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Ton, Torn, Thorn!
This ton of the cocoa sack is now torn at the side because,
There is a thorn in the sack;
However, it is just a minute for the minuet! !
Because, you are on the road to nowhere.
I am in the dark and very hopeful,
For the light will surely come to me one day;
Because, i am interested in the muse of love.
Ton, torn, thorn!
And like breaking rthe spell on you;
Because, the condom is no defence to you my brother! !
And, it is leading you to hell than closer to heaven.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Mannerly Margery Milk and Ale
Ay, beshrew you! By my fay,
These wanton clerks be nice alway!
Avaunt, avaunt, my popinjay!
What, will ye do nothing but play?
Tilly, vally, straw, let be I say!
Gup, Christian Clout, gup, Jack of the Vale!
With Mannerly Margery Milk and Ale.
By God, ye be a pretty pode,
And I love you an whole cart-load.
Straw, James Foder, ye play the fode,
I am no hackney for your rod:
Go watch a bull, your back is broad!
Gup, Christian Clout, gup, Jack of the Vale!
With Mannerly Margery Milk and Ale.
Ywis ye deal uncourteously;
What, would ye frumple me? Now fy!
What, and ye shall be my pigesnye?
By Christ, ye shall not, no hardely:
I will not be japed bodily!
Gup, Christian Clout, gup, Jack of the Vale!
With Mannerly Margery Milk and Ale.
Walk forth your way, ye cost me nought;
Now I have found what I have sought:
The best cheap flesh that ever I bought.
Yet, for His love that all hath wrought,
Wed me, or else I die for thought.
Gup, Christian Clout, your breath is stale!
Go, Mannerly Margery Milk and Ale!
Gup, Christina Clout, gup, Jack of the Vale!
With Mannerly Margery Milk and Ale.
poem by John Skelton
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An empty sack can't stand up; a full sack cannot bend.
Virgin Islander proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm gonna give them the advice that I always took myself, that it's better to get to know somebody before you jump into the sack with them. Because then if you jump into the sack and fall in love, and you liked them already, you're home free.
quote by Pia Zadora
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sack Owoe
Always screaming cause Im suffering so
Lifes done never such a terrible blow
Thing Im in is just a sack owoe
Misery company and Im feeling low
Trouble follows me wherever I go
Thing Im in is just a sack owoe
Trouble one thing I understand
Seems to be a part of me
Misery and me go hand in hand
Never ever let me be
Sure as Im born one thing I know
Thing Im in is just a sack owoe
Repeat first and second verse
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Consumed by love
Thanks to the hundreds of you who daily
are so eager to enhance my life
and that of my partner
with pills and extensions
giving night-long passion -
now, do you have a cure
for arriving at the office in the morning
exhausted?
It's a tale of two sacks -
hit the sack, or get the sack...
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Our Lady's Song
Iesu, swete sone dere!
On porful bed list thou here,
And that me greveth sore;
For thi cradel is ase a bere,
Oxe and asse beth thi fere:
Weepe ich mai tharfore.
Iesu, swete, beo noth wroth,
Thou ich nabbe clout ne cloth
The on for to folde,
The on to folde ne to wrappe,
For iche nabbe clout ne lappe;
Bote ley thou thi fet to my pappe,
And wite the from the colde.
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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A Plea
Writers of baseball, attention!
When you're again on the job-
When, in your rage for invention,
You with the language play hob-
Most of your dope we will pardon,
Though of the moth ball it smack;
But-cut out the 'sinister garden,'
Chop the 'initial sack.'
Rake poor old Roget's 'Thesaurus'
For phrases fantastic and queer;
And though on occasions you bore us,
We will refrain from a sneer.
We will endeavour to harden
Ourselves to the rest of your clack,
If you'll cut out the 'sinister garden'
And chop the 'initial sack.'
Singers of words that are scrambled,
Say, if you will, that he 'died,'
Write, if you must, that he 'ambled'-
We shall be last to deride.
But us to the Forest of Arden,
Along with the misanthrope Jaques,
If you cling to the 'sinister garden'
And stick to 'initial sack.'
Speak of the 'sphere's aberration,'
Mention the 'leathery globe,'
Say he got 'free transportation'-
Though that try the patience of Job.
But if you're wise you'll discard en-
Cumbrances such as we thwack-
Especially 'sinister garden'
And the 'initial sack.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Sack Full Of Stones
(Travis Tritt/Marty Stuart)
I used to be the kind of guy
I could laugh as well as cry
With a heart feather-soft and summer-warm
Since you've left me I've been faced
With emptiness that's been replaced
With a heart that's hard and heavy as a sack full of stones
I never thought I'd ever see
The man my mirror is showing me
Lord I must have aged ten years
Since you've been gone
The longest mile you'll ever crawl
Is the one after you fall
Draggin' around a heart that's heavy as a sack full of stones
With the world upon my shoulders
And my feelings on my sleeve
Every time I close my eyes at night
All I do is watch you leave
But by far the biggest curse of being left alone
Is draggin' around a heart that's heavy as a sack full of stones
Well I tried turning to a bottle
But the bottle turned on me
I've tried everything
But nothing sets your memory free
I'm serving life here in a prison
That we once called a home
With a heart that's cold and heavy as a sack full of stones
With the world upon my shoulders
And my feelings on my sleeve
Every time I close my eyes at night
All I do is watch you leave
But by far the biggest curse of being left alone
Is draggin' around a heart that's heavy as a sack full of stones
Yes by far the biggest curse of being left alone
Is draggin' around a heart that's heavy as a sack full of stones
song performed by by Travis Tritt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Falstaff's Lament Over Prince Hal Become Henry V
One that I cherished,
Yea, loved as a son -
Up early, up late with,
My promising one:
No use in good nurture,
None, lads, none!
Here on this settle
He wore the true crown,
King of good fellows,
And Fat Jack was one -
Now, Beadle of England
In formal array -
Best fellow alive
On a throne flung away!
Companions and cronies
Keep fast and lament; -
Come, drawer, more sack here
To drown discontent;
For now intuitions
Shall wither to codes,
Pragmatized morals
Shall libel the gods.
One I instructed,
Yea, talked to -alone:
Precept -example
Clean away thrown!
Sorrow makes thirsty:
Sack, drawer, more sack! -
One that I prayed for,
I, Honest Jack!
To bring down these grey hairs -
To cut his old pal!
But, I'll be magnanimous -
Here's to thee Hal!
poem by Herman Melville
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Epitah on the Politician Himself
Here richly, with ridiculous display,
The Politician's corpse was laid away.
While all of his acquaintance sneered and slanged
I wept: for I had longed to see him hanged.
Another on the Same
This, the last ornament among the peers,
Bribed, bullied, swindled and blackmailed for years:
But Death's what even Politicians fail
To bribe or swindle, bully or blackmail.
On Another Politician
The Politician, dead and turned to clay,
Will make a clout to keep the wind away.
I am not fond of draughts, and yet I doubt
If I could get myself to touch that clout.
On Yet Another
Fame to her darling Shifter glory gives;
And Shifter is immortal while he lives.
Epitah Upon Himself
Lauda tu Ilarion audacem et splendidum,
Who was always beginning things and never ended 'em.
poem by Hilaire Belloc
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Jumping to Conclusions
No sir...
I did not say,
You were clearly out of your mind.
You are jumping to conclusions!
This is what I said...
And I quote my exact statement.
'You have used your political clout,
To ruin my reputation.
You've destroyed my ability,
To seek meaningful employment.
You and your associates,
Have campaigned to slander...
And smear any attempts I've made,
To make progress among my own people.
In this community.
There are more living in poverty in this area,
Since your last election.
And...
One in which has the highest crime rate.
Least amount of representation,
For the tax dollars that are spent.
And...
You have been in office for three terms,
Doing absolutely nothing...
For the betterment of your constituents here!
Plus your use of racial tactics,
Speaks for itself.
And you seek my endorsement?
Where is the advantage? '
THAT is what I said!
Now...
How you take that,
Can be interpreted any way you wish!
But those are my comments,
About how I feel regarding you....
Your political clout and influence.
Anything else you'd like to add...
Would come out of 'your' mouth,
Sir.
And not mine.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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On His Father's Side
On his mother’s side
Born in Bethlehem
On his Father’s side
No one before him
On his mother’s side
Growing and learning
On his Father’s side
All knowledge showing
On his mother’s side
Stuck in one location
On his Father’s side
Present in every nation
On his mother’s side
He was hungry
On his Father’s side
The multitudes he did feed
On his mother’s side
At Calvary he died
On his Father’s side
He was the essence of life
On his mother’s side
Buried like other men
On his Father’s side
He rose again
On his mother’s side
Human and weak
On his Father’s side
The God of eternity.
poem by Joses Tirtabudi
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Sackcloth
I made sackcloth my garment once, by cutting
arm and neck holes into a burlap bag.
A croker sack they called it. Sackdragger
they called the man who dragged a croker sack
between the cotton rows to pick. He dragged
a gunnysack behind him in the ditch
collecting empties. Him they chose
the Likeliest to Sack Seed in the feed store,
or to suck seed. He was your daddy. He sacked
groceries part-time, and they jeered:
you sorry sack of shit. Sackcloth,
which Job sewed upon his skin, was goat hair.
God who clothed the heavens with such blackness
said, I make sackcloth their covering.
Isaiah understood. God had him speak a word
in season to the weary. Speak, Isaiah, now, to me.
Before the stars like green figs in a windstorm
drop, the sun is black as sackcloth, and the moon
becomes as blood. My soul is weary. Speak,
Isaiah. Sing. I was a scholar as a boy:
I cut the neck and arm holes into the burlap,
pulled it on, and cinched it with a hank of rope:
what I have done from then till now is itch.
poem by Brooks Haxton
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Office Work
Work, work, work..
sitting effort,
on a chair
empty screen,
emotive stare
Work, work, work...
slunched shoulders,
side by side
warming ocean,
stolen pride,
Work, work, work...
hey man,
you man,
ant-field flys
pergatory,
promotion,
pitch-fork eyes.
Work, work, work...
college loving,
take me back,
drunk lace orgy,
primrose sack
Work, work, work...
day dream,
day stare,
simple soul.
Drop your complexity
and know,
your,
role.
Copyright (c) David DeSantis
poem by David DeSantis
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Whatever Happened To Pong?
My brother and me used to play it
Down at the bar
Taking money from guys
More used to the playing of cards
Paddle the paddle to the side to the side
To the side to the side to the paddle the paddle
Paddle the paddle the side to the side
Pong
Ball in the machine
Now virtually everyones singing
A popular song
But I still believe in
In the excellent joy of the pong
To the side to the side to the paddle the paddle
To the paddle the paddle the side to the side
To the side to the side to the paddle the paddle
Pong
Ball in the machine
Now if they take it h.g. wells
Well, Ill be on the first flight
To a time before the kong
Whatever happended to pong?
Paddle the paddle to the side to the side
To the side to the side to the paddle the paddle
Paddle the paddle the side to the side
Pong
Ball in the machine
song performed by by Frank Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why Does It Make You Weep
Take what you value,
And put it in a sack.
Leave it where it's at,
And don't look back.
Why does it make you weep?
When you made it were you sleeping?
Take what you value,
And put it in a sack.
Leave it where it's at,
And don't look back.
Look around and see what's on the streets.
That reality you made to keep.
Why does it make you weep?
When you made it were you sleeping?
Look around and see what's on the streets.
That reality you made to keep.
Why does it make you weep?
When you made it were you sleeping?
Take what you value,
And put it in a sack.
Leave it where it's at,
And don't look back.
Why does it make you weep?
When you made it were you sleeping?
Take what you value,
And put it in a sack.
Leave it where it's at,
And don't look back.
Look around and see what's on the streets.
That reality you made to keep.
Why does it make you weep?
When you made it were you sleeping?
Take what you value,
And put it in a sack.
Leave it where it's at,
And don't look back.
Unstrap and remove those shackles.
It's an addiction you've got to detach...
And avoid interaction.
And avoid interaction.
And avoid interaction.
And avoid interaction.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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