Quotes about shred
Apflux
You sit here
An axe in your hand
With blood in your mind
You won't waste your time
A phase in your life
Can't quiet ignite
The flame in your heart
You're dead from the start
Black art infused
Confused, you'll lose
Black art confused
Infused, you'll lose
Black mind sees lies
Can't find a reason why
Black mind sees lies
Can't find the reason why
Pervert the truth
To kill and abuse
Pervert the truth
To kill and abuse
[...] Read more
song performed by Velvet Acid Christ
Added by Lucian Velea
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Web Of Lies
Caught in your web of lies,
and you can’t get out,
Your spider is doing time
In your prison of doubt.
Doubting now what is the truth,
You can’t keep it straight
and now it’s bugging you.
Yes, the lying bugs are going to start eating at your web,
Chewing on it and making it shred,
Shred to pieces for bugs are taking over thee,
They are in your mind and you can’t set them free.
Your mind is contaminated with your lying bug fleas,
Adding to your mind’s delusional state,
the state that you did make.
poem by Christina Sunrise (20 August 2011)
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Walnut Tree
my head foaming clouds, sea inside me and out
I am a walnut tree in Gulhane Park
an old walnut, knot by knot, shred by shred
Neither you are aware of this, nor the police
I am a walnut tree in Gulhane Park
My leaves are nimble, nimble like fish in water
My leaves are sheer, sheer like a silk handkerchief
pick, wipe, my rose, the tear from your eyes
My leaves are my hands, I have one hundred thousand
I touch you with one hundred thousand hands, I touch Istanbul
My leaves are my eyes, I look in amazement
I watch you with one hundred thousand eyes, I watch Istanbul
Like one hundred thousand hearts, beat, beat my leaves
I am a walnut tree in Gulhane Park
neither you are aware of this, nor the police
poem by Nazim Hikmet
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An Election Night Pantoum
Gaze at the good-natured crowd,
List to the noise and the rattle!
Heavens! that woman is loud-
Loud as the din of a battle.
List to the noise and the rattle!
Hark to the honk of the horn
Loud as the din of a battle!
There! My new overcoat's torn!
Hark to the honk of the horn!
Cut out that throwing confetti!
There! My new overcoat's torn-
Looks like a shred of spaghetti.
Cut out that throwing confetti!
Look at the gentleman, stewed;
Looks like a shred of spaghetti-
Don't get so terribly rude!
[...] Read more
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Exposed Behinds In Arrears
Believe it.
It is here.
Men and women barely dressed.
And having children fed disrespect.
Believe it.
It is here.
Illiterate minds,
Having illegitimate good times.
With not a shred of evidence...
Of an act of discipline seen!
And people who condone this,
Wonder why they've been demeaned.
Excuses with abuses have been ignored and accepted.
A process of ignorance has us all infected.
Accountability?
What is that?
Is that a new fad coming back?
And who is proposing it?
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Press Intrusion
The World’s Press are often extremely intrusive,
Just so they can obtain a ‘world exclusive.’
When a celebrity pops out to buy a new pair of shoes,
It’s really not that thrilling or potential headline news.
We also see photos of celebs with spots on their faces,
And sweat patches under their arm pits, in some cases.
With really pointless pictures, they fill column space,
And, of everyone’s time and effort, it really is a waste.
The same old celebrities are pictured time and time again,
And it’s increasingly becoming a really annoying pain.
The Press are making themselves a real laughing stock.
And I feel on some of their activities, there should be a block.
They don’t care about anyone, who their actions may affect.
They hone in on the tiniest shred of emotion they can detect.
When celebs are doing normal things or are just on the phone,
The Press really need to just butt out and leave them all alone.
[...] Read more
poem by Angela Wybrow
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Fauconshawe
[A Ballad]
To fetch clear water out of the spring
The little maid Margaret ran,
From the stream to the castle's western wing
It was but a bowshot span ;
On the sedgy brink where the osiers cling
Lay a dead man, pallid and wan.
The lady Mabel rose from her bed,
And walked in the castle hall,
Where the porch through the western turret led
She met with her handmaid small.
'What aileth thee, Margaret ?' the lady said,
'Hast let thy pitcher fall ?
'Say, what hast thou seen by the streamlet side—
A nymph or a water sprite—
That thou comest with eyes so wild and wide,
And with cheeks so ghostly white ?'
[...] Read more
poem by Adam Lindsay Gordon
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Book II - Part 04 - Absence Of Secondary Qualities
Now come, this wisdom by my sweet toil sought
Look thou perceive, lest haply thou shouldst guess
That the white objects shining to thine eyes
Are gendered of white atoms, or the black
Of a black seed; or yet believe that aught
That's steeped in any hue should take its dye
From bits of matter tinct with hue the same.
For matter's bodies own no hue the least-
Or like to objects or, again, unlike.
But, if percase it seem to thee that mind
Itself can dart no influence of its own
Into these bodies, wide thou wand'rest off.
For since the blind-born, who have ne'er surveyed
The light of sun, yet recognise by touch
Things that from birth had ne'er a hue for them,
'Tis thine to know that bodies can be brought
No less unto the ken of our minds too,
Though yet those bodies with no dye be smeared.
Again, ourselves whatever in the dark
We touch, the same we do not find to be
[...] Read more
poem by Lucretius
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Rokeby: Canto VI.
I.
The summer sun, whose early power
Was wont to gild Matilda's bower,
And rouse her with his matin ray
Her duteous orisons to pay,
That morning sun has three times seen
The flowers unfold on Rokeby green,
But sees no more the slumbers fly
From fair Matilda's hazel eye;
That morning sun has three times broke
On Rokeby's glades of elm and oak,
But, rising from their sylvan screen,
Marks no grey turrets' glance between.
A shapeless mass lie keep and tower,
That, hissing to the morning shower,
Can but with smouldering vapour pay
The early smile of summer day.
The peasant, to his labour bound,
Pauses to view the blacken'd mound,
Striving, amid the ruin'd space,
[...] Read more
poem by Sir Walter Scott
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