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Marching Song
Bring the comb and play upon it!
Marching, here we come!
Willie cocks his highland bonnet,
Johnnie beats the drum.
Mary Jane commands the party,
Peter leads the rear;
Feet in time, alert and hearty,
Each a Grenadier!
All in the most martial manner
Marching double-quick;
While the napkin, like a banner,
Waves upon the stick!
Here's enough of fame and pillage,
Great commander Jane!
Now that we've been round the village,
Let's go home again.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cocky
at 4 a.m.
the cocks are getting
cocky
announcing
the arrival of a
satisfied
morning
everything is a yes
everybody is welcome
light penetrating
the shutters of the venetian
blinds
light filling the room
like cream
to the mouth and lips
the cocks are cocky as ever
now louder
and stronger
on voices to the skies
to a perfect morning
hail! hail! hail!
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The way your little finger moved
AH, God, the way your little finger moved
As you thrust a bare arm backward
And made play with your hair
And a comb a silly gilt comb
Ah, God--that I should suffer
Because of the way a little finger moved.
poem by Stephen Crane
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sadie and Maud
Maud went to college.
Sadie stayed home.
Sadie scraped life
With a fine toothed comb.
She didn't leave a tangle in
Her comb found every strand.
Sadie was one of the livingest chicks
In all the land.
Sadie bore two babies
Under her maiden name.
Maud and Ma and Papa
Nearly died of shame.
When Sadie said her last so-long
Her girls struck out from home.
(Sadie left as heritage
Her fine-toothed comb.)
Maud, who went to college,
Is a thin brown mouse.
She is living all alone
In this old house.
poem by Gwendolyn Brooks
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Comb Your Hair
Girl comb your hair
It can't be that bad
I had it worse
Don't look so sad No money in the bank
No car to drive
I had to walk
But I survived You'll see some laugh
You'll see some smile
Your day will come
Just wait a while No suit in the closet
No shoes on the rack
One dress on the hanger
But you'll be back Comb your hair
And wash your face
Dry your tears
Thank God for grace
poem by MBA Carrie May Bennett
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To less skilled audience
Peacocks should not dance before peacocks.
They should dance before cocks.
Cocks should not dance before peacocks.
They should dance before ducks.
25.09.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Lend Me Your Comb
Lend me your comb,
It's time to go home.
I got to go past,
My hair is a mess
Your mammie will scold,
Your pappie will shout.
Unless we come in
The way we went out.
Kissing you was fun honey
But thanks for the date.
But i must come to run honey,
But you know baby it's getting late.
Just wait till i say:
My darling,
Lend me your comb.
We got to go home.
Kissing you was fun honey
But thanks for the date.
But i must come to run, honey.
But sugar, it's getting late.
Just wait till i
Say: my darling,
Lend me your comb.
We got to go home.
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pleasant Words
Pleasant words are like a comb of honey,
And my love to you is like the sweet oil to your soul!
But better a dry crust with peace and quietness than,
A house full of sacrificial meals with trouble and strife! !
Wine is a mocker and strong drink is a brawler,
And whosoever is deceived by them is not wise!
But pleasant words are like a comb of honey.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Murmurs Of A Tired Academician
in the far village
the mob rules, the
majority are not
educated, and they
build cockpits near
the church to shame the
priest, and on some religious
hours, they put the cocks into
that grand fight, and they shout
and stamp their feet
until their own Christ declares
who the winner is
meanwhile the lonely man
puts into writing what
he cannot really understand
why the undesirable is famous
why the vices prevail
why fights are exciting
the men come out from the
cockpit
smelling sweat and
taking dead fighting cocks
and losing money
and when they arrive
to their homes
there is nothing to eat
and tomorrow there
is nothing to spend
the violence of vices
the silence of so few
the death of a good education
the triumph of drunkenness
when you bring this out
in the open
the mob shall kill you
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Combing My Hair
Now people always come around
But they don't always stick around
I run a comb across my head
I wish my hair would settle down
The clock I see is running slow
The batteries are running low
I run a comb across my head
And it feels the same like it did before
You're just another first footer across my door
And little less care (hair?) than I had last year
But it doesn't worry me because I
I have no fear
Here
The car I see is painted black
I'm steering (staring) at the driver's back
He runs a comb across his head
And it feels the same like it did before
You're just another fresh fare across his door
And little less care than he had last year
But it doesn't worry him because he
He has no fear
Here, here
Now people always come around
But they don't always stick around
They run a comb across your head
I wish my hair would settle down
The clock I see is running slow
We've only got three years to go
We run our combs across our heads
And it feels the same like it did before
You're just another first footer across the door
And little less care than we took last year
But it doesn't worry us because we
We have no fear
Here
Have we
We have no fear
Have we
We have no fear
song performed by by Travis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Here Come De Honey Man
Peter
(entering)
Here come de honey man.
Yes man, dis de honey man.
You got honey in de comb?
Yes man, I got honey in de comb.
An is yo honey cheap?
Yes mam, my honey very cheap.
Here come de honey man.
All
Hello, peter.
Lily
Well, here come my ol man.
(takes tray from his head)
Now gimme the money! now go sit and rest.
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Face Smiles Back Easily - Hundred Mile High City B-side
Its not the way that you look
Or the way that you comb your hair
I know well always be there
By the look, by the book
And your troops and your devil may care
I know well always be there
I know well always be there
And by the way your eyes are shining through
Theres nothing to do but wake up in light
And like the way your eyes they shine with the sun
And lighten everyone who wakes up in time to see
The face smiled back easily
I know well always be there
By the look, by the book
And your troops as your devil may care
I know well always be there
I know well always be there
Its not the way that you look
Or the way that you comb your hair
I know well always be there (x3)
song performed by by Ocean Colour Scene
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Have a Gentil Cock
I have a gentil cock
croweth me day
he doth me risen early
my matins for to stay
I have a gentil cock
comen he is of great
his comb is of red coral
his tail is of jet
I have a gentil cock
comen he is of kind
his comb is of red sorrel
his tail is of inde
his legs be of azure
so gentil and so small
his spurs are of silver white
into the wortewale
his eyes are of crystal
locked all in amber
and every night he pertcheth him
in my lady`s chamber
I Have a Gentil Cock
I have a gentil cock
croweth me day
he doth me risen early
my matins for to stay
I have a gentil cock
comen he is of great
his comb is of red coral
his tail is of jet
I have a gentil cock
comen he is of kind
his comb is of red sorrel
his tail is of inde
his legs be of azure
so gentil and so small
his spurs are of silver white
into the wortewale
his eyes are of crystal
locked all in amber
and every night he pertcheth him
in my lady`s chamber
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Have A Gentil Cock
I have a gentil cock
croweth me day
he doth me risen early
my matins for to stay
I have a gentil cock
comen he is of great
his comb is of red coral
his tail is of jet
I have a gentil cock
comen he is of kind
his comb is of red sorrel
his tail is of inde
his legs be of azure
so gentil and so small
his spurs are of silver white
into the wortewale
his eyes are of crystal
locked all in amber
and every night he pertcheth him
in my lady`s chamber
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Silently She's Combing
Silently she's combing,
Combing her long hair
Silently and graciously,
With many a pretty air.
The sun is in the willow leaves
And on the dappled grass,
And still she's combing her long hair
Before the looking-glass.
I pray you, cease to comb out,
Comb out your long hair,
For I have heard of witchery
Under a pretty air,
That makes as one thing to the lover
Staying and going hence,
All fair, with many a pretty air
And many a negligence.
poem by James Joyce
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A committee is a cul-de-sac down which ideas are lured and then quietly strangled.
quote by Barnett Cocks (1907)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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