...the Official Bulletin declared that the Poles should be as proud of me as the Germans are of Mozart; obvious nonsense.
quote by Frederic Chopin
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
I owe very, very much to Mozart; and if one studies, for instance, the way in which I write for string quartet, then one cannot deny that I have learned this directly from Mozart. And I am proud of it!
quote by Arnold Schoenberg
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is nonsense to say that Germans are unable to change.
quote by Angela Merkel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On The Death Of A Magazine
So, today you are no more
Today your print will no longer
Roll hot off those printing presses
After so many years an icon so they say
But you were just a magazine
And now you’ve had your day
Your name itself, ‘the Bulletin’
Sounds like from another age
When the only media there was
Was just the printed page.
(the Bulletin was first published in 1880 in Australia)
poem by David Keig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Bulletin Hotel
I was drifting in the drizzle past the Cecil in the Strand—
Which, I’m told, is very tony—and its front looks very grand;
And I somehow fell a-thinking of a pub I know so well,
Of a palace in Australia called The Bulletin Hotel.
Just a little six-room’d shanty built of corrugated tin,
And all round a blazing desert—land of camels, thirst and sin;
And the landlord is ‘the Spider’— Western diggers know him well—
Charlie Webb!—Ah, there you have it!—of the Bulletin Hotel.
’Tis a big soft-hearted spider in a land where life is grim,
And a web of great good-nature that brings worn-out flies to him:
’Tis the club of many lost souls in the wide Westralian hell,
And the stage of many Mitchells is the Bulletin Hotel.
But the swagman, on his uppers, pulls an undertaker’s mug,
And he leans across the counter and he breathes in Charlie’s lug—
Tale of thirst and of misfortune. Charlie knows it, and—ah, well!
But it’s very bad for business at the Bulletin Hotel.
‘What’s a drink or two?’ says Charlie, ‘and you can’t refuse a feed;’
But there’s many a drink unpaid for, many sticks of ‘borrowed’ weed;
And the poor old spineless bummer and the broken-hearted swell
Know that they are sure of tucker at the Bulletin Hotel.
There’s the liquor and the license and the ‘carriage’ and the rent,
And the sea or grave ’twixt Charlie and the fivers he has lent;
And I’m forced to think in sorrow, for I know the country well,
That the end will be the bailiff in the Bulletin Hotel.
But he’ll pack up in a hurry and he’ll seek a cooler clime,
If I make a rise in England and I get out there in time.
For a mate o’ mine is Charlie and I stayed there for a spell,
And I owe more than a jingle to the Bulletin Hotel.
But there’s lots of graft between us, there are many miles of sea,
So, if you should drop on Charlie, just shake hands with him for me;
Say I think the Bush less lonely than the great town where I dwell,
And—a grander than the Cecil is the Bulletin Hotel.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It's Like A Truth Versus Nonsense
A content achieved,
Can not compete...
With envy and jealousy.
That conquest has been in motion,
For quite some time now.
It's like a...
Truth versus nonsense kind of thing.
And when minds are focused,
Upon mediocrity to sell...
It will be marketed and done well,
To minimize the effectiveness...
Of content and its influence.
It's like a...
Truth versus nonsense kind of thing.
Eliminating an obvious contrast not admitted.
With consequences to ultimately face to pay.
And sacrificing what is best to appease.
To forget the original concept,
Is an acceptance considered as a normal process.
It's like a...
Truth versus nonsense kind of thing.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It Ain't Obvious
I keep trying
but I'm running out of ways to make you want me baby
I cannot be everything you want you drive me crazy
you're never satisfied
its not even worth a try times are for making up your mind
maybe we'll never see eye to eye
so treat me cruel to be kind
lets play it straight down the line
I'm sure you wanna be mine
but it ain't obvious
why cant you just let it be
what would you have me believe
I'm sure you really want me
but it ain't obvious
why don't you put a little trust in me
and let it go
if you don't take a chance
how will you ever know
baby im on your side
have I been foolish all along
have you been leading me on
just to walk away
if this is where you belong
so treat me cruel to be kind
lets play it straight down the line
I'm sure you wanna be mine
but it ain't obvious
why cant you just let it be
what would you have me believe
I'm sure you really want me
but it ain't obvious
but it ain't obvious
but it ain't obvious
but it ain't obvious
but it ain't obvious
come on wont you be with me
what would you have me believe
come on wont you be with me
oh no no
if its not even worth a try times are for making up your mind
maybe we'll never see eye to eye
no no
so treat me cruel to be kind
(treat me cruel)
lets play it straight down the line
(it ain't obvious)
I'm sure you wanna be mine
but it ain't obvious
why cant you just let it be
(just let it be)
what would you have me believe
(me believe)
come on wont you be with me
but it ain't obvious
but it ain't obvious
but it ain't obvious
but it ain't obvious
but it ain't obvious
but it ain't obvious
but it ain't obvious
but it ain't obvious
but it ain't obvious
but it ain't obvious
but it ain't obvious
song performed by by Gareth Gates from What My Heart Wants To Say
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The revolutionary Mozart is the Mozart of his last eight years.
quote by Wolfgang Hildesheimer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Depression isn't obvious suicide is
Depression isn't obvious but suicide is.
My pain nobody sees.
My my mangled body they shall see.
My head was all but a mess.
Depression overtaking me.
Suicide was to be my bid for freedom.
Becuase deppression isn't obvious but suicide is.
Depression is never obvious even when its staring them in the face.
But now suicide will be obvious how can it not?
Now my life is too much to bear.
Suicide I shall commit.
Now its obvious but its all too late.
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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There was a Young Lady of Portugal,
Whose ideas were excessively nautical:
She climbed up a tree,
To examine the sea,
But declared she would never leave Portugal.
by Edward Lear from A Book of Nonsense (1846)
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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That Music Extraordinaire, Mozart
That music extraordinaire, Mozart,
Who from his tender days, played with desire
Musical from the bottom of his heart.
Sweet notes from his music he did impart
That captivated audience to admire
That music extraordinaire, Mozart,
Whose tones can set an emotion to start
With a charm to have their hearts raised on fire
Musical from the bottom of his heart.
With pleasant pace from his great style of art
Is such that shows he was such a live wire,
That music extraordinaire, Mozart,
Whose harmony when heard is nice and smart
Can cheerfully raise hearts to go much higher
Musical from the bottom of his heart.
Joy occurs from such wonders that does chart
In tremendous ways that truly inspire.
That music extraordinaire, Mozart,
Musical from the bottom of his heart.
poem by Obinna Kenechukwu Eruchie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who’s Dot Pulleteen?
To the Editor of The Albany Observer
Dear Sir,
Smarting from the effects of a neat back-hander administered to it by the Sydney Bulletin, the W.A. Bulletin prints the following:—“Says the S. Bulletin—‘The talented Henry Lawson has left Sydney for Western Australia.’ Who’s Henry Lawson?” The W.A. Bulletin might reasonably ask this question, but it is not right that an unknown writer should be used as a weapon of spite by one paper against another, and this mysterious individual in question, who might be a German, could easily relieve his injured feelings as follows:
O my prow vas plack mit curses,
Ven I dries to write dose verses;
Ven I dries to write dot boem,
Dot de best was effer been.
All in vain my peer I guzzles,
But I gannod solve dot broblem,
“Who’s dot Western Pulleteen?”
Und I swear mit pleets and dvonder,
Und I ferry often wonder,
Would dot paber’s cirgulation
Shusta little pigger been,
If dey toog deir seissor-pinchers,
Shust to cut some leetle inches
From that smarty-smarty writer
Of dot Western Pulleeteen.
“Let dose mountains fall and hide us”
Gry benighded odersiders,
Shame come round and woe betide us,
Und our fellow men deride us
If we effer yet can find oud
“Who’s dot Western Pull-it-in?”
HENRICH HERTZBERG LAWSON
I remain, Yours etc.,
JOE SWALLOW
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Wrote A Nonsense Poem
I WROTE A NONSENSE POEM
I wrote a nonsense poem
It said a nonsense thing
Yesterday is not today
And winter is not spring.
I wrote a nonsense poem
It didn’t have a name
It began and so fast finished
No wonder I’m ashamed.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Im So Proud
Youre prettier than all the world
And Im so proud, Im so proud, Im so proud of you
cause youre only one fellows girl
Im so proud, Im so proud, Im so proud of you
Im so proud of being loved by you
And it would hurt, hurt to know,
If you ever were untrue, yeah
Sweeter than the taste of a cherry so sweet
Yeah, and Im so proud, Im so proud,
Im so proud of you
Compliments to you from all the people we meet
Yes babe and Im so proud, Im so proud,
Im so proud of you
Im so proud of being loved by you
song performed by by Todd Rundgren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bad Blood
Somehow... someway... somewhere
Bad blood - when you speak you know Ill listen
Bad blood - all your kisses now Ill miss them
Bad blood - a bulletin on in car system
Bad blood is back
There are those who complain
There are those who cope
There are those who lose all belief
There are those who still hope
There are those who can solve our problems
There are those who live life like a tv...
Life like a tv soap
Gonna bring bad blood
Bad blood - when you speak you know Ill listen
Bad blood - all your kisses now Ill miss them
Bad blood - a bulletin on in car system
Bad blood is back
There are those you should meet
There are those to avoid
There are those who act brave in defeat
There are those who feel destroyed
There are those who just mute the heartache
There are those for whom life aint over...
Life aint overjoyed
Gonna bring bad blood
Bad blood - when you speak you know Ill listen
Bad blood - all your kisses now Ill miss them
Bad blood - a bulletin on in car system
Bad blood is back
And bad blood breeds bad
Whats good?
Whats good?
Whats good about goodbye?
Heartache...heartache...heartache...
Bad blood - when you speak you know Ill listen
Bad blood - all your kisses now Ill miss them
Bad blood - a bulletin on in car system
Bad blood is back
And bad blood breeds bad
Bad blood... bad blood...
song performed by by Abc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Exposed
Amazing how words can expose
The heart of the half-man behind them
Revealing a destitute poet/beggar
Wallowing in famined decency, anger.
His words undress in Poverty of beauty
Nagging Profanity and lacking finesse!
Reading his posts invites our Pity
Ignorance and vile in obvious excess!
His profile revealed on all points bulletin
Beware of the bully that lurks within
Pretending to beg but attacks again
Such a mendicant fool enjoys evil Sin.
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I have been an ""Official"" all my life, without the least turn for it. I never could attain a true official manner, which is highly artificial and handles trifles with ludicrously disproportionate gravity.
quote by William Allingham
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mid path
Right and wrong are two poles apart,
Between which we prefer living,
Often around the equator,
Poles being too hard to adapt to.
08.07.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The nonsense woman
The nonsense woman lives in our street
She really is not a pleasure to meet
She goes on and on about her cat Mylogie
And makes our day quite foggy
The nonsense woman went to the shops
That was just before she drops
Her cat Mylogie
And got quite soggy
The nonsense woman found another cat
The cat sat on her mat
She called it Tinker
Who was a bit of a stinker
The nonsense woman lay in bed
But to her lonliness and dread
Tinker and Mylogie were both gone
So these days she won't even eat a scone
Very much to our relief
She has got so much grief
She won't even come out her house
And all day is a quiet as a mouse
poem by by unknown author
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dawn
(From the train between Bologna and Milan, second class.)
Opposite me two Germans snore and sweat.
Through sullen swirling gloom we jolt and roar.
We have been here for ever: even yet
A dim watch tells two hours, two aeons, more.
The windows are tight-shut and slimy-wet
With a night's fœtor. There are two hours more;
Two hours to dawn and Milan; two hours yet.
Opposite me two Germans sweat and snore. . . .
One of them wakes, and spits, and sleeps again.
The darkness shivers. A wan light through the rain
Strikes on our faces, drawn and white. Somewhere
A new day sprawls; and, inside, the foul air
Is chill, and damp, and fouler than before. . . .
Opposite me two Germans sweat and snore.
poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Leaders Of The Neighborhood
Why didn't they move on?
Accept reality for what it is.
Instead of paying ridiculous amounts of money,
To have their own homes torn down?
'Someone came around a few years ago,
With a plan to convince them...
If they threatened to do this,
The people would get the hint...
And beg them to stay.
To do whatever they wished in the neighborhood.'
Well...
Hopefully they have learned a lesson.
'Apparently not from what is being observed.
Because those very same people,
Have organized themselves.
To protest the others...
Until they are welcomed back.'
That is nonsense.
It is obvious the people,
Were delighted they did that.
'Nonsense?
That's crazy!
Now they are petitioning the local government,
And have begun an advertising campaign...
To enforce the people into believing,
Without their influence as leaders...
The entire neighborhood,
Would be a place no one would desire to live.'
It is amazing what people will do,
To inflict their delusions on others.
'I'm glad you said that.
But today?
Many more are seeing,
Who has been initiating the conflicts.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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