Quotes about stew, page 9
In Exile, , ,
must poets live in exile?
strangers limping to the dance.
streetlights dancing on the lampshade,
thrown into the trash.
in conversations with rats,
sleeping with ghosts in empty buildings.
immigrants without papers,
pawning blood for a drink.
by fires on the fringe,
stirring the stew made of hope.
eyes blackened by the smoke,
laughing with small children.
painting revolution on sterile walls,
sharing bread with mongrel dogs.
lovers without a country,
homeless, going home!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Non-Life
Hell is non-life, much matters in it,
For the evil splendidly walked on thin ice
Watering Hell, and underground their hidden faces
Were held in shock at the grave ness released
As disaster struck as it loomed, as destiny fulfilled the good.
It was painful now, for me and you, when cold and blue
Was the stew called us, and we underneath knew
That life was never there, now, now that it had ended
In a blasting fashion, weather was bad after all.
Hell I understood as abhorrent, who am I to go?
poem by Naveed Akram
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I Started A Revolution Today
i started a revolution today,
when i walked out the door.
ants lined up in full gear,
trees refused to shed their leaves.
smoke swallowed the chimney,
and cats laid down with squirrels.
and every ray of sunlight,
praised the coming night.
small children read to old people,
and bricks swayed to the beating heart.
tiny things became heroes,
and simple things became gods.
gentle words held road signs,
hobos shared their bowls of stew...
rain buried gifts in stillness,
for the awakened and those who long!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Dinner For Alfalfa
let me introduce you
to Alfalfa
my girlfriend
she is 69
and still sexy
and rich
and she says
she cannot live without me
and i take her
to dinner
at her expense
of course
because she
has the money
and for dinner
she orders
soup # 5
garlic rice
hot chili sauce
jumbo hotdogs
[...] Read more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Becoming Just Like Everyone Else
since then
i stopped chasing for
a relationship
my beggar story
was indeed
regretful and i do not
want it
retouched
the whiskey is a bottle
of the past
and the beef stew
makes me
vomit
even the smell of it
can kill me
now i stopped chasing
love
[...] Read more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Tasty Food
Prepare for me a tasty food from your love and,
Feed me with your red stew of love all day;
Come and caress my body my sweet one,
And i will love you more than the sugar in my tea.
Come and make love to me,
And let me be the one for you;
For i will kiss you more than a bee sucks nectar.
I am ripe for you and i have been so long for your love,
Come my sweet lover;
For when the morning dawns, my flowers will bloom.
I have prepared a bed for you,
Come and let us share the night together;
For you are the tasrty food that i need on this bed.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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St. Louis
My lover is called St. Louis and,
I will wash myself seven times in the Yahdan for him;
For he is a man of valour.
He is a great and honourable man,
Like his love words spoken in the bedroom;
Wash and be cleansed,
Eat and be satisfied,
For the large pot of stew is for us all.
The staff in his hand is to perform the signs,
And his kiss is like the water from the Nile;
But he is an eloquent teacher on my love too,
For i will love him forever.
St. Louis is all that i have and,
i will do my best for him always;
For his love is very special to me.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Upset With the Stew
If I see it!
And they see it!
Why are you trying to pretend...
There is a secret you keep within?
Just like a tree.
And the birds flying and the fish in the sea,
God has made this!
This is God's creativity!
What makes you think you are hiding something,
Because you think God might not agree?
You're the only one who chooses living in a slump.
Don't try to dump your nonsense on me!
I know who God IS...
Omnipresent is THIS spirit!
There are many like you upset with the 'stew'
Because you can not realize,
What is being done is not all about you!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The big question
Sex is this wondrous, marvellous thing
that the young discover
and bring home to mother
Mother, of course, only ever indulged
that night that the light bulb
blew up in the lounge.
She never enjoyed anything quite so rude,
she just thought of England
or made us beef stew.
Sex is reserved for the young, so it seems,
their mothers don't do it
it's far too obscene.
What about fathers, perhaps, do you think?
Do fathers all do it?
Ask mum in a tick!
[...] Read more
poem by Ruth Walters
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I write from a world
I write from a world
~
I write from a world
Of thought and feeling
A world of observation
There to be picked at
There to be used as need be
Whenever or however
It suits me to do so
I write to stave off madness
To save my tongue
From speaking ill words
I write in metaphor
To disguise such things
I am not freely open to discuss
Things better left unsaid
But which stew in the mind
And need to be let out
Other things I write in celebration
To share my joy with all
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poem by Matthew Holloway
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