Quotes about strut, page 5
Monumentum Aere, Etc.
You say that I take a good deal upon myself;
That I strut in the robes of assumption.
In a few years no one will remember the buffo,
No one will remember the trivial parts of me,
The comic detail will be absent.
As for you, you will rot in the earth,
And it is doubtful if even your manure will be rich
enough
To keep grass
Over your grave.
poem by Ezra Pound
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Supernatural Discernment.
If we could spy into each other, ken
The heathen aims and the familiar evils
That in the seeming good and virtuous reign;
If we could only pierce the fallacy
Each of the other, strip convention off,
And in our nakedness strut up and down
For thought's perusal — what a world 'twould be,
If then, like God all-seeing, we could come
Straight to the truth of others and ourselves!
poem by Robert Crawford
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March
Were I young again
and the month of March
were upon me
I'd skip down the road,
do a march to March,
sing a tune to March
dance a dance to March,
risk a prance to March,
strut and grind and do
a break dance to March.
Hop, skip and jump to March,
just like a the girl I used to be,
once upon a time in March,
when my cheeks had high colour
and my hopes were high.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Everything Is Broken
Glue, super glue, Elmer's glue
Duct tape, Scotch tape,
New, Coup deville, Elmer Fudd
strut late, Scotch hop
Industry Velcro, molten steel,
cement and plaster-of-Paris.
Gwyneth Kate Paltrow, bolt-on wheels,
repent and master Pari passu.
Adhesive binding, bonding agents,
sticky, clingy, gummy, tacky,
Cohesive windings, wonder patents,
quickie, swinging, chummy, wacky.
Fixed!
poem by Cer Cruz
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Twenty Four Years
Twenty-four years remind the tears of my eyes.
(Bury the dead for fear that they walk to the grave in labour.)
In the groin of the natural doorway I crouched like a tailor
Sewing a shroud for a journey
By the light of the meat-eating sun.
Dressed to die, the sensual strut begun,
With my red veins full of money,
In the final direction of the elementary town
I advance as long as forever is.
poem by Dylan Thomas
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Cast Away
Bye-bye butterfly
Like a wilted flower
Thrown away
In the bin with the trash
Cast away because you can't have your way
Say bye-bye baby
Don't look my way
What the hell!
You have a crush on me, you can't contain
It is for the best I guess to part our ways
Do not expect me to invest
Like a peacock, you strut your stuff
Take a hike mister go jump in a lake
Don't you dare come crawling back!
poem by Persian Khushi
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Call That Vanity
I remember once being told I was nothing but fluff.
With a life that would lead to nothing,
Because I was not made of the right stuff.
And purposely I see these folks.
And keep my mouth close shut.
Since most of them are limping with canes,
If not laying flat on their butts!
And I am happy and glad my stuff is fluff.
With a still muscled butt that allows my strut!
And please by all means,
Call that vanity!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Plums and Peaches
Offend nobody on this planet,
Fill in the form of life,
Offer the wages of an exemplary career,
Kick the backs of a wrong stranger.
May we offer the right results,
Mighty winds well up and dance,
Eddies cause us to strut,
Maybe the walking is profoundly grand.
Worlds create us when it is safe,
Plums and peaches can have juices
That we ingest to strengthen our opinions
About the way we live and learn.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Pawned Hearts
A mazy rat-race razed
In the dog-strut highways
Shearing the haze
Billowing in the head
Now haplessly astray
Beneath a downtrodden parasol
So you held the lever tight
Braving the daunting height
Of the searing defeat
Gnarled fists above
The pounding in the chest
Where the heart shatters
And the serrations slices
The vacant chambers to bleed
Enthralled in the logic
That was pawned for
A heart,
With no avail.
poem by Norman Santos
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Exudes An Oozing Flaunted Pulchritude
Seeking a familiarity,
That comforts a nervousness?
Seeking to be gratified by a confirmation...
That allows for a polishing of pride,
And a strut that exudes an oozing flaunted pulchritude?
I do too!
But unlike you,
My attempts have always met with contempt.
They call what you do 'strength'.
Of course my identical movements are called arrogance.
Either way...
I just want it known that the 'air' I embrace feels great!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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