Counsel is as welcome to him as a shoulder of mutton to a sick horse.
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So Sick
im sick of not knowing,
im sick of not showing,
im sick of all the starring
im sick of not caring
im sick of being labled bad
im sick of always looking sad
im sick of feeling locked in bars
im sick of all the painful scars
im sick of all the thugs
im sick of all the drugs
im sick of asking myself why
im sick of telling myself i want to die
im sick of feeling like i always want to cry
im sick of living a lie
im sick of not having a dream
im sick of lifes borring theme
but thares only one was out...
so what does that mean?
poem by Ricky Baker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Im sick
im sick of not knowing,
im sick of not showing,
im sick of all the starring
im sick of not caring
im sick of being labled bad
im sick of always looking sad
im sick of feeling locked in bars
im sick of all the painful scars
im sick of all the thugs
im sick of all the drugs
im sick of asking myself why
im sick of telling myself i want to die
im sick of feeling like i always want to cry
im sick of living a lie
im sick of not having a dream
im sick of lifes borring theme
but thares only one was out...
so what does that mean?
poem by Malorie Genoff
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sick of Being Sick
I’m sick of being rejected;
I’m sick of being emotionally neglected;
I’m sick of crying so many tears;
I’m sick of running away from my fears;
I’m sick of my childhood nightmares;
I’m sick of being told to do those stupid dares;
I’m sick of not having friends;
I’m sick of all these dead ends;
I’m sick of myself for what I’ve become;
I’m sick of feeling oh so numb;
I’m sick of watching myself drown;
I’m sick of my heart falling to the ground;
I’m sick of this life;
I’m sick of this everyday strife;
I’m sick of not having a dad;
I’m sick of getting mad;
I’m sick of my childhood past;
I’m sick of being harassed;
I’m sick of the dread;
I’m sick of wanting to be dead;
I’m sick of being the one who’s always so strong;
I’m sick of being somebody that doesn’t belong! !
poem by Shelby Brockway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What is a Horse?
What is a horse?
A horse has eyes as dainty as a mink.
The grace is interrupted merely by a blink.
A horse is beauty.
What is a horse?
A horse is a tree in a storm that never goes down.
A horse is a weathered rock that stays around.
A horse is ancient.
What is a horse?
A horse waltzes like breeze over rivers.
She curvets and leaps like rain shivers.
A horse is a marionette.
What is a horse?
A horse is determination, that never stops flowing.
A horse is fondness, that never stops growing.
A horse is poetic power.
poem by Lily Whittaker
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Ye Caroette Knyghte
I have a horse - a ryghte good horse -
Ne doe Y envye those
Who scoure ye playne yn headye course
Tyll soddayne on theyre nose
They lyghte wyth unexpected force
Yt ys - a horse of clothes.
I have a saddel - "Say'st thou soe?
Wyth styrruppes, Knyghte, to boote?"
I sayde not that - I answere "Noe" -
Yt lacketh such, I woote:
Yt ys a mutton-saddel, loe!
Parte of ye fleecye brute.
I have a bytte - a ryghte good bytte -
As shall bee seene yn tyme.
Ye jawe of horse yt wyll not fytte;
Yts use ys more sublyme.
Fayre Syr, how deemest thou of yt?
Yt ys - thys bytte of rhyme.
poem by Lewis Carroll from Phantasmagoria and Other Poems
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I Am Sick....
I am sick …. The pain I feel.
I am sick…. This must be surreal.
I am sick…. I will not die.
I am sick…. But I must live on with this lie.
I am sick…. It’s not like cancer it’s not that bad.
I am sick… but the say depression goes with this pain I have.
I am sick…. It will never disappear.
I am sick…. My days will go on with the same o’l tear.
I am sick…. That I have thought of taking my pain away.
I am sick…. For that I cannot for the pain must stay.
I am sick… and no one can fix me.
I am sick…. That no one can see.
I am sick…. They believe nothing is wrong with me.
I am sick…. Because of this disease.
I am sick…. Because I beg god please.
poem by Winifred Harkness
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Sick I Am...
i am sick...please don`t be sad...
i am sick...please don`t tell anyone...
i am sick...please forgive me if i hurt you...
i am sick...going so faraway from here...
i am sick...saying this only for you...
i am sick...maybe will never come back...
i am sick...remember me and never forget me...
i am sick...pray for me and wish me all best what you can...
i am sick...all wounds i have inside my heart...
i am sick...please don`t be sad...
i am sick... and you will never see me..
poem by Hazem Al Jaber
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Ye Carpette Knyghte
I have a horse - a ryghte good horse -
Ne doe Y envye those
Who scoure ye playne yn headye course
Tyll soddayne on theyre nose
They lyghte wyth unexpected force
Yt ys - a horse of clothes.
I have a saddel - "Say'st thou soe?
Wyth styrruppes, Knyghte, to boote?"
I sayde not that - I answere "Noe" -
Yt lacketh such, I woote:
Yt ys a mutton-saddel, loe!
Parte of ye fleecye brute.
I have a bytte - a ryghte good bytte -
As shall bee seene yn tyme.
Ye jawe of horse yt wyll not fytte;
Yts use ys more sublyme.
Fayre Syr, how deemest thou of yt?
Yt ys - thys bytte of rhyme.
poem by Lewis Carroll
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Wind Horse
Da naho… It is said,
Wind Horse, gentle Wind horse, you were the last of your kind.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, you were running wild and free.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, with this freedom you did nothing but give;
When one called for help you carried them to safety,
No enemy did you have.
Da naho… It is said,
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, you gave your life one day
To a boy with no leg.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, you gave him your endless love.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, you now run in the Great Hunting Grounds;
Giving joy to those there, as you did here.
Da naho… It is said,
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, your life was not the last gift
You gave the People.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, you prayed for us, you wished a wish for us.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, we remember you through your brother Horse.
Wi: yo: h … It is good.
Wind Horse, Wind Horse, we see you still.
poem by Tolly Rebeka Christian BlackWolf Hawk
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A Horse Is A Horse
A horse is a horse and a man is a man
And neither can be the other
And each can survive but is much better
In the company of one another.
And while a horse is a horse and that is true
A horse is but a beast
As a cow is a cow, some ask how
On its flesh we should not feast?
For they do so in France as in other places
And I don't know how they can
For while a horse is a horse and is only a horse
It is less a cow than it is a man!
poem by Tomás Ó Cárthaigh
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Boot and Saddle
I
Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
Rescue my castle before the hot day
Brightens to blue from its silvery gray,
Chorus. Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
II
Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say;
Many's the friend there, will listen and pray
"God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay—
Chorus. "Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"
III
Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay,
Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundheads' array:
Who laughs, "Good fellows ere this, by my fay,
Chorus. "Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"
IV
Who? My wife Gertrude; that, honest and gay,
Laughs when you talk of surrendering, "Nay!
I've better counsellors; what counsel they?
Chorus. "Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"
poem by Robert Bloomfield from Cavalier Tunes (1842)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Sicckk
sick of it..
im so sick of it
im sick of waking up in the morning.
im sick of you saying im nothing,
im sick of you calling me down.
im sick of you drinking all the time. |
im sick of you blaming everything on meh.
im sick of you
im sick of this
im sick of everything..
but must of all your the one im sick of..
i relise your the reson for my pain...
sorry mom..
its time for me to goo..
poem by Cheylayna Bear
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Cavalier Tunes: Boot and Saddle
Boot, saddle, to horse and away!
Rescue my Castle, before the hot day
Brightens to blue from its silvery gray,
(Chorus)
Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say;
Many's the friend there, will listen and pray
"God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay--
(Chorus)
Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"
Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay,
Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundheads' array:
Who laughs, "Good fellows ere this, by my fay,
(Chorus)
Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"
Who? My wife Gertrude; that, honest and gay,
Laughs when you talk of surrendering, "Nay!
I've better counsellors; what counsel they?
(Chorus)
Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"
poem by Robert Browning
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Boot and Saddle
Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!
Rescue my Castle, before the hot day
Brightens the blue from its silvery grey,
(Chorus) "Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"
Ride past the suburbs, asleep as you'd say;
Many's the friend there, will listen and pray
"God's luck to gallants that strike up the lay,
(Chorus) "Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"
Forty miles off, like a roebuck at bay,
Flouts Castle Brancepeth the Roundheads array:
Who laughs, Good fellows ere this, by my fay,
(Chorus) "Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"
Who? My wife Gertrude; that, honest and gay,
Laughs when you talk of surrendering, "Nay!
I've better counsellors; what counsel they?"
(Chorus) "Boot, saddle, to horse, and away!"
poem by Robert Browning
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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James And The Shoulder Of Mutton
YOUNG Jem at noon return'd from school,
As hungry as could be,
He cried to Sue, the servant-maid,
'My dinner give to me. '
Said Sue, 'It is not yet come home;
Besides, it is not late. '
'No matter that, ' cries little Jem,
'I do not like to wait. '
Quick to the baker's Jemmy went
And ask'd, 'Is dinner done?'
'It is,' replied the baker's man.
'Then home with it I'll run.'
'Nay, Sir, ' replied he prudently,
'I tell you 'tis too hot,
And much too heavy 'tis for you. '
'I tell you it is not.'
'Papa, mamma, are both gone out,
And I for dinner long;
So give it me, it is all mine,
And baker, hold your tongue.
'A shoulder 'tis of mutton nice!
And batter-pudding too;
I'm glad of that, it is so good;
How clever is our Sue! '
Now near the door young Jem was come,
He round the corner turn'd,
But oh, sad fate! unlucky chance!
The dish his fingers burn'd.
Now in the kennel down fell dish,
And down fell all the meat:
Swift went the pudding in the stream,
And sail'd along the street.
The people laugh'd, and rude boys grinn'd
At mutton's hapless fall;
But though ashamed, young Jemmy cried,
'Better lose part than all.'
The shoulder by the knuckle seized,
His hands both grasp'd it fast,
And deaf to all their gibes and cries,
He gain'd his home at last.
'Impatience is a fault,' cries Jem,
'The baker told me true;
In future I will patient be,
And mind what says our Sue. '
poem by Ann Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The healthful man can give counsel to the sick.
A January Fear
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
My class is all here
Down to each little sneer
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Those cute little creatures
Have nothing to fear
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Still knowing that teacher's
not entirely all here
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Each little tear
Makes it perfectly clear
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
A day off is coming
And hopefully near
a sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
It's harder and harder
Maintaining my leer
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Perhaps my behavior's
becoming quite queer
A sick day a sick day
I'll not make it all year
Perhaps in the morning
I'll call in and cheer
A SICK DAY A SICK DAY
I GOT A PAIN IN MY EAR
Alas...I can hear my principle sneer
With a resigning smirk easy to hear
NO SICK DAY NO SICK DAY
SORRY MY DEAR
NO SICK DAYS NO SICK DAYS
REMAINING THIS YEAR
poem by Robert John Meehan
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Dear Father
How sick I get of your ghost
stirring the blood between us,
how sick of the ties
that hold me.
Father, a shrink on the highway
told me to write. To who?
I have made you up. You are
the air in my birthday balloon
the clown at our barbecue
proud patron of the bottle-o
you shape my fingers and my toes
you cast my shadow
my every look-over-the-shoulder
you carve my tombstone in womb bone.
How sick I get of my ties to you.
Let this be a letter
to the Dead Letter office
(I'm sick of your jokes).
Father, I untie you -
air rushes out
and I whoop ...
I'm fifty,
it's time to let go.
poem by Andrew Burke
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I’m Sick
I’m sick of life
I’m sick of its ways
I’m sick and tired
Of playin these games.
I’m sick of jobs
I’m sick of money
I’m sick and tired
N I’m not been funny
Im sick of emotions
Im sick of hope
Im sick and tired
This is the effect of dope.
poem by James Grayson
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Me & My Horse
riding together,
you and your horse.
as you run against the wind all you call hear is-
the wind wipping your ears,
the horse's hooves thundering beneath you,
the chains of your bit as the horse pulls against the reins,
and the faint sound of the horse behind you.
your horse stops,
the horse behind you catches up.
the race is over,
freedom will have to wait until next time.
poem by Horse Lover
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