Related quotes: I remember when some Sundays...

I remember when
some Sundays were spent in bed,
getting to know each
other's bodies, to please,
now, Sundays, we go to church

tanka by Abigail Greene from Fire Pearls: Short Masterpieces of the Human Heart (2006)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Related quotes

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Well, it was sunday, bloody sunday when the shot the people there.
The cries of thirteen martyrs filled the free derry air.
Is there anyone amongst you dare to blame it on the kids?
Not a soldier boy was bleeding when they nailed the coffin lids!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Well, you claim to be majority, well, you know that its a lie.
Youre really a minority on this sweet emerald isle.
When stormont bans our marches, theyve got a lot to learn,
Internment is no answer, its those mothers turn to burn.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Hey! yeah!
Yeah!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
All you anglo pigs and scotties sent to colonise the north,
You wave your bloody union jacks and you know what its worth.
How dare you hold to ransom a people proud and free?
Keep ireland to the irish, put the english back to sea!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Hey, hey, hey!
Alright!
Ooh -
Yeah!
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Well, its always bloody sunday in the concentration camps.
Keep falls road free forever from the bloody british hands.
Repatriate to britain all of you who call it home,
Leave ireland to the irish not for london or for rome.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday, bloody sundays the day.
Sunday, bloody sunday.

song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunday, Bloody Sunday

song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sunday Bloody Sunday

Well it was sunday bloody sunday
When they shot the people there
The cries of thirteen martyrs
Filled the free derry air
Is there any one amongst you
Dare to blame it on the kids?
Not a soldier boy was bleeding
When they nailed the coffin lids!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
You claim to be majority
Well you know that its a lie
Youre really a minority
On this sweet emerald isle
When stormont bans our marches
Theyve got a lot to learn
Internment is no answer
Its those mothers turn to burn!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
You anglo pigs and scotties
Sent to colonize the north
You wave your bloody union jack
And you know what its worth!
How dare you hold to ransom
A people proud and free
Keep ireland for the irish
Put the english back to sea!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
Well, its always bloody sunday
In the concentration camps
Keep falls road free forever
From the bloody english hands
Repatriate to britain
All of you who call it home
Leave ireland to the irish
Not for london or for rome!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!
Sunday bloody sunday
Bloody sundays the day!

song performed by by Lennon John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Church Going

Show me a health
That can context death,
There will be no escape
From age.
We shall all die some day,
And meet judgement day.
That is why we follow Christ,
And sleep while He rise.
In our sleep;
We dine in His house,
As we live in his heart.
Sundays!
Church going steals our day.
We are the Christians
Who worship in Jerusalem.
I was talking with a boy the other day
And to me he says:
Brother Benjamin
Why do we worship him?
And I said: We worship Him
Because there is non above Him
He sits on a throne up above,
And rule over us down below.
I worship him my dear boy;
Because I am Benjamin
And I wouldn't be
If not for Him.
They all go to church on sundays;
Because that is what the bible says,
But this is the only page they obey.

poem by Efe Benjamin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I studied all about Gauguin. He was a banker. He was a banker who - he used to paint on Sundays. And one day he hated himself for painting on Sundays.

quote by Anthony Quinn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spanky Sundays

What did you do in your spanky sundays
beneath my nothing makes sense
and my everything does
What your thoughts were wondering at
when i was thinking of the biggest frame
what did you tell her about me
when she wanted to be the one
did you think that i cared
did you think that it mattered
did you think that i never knew
about your spanky sundays

poem by Erika Conti
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Seven Sundays

One day
Well find the time
To spend, together
Until then, my love
If I had one wish
It wouldnt be hard to choose
Seven sundays in a row
Cause thats the day
That I spend with you
Someday soon,
You and i
Will hold each other
Once again, my love
If I had one wish
It wouldnt be hard to choose
Seven sundays in a row
Seven sundays in a row
Seven sundays in a row
Cause thats the day
That I spend with you
If I had one wish
It wouldnt be hard to choose

song performed by by Extreme
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Always Another Sunday

There is always another Sunday,
From where do Sundays come from?
Do they sell them next to strike-anywhere matches,
Can you buy a three-pack and get one free
To make a perfect month, of Sundays?

Sunday afternoon might find you sitting at table
With some people you don't know too well,
Trying to make polite conversation
While slicing up some shoe-leathery beef roast,
That has always been the hallmark of the day.

Is it the first day of the week
Or effectively, the last?
How can the week start without any work?
Because it seems to make a better ending, instead.

Will we ever run out of Sundays?
Not unless we run out of football, baseball
Basketball and soccer first; it seems evident
That Sunday is merely a cog, attached to the sports wheel,
And is born and dies each week, with the big game.

You will not find most people discussing their sins
On Sunday afternoons:
You already know what they will be talking about.

poem by Patti Masterman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Taho (english)

Tahooo! ! !

The loud voice
of the young Taho vendor
awokes the children
early in the morning
of Saturdays and Sundays.

The young Taho vendor
he always had the smile
and he always added more Taho
at the same price of two pesos
in every cup of every child.

Taho,
I like it too
it's not only delicious
but nutritious too.

But so sad,
several Saturdays
and Sundays passed by
and the voice
of the young Taho vendor
I heard no more.

Oh, yes...
the young Taho vendor,
he's now in Singapore.

How lucky he is
he could earn more
in Singapore.

Taho,
I'm afraid
I could no longer taste it
and the children....
oh, yes
now they wake up late
on Saturdays and Sundays.

poem by Marites C. Cayetano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Eternity of my soaring

My whole life I kept for you, a reason
of annunciated dimensions, prorogued;
my turned to the winds hands, a mizzen,
account on dusks of a bitter monologue.

All of my soul's children hunt storms
first sight of our sun, repleted light's wit;
amid winds of ghostly-dreamy forms,
sounded the Bells of our morning reached.

My pulse yon spreads, on church bells,
rhythm of waves inscribed on time's embers,
escorting me on Sundays, a name I spell,
marked with your return, my dream enters.

When friends, on Sundays invite me to feast,
I see the river of our uprising morning,
You are in dim light, adorning my mist
to love me in the eternity of my soaring.

poem by Giorgio Veneto
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wind Up

When I was young and they packed me off to school
And taught me how not to play the game,
I didnt mind if they groomed me for success,
Or if they said that I was a fool.
So I left there in the morning
With their God tucked underneath my arm --
Their half-assed smiles and the book of rules.
So I asked this God a question
And by way of firm reply,
He said -- Im not the kind you have to wind up on sundays.
So to my old headmaster (and to anyone who cares):
Before Im through Id like to say my prayers --
I dont believe you:
You had the whole damn thing all wrong --
Hes not the kind you have to wind up on sundays.
Well you can excomunicate me on my way to sunday school
And have all the bishops harmonize these lines --
How do you dare tell me that Im my fathers son
When that was just an accident of birth.
Id rather look around me -- compose a better song
'cos thats the honest measure of my worth.
In your pomp and all your glory youre a poorer man than me,
As you lick the boots of death born out of fear.
I dont believe you:
You had the whole damn thing all wrong --
Hes not the kind you have to wind up on sundays.

song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As Children

On Sundays mother sent us to Sunday school
at the huge St Osmund’s church.
My brother said he’d look after our collection money,
but he always ran off, leaving sis and me in the lurch.

poem by Orlando Belo
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sabbaths, W.I.

Those villages stricken with the melancholia of Sunday,
in all of whose ocher streets one dog is sleeping

those volcanoes like ashen roses, or the incurable sore
of poverty, around whose puckered mouth thin boys are
selling yellow sulphur stone

the burnt banana leaves that used to dance
the river whose bed is made of broken bottles
the cocoa grove where a bird whose cry sounds green and
yellow and in the lights under the leaves crested with
orange flame has forgotten its flute

gommiers peeling from sunburn still wrestling to escape the sea

the dead lizard turning blue as stone

those rivers, threads of spittle, that forgot the old music

that dry, brief esplanade under the drier sea almonds
where the dry old men sat

watching a white schooner stuck in the branches
and playing draughts with the moving frigate birds

those hillsides like broken pots

those ferns that stamped their skeletons on the skin

and those roads that begin reciting their names at vespers

mention them and they will stop
those crabs that were willing to let an epoch pass
those herons like spinsters that doubted their reflections
inquiring, inquiring

those nettles that waited
those Sundays, those Sundays

those Sundays when the lights at the road's end were an occasion

those Sundays when my mother lay on her back
those Sundays when the sisters gathered like white moths
round their street lantern

and cities passed us by on the horizon

poem by Derek Walcott
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I always love to begin a journey on Sundays, because I shall have the prayers of the church to preserve all that travel by land or by water.

Jonathan Swift in A Complete Collection of Genteel and Ingenious Conversation (1738)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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One Child's Prayer

I wish my Daddy would live here
I wish he didn’t have to go away
I wish if he could only for one day
Perhaps tell me he loved me at all
I would have known a father’s mind

I asked Santa, Tooth Fairy and even God
On Sundays and all ordinary days
I wish if he could only for just one day
Pass me by just so I’d wave him goodbye
I would have seen a father’s hand

I pray to God, Tooth Fairy and even Santa
On Sundays and all ordinary days
I wish I could find the bestest prayer
For my mother and all those who talk to me
For they have given me the mostest love

Amen

060108

poem by Sylvi Sylva
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Easter Snow

Easter is a time
for change, sunshine,
but where's the sun
as I look out my,

window this easter
morning, what is this
I see, not more snow,
rain is ok, but

snow no, snow I
thought I had seen
the last of you,
but you just keep

coming, so white
is the ground as
snow flakes keep
falling and falling.

They say if it
rains easter sunday,
for seven sundays
we shall have rain.

Does this mean
that now for seven
sundays we shall have
snow falling on us?

Sun last few weeks
you have been so
kind to us, please
pay us a visit,

once again and
bring comfort to
these old bones of
mine once again.

They say we need
the moisture, so
rain wake up and
please fall on us, once again.

(4-8-07)

poem by Jim Foulk
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Playing with words

Sometimes one gets used to words
And they are uttered without really anything to mean
Like one kind of a routine
Like you’re one kind of a boring bookworm
Office house
House office
Church on Sundays
Seldom (having sex in some
First time places)

Sometimes one goes to the toilet without
Switching on the lights or having to open one’s eyes
There is a memory
Of what comes first and comes later
Of what one need not think anymore
Something so ordinary so invisible

We forget what meaning is
We die without really knowing why
There were words then
We remember
There is no more chill
Like a red apple that you love to bite
Fresh from the ref

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A view from my mind

Tinkled – the Sundays’ bells
Brought by the wings

Flown beyond the dodge palace
With Corelli and

Landed on Lido beach
To graph a new sound.

Cars violated the sight
And lit purple butterflies
Over the ocean candles

A woman dressed white
Kissed the sky
And her eye lifted
The sound to the bells’ ear

I returned to Venezia left the sound behind
And stopped at the Guardini de la biennale.

Gregorian hymn from San Marco
Dropped
Into the stream water in flame
Memory.

Purple rains unease
The air

Sundays
Died
In peace.

poem by Roland Bastien
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All Tomorrows Parties

(reed)
And what costume shall the poor girl wear
To all tomorrows parties
A hand-me-down dress from who knows where
To all tomorrows parties
And where will she go and what shall she do
When midnight comes around
Shell turn once more to sundays clown
And cry behind the door
And what costume shall the poor girl wear
To all tomorrows parties
Why silks and linens of yesterdays gowns
To all tomorrows parties
And what will she do with thursdays rags
When monday comes around
Shell turn once more to sundays clown
And cry behind the door
And what costume shall the poor girl wear
To all tomorrows parties
For thursdays child is sundays clown
For whom none will go mourning
A blackened shroud, a hand-me-down gown
Of rags and silks, a costume
Fit for one who sits and cries
For all tomorrows parties

song performed by by Velvet Underground
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Related quotes

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Sunday Bloody Sunday

Church Going

Spanky Sundays

Seven Sundays

Always Another Sunday

Taho (english)

Eternity of my soaring

Wind Up

As Children

Sabbaths, W.I.

More Stories About the End

One Child's Prayer

Easter Snow

Playing with words

A view from my mind

All Tomorrows Parties

En.Citatepedia®.ro

Related quotes

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Sunday Bloody Sunday

Church Going

Spanky Sundays

Seven Sundays

Always Another Sunday

Taho (english)

Eternity of my soaring

Wind Up

As Children

Sabbaths, W.I.

More Stories About the End

One Child's Prayer

Easter Snow

Playing with words

A view from my mind

All Tomorrows Parties

En.Citatepedia^®.ro