Poems in English as a Second Language
by Gabor Mandy
(Under selection for publication. Please mail me your corrections.)
What are you like?
The type you like.
The type you love.
What kind of guy?
A kind kind of guy.
Well, kind of.
(as overheard from a female archeologist)
I've got enough men to date.
I've dated 300 to date.
this guy is 50,000 years old!
that I'm always late.
I've lost my money at poker.
I almost had a stroke!
I used to be a broker,
but now I'm simply broke.
My girlfriend just said good-bye.
Gone is the year of us together.
She did not tell me why.
I hope her next guy will be better.
I've lost a year and lost Marylou.
But life goes on, I believe.
Let's have a drink. Here's to you,
my new girlfriend, New Year's Eve!
In Search Of
You want Mr. Right, I see.
Well, that's not me.
I don't like excesses,
and already have three exes.
They are enough.
I'm in search of
a woman who is average
but doesn't want a marriage,
a woman whose will is strong
but who doesn't want a fight.
To you I'm Mr. Wrong.
There was a painter who painted nudes.
He was kind of a nude-ist.
He told his model, "Take off all clothes,
I want you to be the nude-est."
He removed his clothes himself,
he was bare like a peach.
They laid down: two nudes reclining
in the nudist beach.
Her head is a pumpkin, big and smiley,
her eyes are plums, her hair: macaroni,
her lips are strawberries, red and sweet,
and she has sugar-cookie feet.
Her fingers are brown like French fries,
she has two big sausage-arms.
Her breasts are big loaves of bread,
her navel is an orange, my mouth is wet.
She has aroused my appetite,
I want to have a taste, a bite,
I'm falling in love with her,
but she does not seem to care.
What would you expect of a poster
for the Agricultural Fair?
Four friends, a poet each,
were hanging out in a street.
A beautiful lady walked by,
and there came a fourfold sigh.
The same night, in a jerky rhythm,
four love-poems were written.
For the lady there was no escape.
This was, literally, a gang rape.
But no one is hurt, nobody knows.
Nobody reads those poems.
I know I'm not supposed to stare at girls
(and imagine what they have under their skirts).
I know I'm not supposed to have a hard-on
(not while the class is going on).
I know I'm not supposed to masturbate
(not in public). I should wait for a mate.
But if I don't do anything gross,
then I am a girl, not a boy, I suppose.
I think, therefore I am.
I am, therefore I stink.
I don't give it a damn.
People tolerate everything.
Just don't bother.
Buy me a beer or two,
and I'll make a philosopher
out of you.
A businessman, greedy and mean,
once had a beautiful dream
about angels and fairies.
"I should try to sell this,"
he realized with a surprise.
"I will sell it for a good price."
I pass my dreams on to you without thinking.
Of course, my profit is next to nothing.
Two dinosaurs ran into each other.
The first said, "Excuse me, sir,
I am a Brontosaurus,
and you are not one of us.
A Tyrannosaurus Rex is my friend,
but he, too, looks very different.
I haven't seen a reptile of your kind,
and want to know your name, if you don't mind."
The other said, "Well, it is a shame,
but I do not have a name.
This situation is ridiculous.
Just call me Anonymosaurus."
Coming from outer space
I crash-landed on this planet.
I'm trying to hide my face,
but I'm afraid I cannot.
It's difficult to disguise
someone with three eyes,
and a nose like a carrot!
Sometimes I write a little poem
in what I think is English.
I must admit, and that's the truth,
these little poems are rather freakish.
It's the poems who write themselves,
who pick a verb or a noun.
The words discuss freakish ideas
which, of course, are not my own.
And it's me who reads these poems first,
they make me sick, they make me weak.
I realize: these freakish poems
are turning me into a freak!
My illness turned out fatal.
I feel now alright,
but when he stitched me together,
the poor doctor died.
When he started, he did not know
that one of us had to go.
The operation became
a zero-sum game.
The doorbell! Did you hear?
A strange visitor is here.
He looks like the Devil.
My God -- He is real!
But what scares you to death
is that he is faceless.
He has a mirror in place
of his face.
And the mirror shows you.
A frightening view!
It is hard
to see your devilish part.
it is the scariest thing
you've ever seen.
The Club of Masochists
In the club of masochists
you can drink coffee with cream,
but not the cream - you are whipped,
until you begin to scream.
When you become a full member,
you get a beating you'll remember.
When you give him a tip
the waiter grabs the whip
and beats you until your skin turns blue:
"This is our way to say thank you."
"I have a plan that guarantees
that the world can live in peace.
I also know the answer:
how to cure cancer.
I'm working on a book," he says,
"about eternal happiness.
I have ideas, plenty!"
"Good," the doctor says gently.
"You'll receive your reward
at the psychiatric ward."
Scientists abuse science.
The military pushes defense.
Economists screw up finance.
The government overspends.
Enemies often become friends.
The whole world does not make sense.
That's why I write nonsense.
This is my way.
what is the difference?
If you take up the Hindu belief,
stop eating beef.
If you want to be a good Jew,
stop eating pork stew.
If you fast like an idiot,
stop eating -- period.
The best choice is that of a cannibal.
For a cannibal even a cannibal is edible.
A hungry fish eats a lot,
catches the bait and gets caught,
wants more food and becomes food.
By desire we are fooled.
It depends on us, too, not only on fate
who can have dinner and who is on the plate.
That's true. However,
I am a nobody.
The one who lives forever!
Someone asked me what if
I could completely re-live
my life, having a second chance.
Would there be any difference?
Well, I always chose the best,
so the answer is no.
The reason I am a mess
is that I did not know
what was waiting for me.
But what is the guarantee
that I would better guess
next time? There is a way, though:
a few things would be different, I bet,
If I were reborn on another planet.
I have no unfulfilled desire.
Whatever was missed is forgotten.
I loved and was loved many times,
I keep all the good I've gotten.
I'm happy and I will be, forever,
no matter how shallow, no matter how thin.
The building has been completed,
and even its breakdown is built in.
My life is perfect, well balanced.
I am happier than most millionaires.
I keep writing poems. They amuse me.
And if no one reads them -- who cares?
(Listen to this poem, as read by Matthew Student)
The birds. The clouds. The sky.
A disappointment. A sigh.
Two lovers. An argument.
"That's not what I meant."
The loneliness. A divorce case.
A bottle of wine. A sad face.
A pocket without money.
A broken mirror. Me.
And whatever happens.
Questions, answers, questions.
This is not a poem just words to use.
You write the poem
with the ones you choose.
Man of the Year
You broke with me on New Year's Eve.
You have a new guy, I have to leave.
Let's drink champagne - or at least beer.
Hey, I was your Man of the Year!
Doctor Freud was mistaken
when saying that a woman
suffers from penis envy.
On the contrary!
It is the men who are envious,
and this fact is rather obvious.
They have vagina envy.
They would pull a gun
and kill - just to get one!
I am a man, and I am fine.
I would not trade in mine.
But of course,
if I had both,
I would have fun all the time!
My new home is this hospital,
as much as a hospital a home is.
The hospital and I are inseparable,
I know all the doctors and nurses.
I've been in this room for a year,
the food is good, the treatment's fine,
I'm actually living here.
Living and dying at the same time.
Confined to bed,
I'm looking at a painting
above my head:
an apple and a peach.
I no longer can eat.
Tomorrow I might be dead.
But to me that still life
is still life.
The doctors say I'm terminally ill,
I have six months to write my will.
Dont' feel sorry for me.
I have this six-month guarantee.
But when you leave this hospital and go away,
somebody might kill you right away!
There was a poet named William.
He loved a lady named Juliet.
He wrote her a beautiful sonnet.
And now it sells for a million.
There was a painter, Stuart.
He's never sold a painting.
He was sick and fainting.
He made a dying out of art.
There is a mountain climber, Dave.
And there is a turn he missed.
And now he's sitting in the mist
in the bottom of a cave.
Airport security was tight,
they took my scissors away.
They didn't know, I may say,
that I don't stab. I bite.
There was a cook named Fred,
who liked crocodile liver.
He asked me to stay for dinner,
but I didn't stay. I fled.
I asked a woman to be my lover.
She willingly went to bed with me,
then she gave me the third degree.
She was a cop under cover!
There is a soldier I admire.
He is everyone's friend.
When his life comes to an end,
he will die in friendly fire.
There was an ugly person, Jean.
(To call her a woman would be blasphemy.)
She had a perfect plastic surgery.
And never again was she seen.
Said Rabinovich, the rabbi:
"I have to follow God, always.
But He has myterious ways,
and I just can't find them, can I?"
There was this evangelist, Mark,
who traveled around from week to week,
to strengthen faith where it was weak,
in a four-wheel drive Noah's Ark.
And there was good old Adam,
he was the only man in Paradise.
One day he had a big surprise:
he found something he had to call "Madam."
A Pen Pal in France
I have a pen pal in France,
a very sexy female.
She sends exciting e-mail,
but to touch her I have no chance.
There was a woman named Joan.
She spoke with her friends worldwide.
Years went by, and she died --
but she is still on the phone.
A Girl from London
There was a girl from London,
AIDS was always on her mind.
She loved all men she could find,
but never without a condom.
There was an aging DJ,
who met a lady from Beijing.
The lady was also aging,
but she was pretty good at BJ.
I want you, dear Alice,
and you want me, I know that.
But you don't know the sad fact:
I'm also wanted by the police.
A Sailor in Norway
There was a sailor in Norway
who wanted to bed a virgin.
He kept urgin' and urgin' -
but the girl said to him, "no way."
There was an old poet, Arthur.
His young wife had a baby boy, Mark.
The father made a remark:
"I am the publisher, not the author."
Ingrid and Hermann
There was a couple: Ingrid and Hermann.
He ate garlic to perform better.
She loved sex and smell didn't matter.
So she was HIS girl and he was HER man.
I knew good old Graham.
He loved his women so much!
He bought each lover a gold watch.
...Like this one on your wrist, Ma'am.
There was a lonely girl, Suzy.
She didn't find any lover.
When she got hotter and hotter,
she went to, and came in, a jacuzzi.
There was a guy named Joe.
He suggested we swap wives.
His was a bitch, mine was nice.
So I said to Joe, "No, no."
There was this jealous Keith.
He rushed home. His wife said,
"See? No one is in my bed."
(There were two guys underneath.)
There was a guy named Philip.
A woman said to him, "Look,
I heard you're a wonderful cock.
Oops! - that was a Freudian slip."
Remember Miss Lewinsky, Monica?
The student who's learnt how to react,
and how to get rich after the act.
She played THAT thing like a harmonica!
This happened right in our honeymoon.
My wife and I stayed in a four-star hotel.
She undressed in public. It was like hell.
I begged to her: "Honey, don't moon!"
I am worried, worried indeed.
My daughter is in bed with three guys!
"What are you doing?!" I say. She replies:
"Making my memoirs more fun to read."
"Whose is this crown?"
asks the police.
"Oh, you mean this?
It is my own."
"One hardly believes
that I deserve this thing.
It's stolen, but I AM a king:
the King of Thieves."
St. Patrick's Day
It's St. Patrick's Day, my dear!
The fields are all green,
Today do not be mean.
Come, and let's have a beer.
Today have fun, do not be bored.
I drink but I'm a good Catholic,
so in the name of Saint Patrick,
Let's make a baby -- for the Lord.
Valentine's Day Options
If we were living apart
Now I would send you a card.
If you felt me close enough
Now I would give you a hug.
But we're fighting, that's the truth.
How about a one-day truce?
She says I have hurt her.
She says I made her very sad.
She says everything is over.
She says I'm bad, bad bad!
I'm standing with open arms:
a statue in the park.
I don't move when the morning comes,
I don't move when it gets dark.
I'm growing older and older,
with no movement and no word.
A bird's building a nest on my shoulder.
I wish SHE were that bird.
Drops of rain,
flakes of snow.
A million colors
of the rainbow.
Drop your skirt,
I'll give you a kiss.
A million flavors
on your lips.
Drops of sweat,
drops of honey.
A million synonyms
Old and Ugly
"I'm getting old and ugly,"
complained my wife.
I said, "Don't worry,
this is life.
Everything is balanced and right.
As you are losing your beauty,
so am I losing my eyesight."
Ice on the road,
ice in your heart.
I want to melt it,
but it is hard.
To the road I'll spray
salt from a can.
To you -- I will be
as weet as I can.
The spring brings heat,
it makes me fade.
But in your heart still:
Baby, you are a jerk.
(Or shall I say, "a jerk-ess?")
You tell me funnier things
than a clown in a circus.
To my gestures you respond
so rudely, so unfairly,
that I keep wondering,
"what's the matter, baby?"
You're jerk-er than most guys
(I know, "jerk" is a noun),
you are, in fact, baby,
the jerk-est in this town.
This wouldn't be a problem,
I would solve it, no doubt,
but you're jerk-ing me, baby,
you are jerking me out!
This body eats good food,
this body drinks good wine,
this body is in good mood,
but this body is not mine.
That body has a playmate,
and is voracious like a tiger.
That body is in good shape,
but it is not mine, either.
I thought you would let me in,
and we would unite in the best sense,
yet, what I got from you was nothin'
but this out-of-your-body experience.
I bed a woman every night.
It's not consensual, I admit.
But they never fight,
they don't even resist.
I spot them on the street,
invite them, they come with me.
I give them good food as a treat,
to satisfy them orally.
Some of them are my colleagues.
All female coworkers, in fact.
I would give each what she needs.
They come and come, and don't regret.
This is going on and on,
and I hope it won't end ever.
I love women. They turn me on.
My bed is a source of pleasure.
My life is a sexual Odyssey,
I'm always ready and eager.
Of course, all this is fantasy.
But it is safe sex. Cheap. And legal.
Hands can feel,
hands can heal,
hands can reach,
hands can teach,
hands can hold,
hands are bold,
hands can hug,
hands make love.
My hands are ready and willing
to do for you anything!
One Night in the Bar
One night I was particularly lonely
and picked up a woman - or was it she
who picked me up? It didn't matter.
I wanted to feel better.
We went to a bar, she drank whiskey.
I paid, and it was a little risky,
because she drank, drank a lot.
I wanted to share a thought
and get and give some affection.
She checked if I had an erection,
and was surprised. "Aren't you horny?"
I was quiet. I felt lonely.
She said, "I thought you wanted fucking.
Isn't that why you got me to drink?"
"Fucking? Yeah," I said. "Cool."
I am a fucking fool."
As links become the chain,
as drops become the rain,
as flames become the fire,
as voices become the choir,
as steps become a dance,
so can we,
you and me,
have our chance.
Come, baby, come.
It's time to become.
The Twilight Zone
The park was not dark yet,
but the light was already gone.
We were a little bit scared
in a land abandoned by the Sun.
The park was desolate --
just you and I alone.
And we loved each other there,
in the twilight zone.
It was not really sex,
but it was more than affection.
It was thurst and it was hunger,
it was desire without action.
We were in no man's land,
without flesh and without bone.
We kind of loved each other
in the twilight zone.
All this happened long ago,
I am not quite sure when.
This sort of thing also happens
to other women and men.
I vaguely remember the park,
its location is unknown.
But I see it. And I am happy --
in the twilight zone.
I don't believe in the future.
I don't remember the past.
And the present is a no man's land,
fading away pretty fast.
I don't feel that I am here --
pain is the only evidence.
Hurt me, don't let me miss
the extasy of existence.
I'm running away from destiny,
jumping trains from town to town.
I'm looking for a decent place
I could call a home of my own.
I know I saw you long ago,
while clattering through a train station.
I went on, I just couldn't believe
that you were my true destination.
Baby, you're a flash in the sky,
I haven't seen such ever since.
I'm running away from happiness,
which is one of the greatest sins.
If and when I find a home,
I know I will look for you,
and I'll look for that old train station --
of which there are only a few.
The train is running day and night,
the railway ties make my rhythm.
The sun rises, the sun goes down,
and the meaning of life is still hidden.
(a short story)
I was glad that you dropped in.
You did not take off your coat,
just told me I was wrong thinking
you are a fool. You are not. In fact
you have three university degrees and have
international experience. You also speak
several languages and your IQ is higher than mine.
You must have misunderstood something, obviously.
I continued to smile.
You turned and tried to get out through the
I was looking at you as you eventually left, the smile
slowly vanishing from my face.
You have ruined a nice moment and were unable
to share my joy I offered unconditionally.
I feel sorry for you,
but I'm still glad to have seen you today.
between the world and me,
between light and shadow,
between fast and slow,
between sunshine and rain,
between pleasure and pain,
between good and bad,
between merry and sad,
between hopes and fears,
between smiles and tears,
between past and present,
between received and sent.
when there's no need to worry.
When faith makes peace with science,
when words turn into silence.
When the moment is splendid,
and time is suspended.
Our marriage is history,
you are free and I am free.
But I don't want this day
to silently go away.
This is our wedding anniversary.
And I'm not your adversary.
You're gone but I still
love you, and I always will.
Parts of you and parts of me
are intermingled. Can't you see?
No use of discussing whose guilt.
We're behind the wall we've built.
But let's wave over the wall.
This is our day, after all.
Our marriage has given me a lot of pleasure
which I want to commemorate in some way.
So what used to be our anniversary
has become my Thanksgiving Day.
Then there came the cracks,
we worked on the problem night and day.
Every day was rather hard,
we deserve a Labor Day.
During a dozen years
we survived a whole array
of fights, so we need
a break on Veterans Day.
But when fights turned into hostility
we had to divorce right away.
And the day of our divorce
has become Independence Day.
The problem is, you don't cooperate --
of which you have a history.
So I celebrate these holidays
Reason is alien to man,
this is already shown.
I think therefore I am
In deep depression
I don't feel like doing anything.
I could hang on some more --
but what for?
In deep depression
my life looks worthless and shrinking.
I could take a knife and end the bore --
but what for?
Don't Give Me
Don't give me words.
Words can lie.
Don't give me things.
Things can tie.
Don't give me money.
What is valuable for me
I can't buy.
Let us just sit down
and be quiet for a while.
A Bearded Old Man
I saw a bearded old man, rather odd...
"It's Him," I said. "Oh my God!"
"Raise, my child," said the man.
"I'm not who you think I am.
"Do good deeds, love your neighbour,
fear the Lord, it's a lifesaver.
"But don't praise me, it's not right.
(You can buy me a beer, if you like.)
I'm just a God lookalike.
What's going to destroy the Earth?
Nuclear war? A flood? An asteroid
we'll be unable to avoid?
A gigantic cosmic burst?
The question is tough.
My answer: all the above.
Whichever comes first.
The latest model of Barbie
promotes our economy:
she has a cute shopping bag,
a checkbook to write a check,
a wallet to collect coupons,
and you can order add-ons,
such as a shaving cream
to keep Barbie feminine.
Barbie can call an 800 number
to place a rush order,
Barbie can say yes and cannot say no,
Barbie accepts and doesn't know,
Barbie will watch commercials,
on her special Barbie channels,
to make herself knowledgeable
about what is valuable.
Male Barbies come with sets
of miniature sixpacks
and baseball cards,
and fancy cars,
and with a line of credit.
They make money to spend it.
Barbies vacation on a Carribean cruise
and survive the jungle without a bruise,
Barbies consume what others make.
Barbies make the country great.
Humankind is a looser.
Be the future.
Barbies never die.
Save your country.
Never ask why.
Just ask how.
Have a Patriot Barbie.
Teddy Bear Ballad
A young boy had a Teddy bear,
and he liked it very much.
When he went to bed to sleep,
the Teddy bear stayed up to watch.
The family went on a trip,
they ended up in a forest.
The night was dark and chilling
(and this word is rather modest).
And all of a sudden there came a roar
from a big guy with a big belly,
and the young boy had to learn:
not every bear is a Teddy.
Houses can collapse,
the money can be gone,
your friends leave you
one by one.
Books can burn,
every object meets
its own fate.
Even your body falls,
and you walk on all fours.
You have nothing left
but memory. It's yours.
And when it becomes impossible
to speak, to hear, to see,
in your head you can still play back
your favorite memory.
The Perfect Tense
I am young
My job's not bad,
I'm moving ahead.
My house is good,
in a good neighborhood.
My wife is loving,
I need nothing.
My life is perfect.
Is this true? Yes.
Only in Past Tense.
Or in Past Perfect.
Standing by a creek,
I'm watching a little bird,
thirsty for a kiss.
Nothing is moving.
The bird and I are silent --
tamed by each other.
Your clothing all dropped.
The flames of your body burn.
Tears in my eyes.
The bird is now gone.
Her song is here for a while,
but fading away.
The wind is chilly.
The sky is crowded with stars.
Of them you are one.
The snow is falling,
there are sparkles in the ice
on my frozen heart.
The rose in the field.
Trotten down so many times!
It's growing downwards.
Been robbed, gotten sick,
grown old and lost everything:
these are all I have.
to keep order
I threw everything out
of my flat.
Just like that.
Even I left.
So the order is absolute
and can be kept.
To Make a Difference
As a child I was good,
I always did what I could,
but goodness did not make any difference.
At school I studied hard,
read the books day and night,
but my studies did not make any difference.
At work I did my best,
but, as you probably guessed,
my work did not make any difference.
Now I give up finally.
What could be wrong with me?
My whole life did not make any difference!
I sat down to write these lines
on failure -- just to realize:
even this poem will not make any difference.
Wrong Place, Wrong Time
In an airplane going down,
under a bridge collapsing,
on a floor with the stairs gone,
in a marketplace before machinegun fire,
in a subway station being gassed,
in an office building before a missile hits it,
in a church building with the mob breaking in,
in the rubble of unsolved problems...
We are trapped
in the wrong place at the wrong time:
the Earth, 2001.
The Earth has become a global village.
What matters is not you but your image.
You can die, just leave your money in the bank,
they will take care of it until the next Big Bang.
Companies are merged, assets are concentrated.
Your heart and brain have become outdated.
Humans are replaced by hardware and software.
You wouldn't find love anymore, anywhere.
The money machine is working just fine.
The clock is ticking, but there is no time.
Are we heading for a big collapse? Yes.
We have reached the critical mass of mess.
What had to be said, has been said,
the story is coming to an end.
The barbarians have arrived:
no more need for a mind.
No more music, no more poetry,
no God and no philosophy.
Like Hamlet, we are saying the last sentence,
but what is waiting ahead is not silence:
our civilization is dying,
and the rest is hawling.
The beginning is nothing.
It gives birth to desire.
The desire leads to action.
It calls for some reaction.
Everything burns in a fire.
The end, again, is nothing.
My father died at thirty-four.
God has given me a thirty more.
I am a war orphan,
and think of him often.
I have witnessed many events
seeing which he did not have a chance.
As years fly and my life goes on and on,
I mourn my father as if he were my son.
My father defended the fatherland.
But where was the fatherland to defend?
From Hungary to Russia he went,
and was burried in a field at the end.
Now there are battle cries as before,
but I don't want another war.
It's quite simple to comprehend:
I miss the father, not the land.
Someone comes and someone goes,
life is a lottery game.
Someone gives and someones takes,
and there's no one to blame.
Once I win and once I lose,
once I'm totally broke.
What I've lost I might yet find --
all this is God's joke.
We fell in love when we lived apart,
but when we had a chance,
we got married -- to consummate
our deeply rooted romance.
Alas, the marriage didn't work out,
and we shook off the yoke.
Now we are falling back in love!
That's just another joke.
When you think the road is smooth,
bang! -- there's a pothole,
and it happens that your body
doesn't survive as a whole.
Reincarnation makes no sense
(I say this not to provoke).
Do we die just to be born again?
Must be another joke.
Sometimes I miss the East Coast.
The metal color of the Atlantic.
Now I live much more to the east,
and about America I'm not frantic.
I hated the cult of youth and success.
I was too old, I was a loser.
I tried and failed to become American.
My ties became looser and looser.
But I liked the city where we lived,
the neighbors, who smiled and said hi,
the squirrels jumping about in the park,
when the dog and I went by.
I loved the mountains in the fall,
I loved the rusty leaves the most.
And those Amish buggies on the road.
Boy, do I miss the East Coast!
It was an interesting chapter,
which I can re-read but not re-write.
The book is going to close soon,
as I'm getting ready for the night.
It was this blast that started the Universe.
And matter then started to disperse.
If there are intelligent beings in any part,
we are getting more and more apart.
As if a big baloon was blown,
the diameter of the world has grown.
The stars were formed from the debris,
and they made up each galaxy.
And right in the epicentre,
in dark dark matter,
where you cannot see a thing,
God is sitting there --
alone and shivering.
When you are happy, take a mirror,
the smile on your face should remain.
When sad, take a photo of the Earth.
Find yourself. And find your pain.
If I had to choose between a man and a dog,
I would choose the dog.
If I had to choose between a man and a flower,
I would choose the flower.
If I had to choose between a man and a woman,
I would choose neither of them.
I believe that I would need nobody --
with a dog's loyalty and a flower's beauty.
A Vocabulary of Life
out, doubt, hunger, anger,
scare, care, toy, joy,
raised, praised, curious, furious,
teacher, preacher, knowledge, college,
ambition, frustration, wage, rage,
sex, mess, merry, marry,
more, bore, run, bum,
old, cold, hope, nope,
sick, shit, cry, die,