Quotes about prod, page 6
The Singular Sangfroid Of Baby Bunting
Batholomew Benjamin Bunting
Had only three passions in life,
And one of the trio was hunting,
The others his babe and his wife.
And always, so rigid his habits,
He frolicked at home until two,
And then started hunting for rabbits,
And hunted till fall of the dew.
Belinda Bellonia Bunting,
Thus widowed for half of the day,
Her duty maternal confronting,
With baby would patiently play.
When thus was her energy wasted,
A patented food she'd dispense.
(She had bought it the day that they pasted
The posters all over her fence.)
But Bonaparte Buckingham Bunting,
The infant thus blindly adored,
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poem by Guy Wetmore Carryl
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A you take care
You take care” some kind words from her mouth
Lady belonged to far off place from the direction of south
She was in rage and wanted the friendship to end
It was totally unacceptable for me to forgo her as friend
We were together for quite number of years
Her sweet voice created melody in my ears
I always wanted her voice to be heard in morning
She exactly did the same with the start of day and in and evening
Very nice and durable relation one can always be prod off
I used o forget the shots while playing the gold
Her face used to emerge whenever I had little time to relax
Her innocence ruled on me and there was no angle from point of sex
She may interrupt and correct me in every walk
She may remind me to do more with less talk
Her accurate pin pointing led me to be dependant
I used to behave very normal and forgot to be an adamant
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The Boy Next Door
There's a boy who lives next door;
And this boy is just as bad
As a boy can be; and poor!
He's so poor it makes me sad
When I see him. Out at knee;
And no shoes; and, more than that,
Hardly any shirt or hat.
He's as poor as Poverty.
II.
But I like him; yes, I do.
He can play 'most any game,
And tell fairy stories, too;
Funny stories, just the same
As my father does. And he
Told me one about a frog,
Living near a lake or bog,
Frog that married a bumblebee.
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poem by Madison Julius Cawein
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Still you believe marriages are heavenly....
Our only daughter is our pride
Graduated in flying colours without a guide
Won a seat in Management, as she so did decide
Went ahead with a programme in marketing side
Her progress in studies was fantastic
Her plans were far stretched and truly futuristic
Her desire was to grow into a woman majestic
Ignoring others comments, even if sarcastic
We thought it was time she be given in marriage
As it is Indian custom to get the daughter married in right age
We came across a family that held a good image
We came to know the family is well knit in traditional cage
The boy, an engineer, working abroad
In our interaction we discover in him a mind broad
We thought he is the boy and requires no further prod
There was no reason for us to doubt any fraud
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poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Cripples and Other Stories
My doctor, the comedian
I called you every time
and made you laugh yourself
when I wrote this silly rhyme...
Each time I give lectures
or gather in the grants
you send me off to boarding school
in training pants.
God damn it, father-doctor,
I'm really thirty-six.
I see dead rats in the toilet.
I'm one of the lunatics.
Disgusted, mother put me
on the potty. She was good at this.
My father was fat on scotch.
It leaked from every orifice.
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poem by Anne Sexton
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Serve Verse - Anagram Acrostic - Bud Free in Time, Shape Your Heart's Vision Through Verse
BEYOND YE BOND which terrifies
UNITE! UNTIE! PROD, DROP disguise,
DRAW joy WARD off REEF, FREE dark skies.
FOR TUNES trump FORTUNE’S flighty eyes.
READ, DEAR, SURE RUSE personifies
Each VERSE to SERVE sans compromise.
Each REVERSE REVERES replies.
ITEM EMIT for as TIME flies
No MITE, POOL LOOP, personnifies
The DEW WED, so NODE DONE advise
IT RIPS the SPIRIT – so scribe’s highs
May LOWS SLOW link, revise.
Easy WOLF FLOW satisfies.
Splice I AM AIM to WE IS - WISE.
HEART'S ARTS HE MASTERS STREAMS supplies
As SMILE which MILES DROPS, PRODS surprise.
PART STALE TALE's TRAP, - LO US! - SOUL ties
Each THREAD - no DEARTH - needs systemize
You EDIT TIDE DIET DEED despise
Objections COLD CLOD compromise.
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Dragondream
Here the chains lie, sleeping only
clinking gently on the ancient stonework
steadily beating away, tink, tink, tink
With each massive breath and flutter of scales
Sleeping like a baby, smiling toothily
Dreaming of happiness, of constant love
Of a place away from the shackles
Comfortable in the fantasies of assumption
Hear her talk of love like it is broken?
As if all is uniform, all gray men the same
Speaking despair, letting the doubts coil like smoke
Calling to the beast to awaken, rise up and strike!
Like a prod, a painful, aching hurt
Chains snap taut, groaning, bolts fly free
Fire builds, muscles stretch, jaws agape
Roaring disconsolately he yearns for freedom to fly
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poem by Poet Dragon
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Tom Van Arden
Tom Van Arden, my old friend,
Our warm fellowship is one
Far too old to comprehend
Where its bond was first begun:
Mirage-like before my gaze
Gleams a land of other days,
Where two truant boys, astray,
Dream their lazy lives away.
There's a vision, in the guise
Of Midsummer, where the Past
Like a weary beggar lies
In the shadow Time has cast;
And as blends the bloom of trees
With the drowsy hum of bees,
Fragrant thoughts and murmurs blend,
Tom Van Arden, my old friend.
Tom Van Arden, my old friend,
All the pleasures we have known
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poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Bud Free - Anagram Acrostic
BUD FREE!
BEYOND YE BOND which terrifies
UNITE! UNTIE! shed all disguise,
DRAW joy WARD off, REEF FREE dark skies.
Knit I AM AIM to WE IS - WISE.
ROSE, SORE, RETWINS, WINTERS defies.
IN ONE I NONE FILE LIFE. Arise!
STREAM MASTER – HEART ART HE supplies
The SMILE which MILES DROPS, PRODS surprise.
Your WOLF’S growl grows FLOWS fertilize.
PART is a TRAP, - LO US! - SOUL ties
In knots HER 'MY' - in RHYME it dies.
The PAGE does GAPE? Just realize
ALL mirrors ALL in different guise
FOR TUNES trump FORTUNE’S flighty eyes.
READ, DEAR, SURE RUSE personifies
Each VERSE to SERVE sans compromise.
Each REVERSE REVERES replies,
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Bones!
I well remember Sir Gordon Fitch
As much for his wealth as his plain language,
A spade was a 'bloody shovel' to him,
In truth, he was an arrogant man.
The Seventh Earl in a Stately Home,
But ruined then, half falling down
Though what remained was a grand old pile
It sat in the woods by Barkly Stile.
Three living rooms and a massive hall,
And fifteen rooms if I do recall,
The house had seventeen chimneys there
Soot-caked and brooding, beyond repair.
Three of the fires were boarded in,
The rooms so cold with the house snowed in,
We shivered and sat with our coats still on,
Scarves and gloves in the morning room.
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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