Quotes about plop
My Jamaican Guy
Take a toke from the smoke,
Never standing by the door,
Just stretching out pan de floor,
That way him dont fall over,
No way him gwan fall out pan me,
That way him wont fall over,
No way him gwan fall out pan me.
cause hes layed back, not laying back,
Layed back, not worried back,
Layed back, not thinking back,
Layed back, never holding back,
My jamaican guy, my jamaican guy.
When my dread start to sw..
Him no think if it hot nor cold,
We just come in a de riva cold,
Dat way him dont waste him wata,
No way it gwan run out pan him,
Dat way him dont waste him wata,
No way it gwan run out pan him.
cause hes layed back, not worried back,
[...] Read more
song performed by Grace Jones
Added by Lucian Velea
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A Tub of Potatoes
My grandmother used to say
don't marry for money
but stay open-minded.
She could squeeze a nickel
and make the buffalo feel light-headed;
she could make a dollar out of 15 cent.
Now she was a big woman;
ruled the family roost
with a simple look
and an iron skillet.
Many times I heard that skillet
go thunk!
Another suitor educated.
Another boyfriend righted.
She always took us kids aside
and whispered things like
[...] Read more
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Love A Duck
Mammy duck leaves the bank,
Baby ducks follow plop plop,
Daddy duck rear guard
Safe from the predators.
Sadly the little ones are
Easy pickings for the eels,
Grow little ones grow very fast,
Then you will be too big for the eels grasp.
poem by Ken e Hall
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A Cold Grey Wintry Day
On this cold, gray-wintry day,
The sun is nowhere to be found.
Listen! I hear the rain:
Pit pat, pit pat—dripppppp, plop.
Pit pat, pit pat—dripppppp, plop.
Like a sad song, its music play
To the melancholy lyric of:
“A Cold, Gray Wintry Day.”
poem by Walterrean Salley
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Caribbean Night
Tropical night, starlit, if I recall rightly; there was
sliver of a golden moon also. We drank beer too,
the sea is an enormous waste bin, plop, plop.
Someone brought guitar, nights like this ought to
have music, the gentle murmour of voices stilled.
The guitar player wasn't any good, but for awhile
we sat politely listening to his pathetic attempts.
His friend got up, threw the instrument overboard.
We drank more beer, listened to our own dreams;
mine was about a guitar playing dolphin.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Love A Duck
Mammy duck leaves the bank,
Baby ducks follow plop plop,
Daddy duck rear guard
Safe from the predators.
Sadly the little ones are
Easy pickings for the eels,
Grow little ones grow very fast,
Then you will be too big for the eels grasp.
Black swans arrive with six white little ones
At the spot where they all look for crumbs,
My poodle Beau goes close for a sniff
A black flying swan flies out, whoosh goes biff.
Beau scurries off with a really loud yelp
To run in between my legs for human help,
No more going near baby swans with daddy around
He will stick to spraying trees it’s safer he’s found.
poem by Ken e Hall
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Dawn Roused
The night space is still slumbering
Its vast dark mouth wide open
Like a monster's black yawn
The higgledy-piggledy teeth twinkling out
Sickle-moon sneering at my lure
Rousing dawn's gusto by a quick cafe au lait
I rise before the sun rises
My modus-operandi to precede the sequel
4A.M a hush-hush wake up
Right in the kitchen for an invigorating coffee
Pea berry grounds put into the filter
Pressed gently, in poured the scalding water
Plop plop like the rain drop
In the receptacle decoction dripping
Eying around readily boil milk
An esoteric mix of my secret coffee ready
Sip and swig the frothy java
[...] Read more
poem by Indira Renganathan
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To Stale And Flatten
Racism tried to divide,
Apparently sliding on the downslide.
And that...
Is on the brink,
Of failure.
Corruption and deceit?
Even the ones once disbelieving...
This could not be a possibility,
Now find it as common...
As seeing 'For Sale' signs,
On every street.
And those failures?
They too are complete.
People are discovering,
Dishonesty is not the way to live.
Especially today...
When the value of their standards,
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Crossfire
Cross, at peak, speaks persecution,
Refusing tempting devolution.
Once weak, seeks pardon's substitution,
Sources first calls for revolution -
Solution soon shed, styled faith pollution,
For pride before fall's retribution
IRE fires against true evolution.
Across span of two thousand years
stretches shameful vale of tears
which witchcraft crafted it appears
to warn sheep shorn who'd cross frontiers
that 'one true path' exists, fed fears
that sin soul's pardon disappears
when wayward heresy lies steers
to further lies, strange sects reveres.
To this add internecine strife
which separates man from his wife
or both from child who different life
welcomes outside intolerance's knife.
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Paper Windmill
The little boy pressed his face against the window-pane and looked out
at the bright sunshiny morning. The cobble-stones of the square
glistened like mica. In the trees, a breeze danced and pranced,
and shook drops of sunlight like falling golden coins into the brown water
of the canal. Down stream slowly drifted a long string of galliots
piled with crimson cheeses. The little boy thought they looked as if
they were roc's eggs, blocks of big ruby eggs. He said, 'Oh!' with delight,
and pressed against the window with all his might.
The golden cock on the top of the `Stadhuis' gleamed. His beak was open
like a pair of scissors and a narrow piece of blue sky was wedged in it.
'Cock-a-doodle-do,' cried the little boy. 'Can't you hear me
through the window, Gold Cocky? Cock-a-doodle-do! You should crow
when you see the eggs of your cousin, the great roc.' But the golden cock
stood stock still, with his fine tail blowing in the wind.
He could not understand the little boy, for he said 'Cocorico'
when he said anything. But he was hung in the air to swing, not to sing.
His eyes glittered to the bright West wind, and the crimson cheeses
drifted away down the canal.
[...] Read more
poem by Amy Lowell
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