beliefs...
Are myths of schemes.
Or what exists,
Is reality...
One should ponder.
One never knows,
What heartbreaks await them.
Or what it takes,
To escape fear...
Of a life,
Still held dear!
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Erb
Do you know 'Erb? Now, there's a dinkum sport.
If football's on your mind, why, 'Erb's the sort
To put you wise. It's his whole end and' aim.
Keen? He's as keen as mustard on the game.
Football is in his blood. He thinks an' schemes
All through the season; talks of it an' dreams
An' eats an' sleeps with football on his mind.
Yes: 'Erb's a sport - the reel whole-hearted kind.
'A healthy, manly sport.' That's wot 'Erb says.
You ought to see his form on football days:
Keyed up, reel eager, eyes alight with joy,
Full of wise schemes for his team to employ.
Knows all about it - how to kick a goal,
An' wot to do if they get in a hole.
Enthusiasm? Why, when 'Erb gets set
He is a sight you couldn't well forget.
There ain't a point about it he don't know
All of the teams and players, top to toe.
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Triumph Over Man
It will be God’s purpose and plan, which will triumph over fallen man,
For it’s God who has the final say, even using defeat along the way.
Allowing what may seem not right, to focus all men on Eternal Light,
As the darkness seems to grow, it’s Jesus Christ men need to know.
Changes are made on each side, as God’s Eternal Truths are denied,
The eternal issues for every land, those which all need to understand.
Finger pointing, back and forth, with more lies with each news report,
Mudding the waters, for all who hear; filling their heart with undo fear.
They want all men to believe, the mindless polices that they conceive,
Which, come off as a big joke, in the light of lies and political smoke.
Their motives seem sure and fine, as they speak about their party line,
As they play on hopes and dreams, to fuel their own political schemes.
Unbelieving men they lead astray, unaware of what the Word may say,
But what is disheartening my friend, is when believer’s ears they bend,
As believers stray from God’s Word, swayed by what they have heard,
Dismissing Eternal Truths they read, seduced by mere people instead.
[...] Read more
poem by Bob Gotti
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Expected Acceptance
Refinancing dreams, illusions and schemes,
To keep delusions afloat...
Has cost them their visions of luxury,
To visit them with traumatic truths!
Existing to thrive on good credit and loans...
Is slowing ripping apart an economy that groans.
With no ending to the moans heard,
From those still faithful of a resurgence.
And a return of self-servance.
Lifelines are frayed!
Are wearing on the nerves of those afraid.
A monoply of fear is losing its fan base.
Its use to produce a threatened standard of life...
Begins to tatter the stars and stripes,
With the reality of corrupted treason...
Seasoned by deceit.
And exposed as common news,
On gossiped streets.
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Floating Boat Needs a Rudder
You seek direction!
That's what you claim to need.
And you want to stay clear...
Of a negativity that teases and schemes.
And you say to me,
You've got to float your own boat.
But fear prevents you,
To listen to advice you toss away...
Before anywhere you go.
You're afraid to row,
A boat that stays on shore!
And advice you're given...
Your are quick to ignore.
Any boat that you'll use will need a rudder.
That boat you use will need a rudder.
Any boat you will use will need a rudder,
From here to there...
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Phish after Shya Wish
PHISH
I wish all the greedy, both prosperous, seedy,
would fall for my call on the Net,
as fish in lakes weedy, the slow and the speedy,
rise to bait, early, late, taking bet.
It takes quite some gumption to stake on assumption
that innocence offers fair flare
for human consumption is based on presumption
that fools are newborn everywhere.
Identity stealing, while wheeling and dealing,
to most appears lower than low,
I find it appealing to complement spieling
on Dow as I go with the flow.
What is thrift but shoplift from the masses who, miffed,
feel the pain from those purchase refrain,
ant and grasshopper spiffed, savers are not spendthrift,
saving gains not recycled again.
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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