He has coosten his cloak on the ither shouther.
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Willie Wastle
Willie Wastle dwalt on Tweed,
The spot they ca'd it Linkumdoddie.
Willie was a wabster guid
Could stown a clue wi onie body.
He had a wife was dour and din,
O, Tinkler Maidgie was her mither!
Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad na gie a button for her.
She has an e'e (she has but ane),
The cat has twa the very colour,
Five rusty teeth, forbye a stump,
A clapper-toungue wad deave a miller;
A whiskin beard about her mou,
Her nose and chin they threaten ither:
Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad na gie a button for her.
She's bow-hough'd, she's hem-shin'd,
Ae limpin leg a hand-breed shorter;
She's twisted right, she's twisted left,
To balance fair in ilka quarter;
She has a hump upon her breast,
The twin o that upon her shouther:
Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad na gie a button for her.
Auld baudrans by the ingle sits,
An wi her loof her face a-washin;
But Willie's wife is nae sae trig,
She dights her frunzie wi a hushion;
Her walie nieves like midden-creels,
Her face wad fyle the Logan Water:
Sic a wife as Willie had,
I wad na gie a button for her.
poem by Robert Burns
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Ode Tae Colin Leslie Dean, Australia's Leading Erotic Poet Allegedly
Weel, colin man, ye’ve done us proud
Ye’ve plestered a’ the wa’s an’ a’
Ye’ve sprung fae in a b’low yer shroud
An’ flashed us wi yer whang an’ a’
An’ mushrooms rare ye didnae spare
Until oor very een were sare
Wi kittlin’ skits this day
But feminists aroon the globe
Are writhing wi their wrath an’ a
An’ probably there’ll be a probe
Wi’ bile an’ much anathema
Yer rhymes are ripe fer getting sockt
Yer tool’s in line fer getting’ dockt
In whittlin’ fits this day
An’ aye it seems there come the day
Whun structured rhymers, scribes an’ a’
Must realise it’s time tae slay
Some ither fiends some ither whar
Ye’ve fed us foo on Aussie prose
Wi chittlin whits ye passed as brose
Never-endin’ly this lang day
To The Commissioners Of Northern Lights
I SEND to you, commissioners,
A paper that may please ye, sirs
(For troth they say it might be worse
An' I believe't)
And on your business lay my curse
Before I leav't.
I thocht I'd serve wi' you, sirs, yince,
But I've thocht better of it since;
The maitter I will nowise mince,
But tell ye true:
I'll service wi' some ither prince,
An' no wi' you.
I've no been very deep, ye'll think,
Cam' delicately to the brink
An' when the water gart me shrink
Straucht took the rue,
An' didna stoop my fill to drink -
I own it true.
I kent on cape and isle, a light
Burnt fair an' clearly ilka night;
But at the service I took fright,
As sune's I saw,
An' being still a neophite
Gaed straucht awa'.
Anither course I now begin,
The weeg I'll cairry for my sin,
The court my voice shall echo in,
An' - wha can tell? -
Some ither day I may be yin
O' you mysel'.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Oor ain reek's better than ither fowk's fire.
Some cut lang whangs aff ither folk's leather.
Ye cut lang whangs out o' ither folk's leather.
Bread and cheese is gude to eat when folk can get nae ither meat.
Intoxication
Under osiers with ivy ingrown
We are trying to hide from bad weather.
I am clasping your arms in my own,
In one cloak we are huddled together.
I was wrong. Not with ivy-leaves bound,
But with hops overgrown is the willow.
Well then, let us spread out on the ground
This our cloak as a sheet and a pillow.
poem by Boris Pasternak
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Expect not a very covetous person to be very honest for a long time. Experience keeps a dear school, but fools will learn in nae ither.
Renouveau. (From The French)
Now Time throws off his cloak again
Of ermined frost, and cold and rain,
And clothes him in the embroidery
Of glittering son and clear blue sky.
With beast and bird the forest rings,
Each in his jargon cries or sings;
And Time throws off his cloak again
Of ermined frost, and cold and rain.
River, and fount, and tinkling brook
Wear in their dainty livery
Drops of silver jewelry;
In new-made suit they merry look;
And Time throws off his cloak again
Of ermined frost, and cold and rain.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Love Is All Is Alright
(chorus)
Love is all is alright
But you left it a little to late
Love is all is alright
But you've got to find a little more hate.
Take the man in the white cloak
A pointed mask to hide his face
Murders in the name of religion
If you're not the right colour or race.
Take the man in the black cloak
He's holding justice in his hands,
Lets the man in the white cloak go,
Calls it the law of the land.
(chorus)
Love is all is alright.......etc
Take the man in the brown shirt
A burning hatred in his eyes
Fired by ignorant reaction,
Fanned by political lies
Take the man in the blue cap
His back's against the wall
Links arms with the man in the brown shirt
He's trying to break his own fall.
(chorus)
Love is all is alright.....etc
song performed by by Ub40
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Metamorphose
There are days in everybody’s life,
days when turmoil strikes every mortal fibre
and drives us down into a seemingly bottomless pit.
It is up to us to struggle out of it
and when we see the sunlight
a metamorphose takes place
and we chuck away that cloak of darkness,
replacing it with a cloak of light.
Our smile is returned
and again we faced the world
with a smile on our face.
22 October 2009
poem by David Harris
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The Old Cloak
THIS winter's weather it waxeth cold,
And frost it freezeth on every hill,
And Boreas blows his blast so bold
That all our cattle are like to spill.
Bell, my wife, she loves no strife;
She said unto me quietlye,
Rise up, and save cow Crumbock's life!
Man, put thine old cloak about thee!
He. O Bell my wife, why dost thou flyte?
Thou kens my cloak is very thin:
It is so bare and over worn,
A cricke thereon cannot renn.
Then I'll no longer borrow nor lend;
For once I'll new apparell'd be;
To-morrow I'll to town and spend;
For I'll have a new cloak about me.
She. Cow Crumbock is a very good cow:
She has been always true to the pail;
She has helped us to butter and cheese, I trow,
And other things she will not fail.
I would be loth to see her pine.
Good husband, counsel take of me:
It is not for us to go so fine--
Man, take thine old cloak about thee!
He. My cloak it was a very good cloak,
It hath been always true to the wear;
But now it is not worth a groat:
I have had it four and forty year'.
Sometime it was of cloth in grain:
'Tis now but a sigh clout, as you may see:
It will neither hold out wind nor rain;
And I'll have a new cloak about me.
She. It is four and forty years ago
Sine the one of us the other did ken;
And we have had, betwixt us two,
Of children either nine or ten:
We have brought them up to women and men:
In the fear of God I trow they be.
And why wilt thou thyself misken?
Man, take thine old cloak about thee!
He. O Bell my wife, why dost thou flyte?
Now is now, and then was then:
Seek now all the world throughout,
Thou kens not clowns from gentlemen:
They are clad in black, green, yellow and blue,
So far above their own degree.
Once in my life I'll take a view;
For I'll have a new cloak about me.
She. King Stephen was a worthy peer;
His breeches cost him but a crown;
He held them sixpence all too dear,
Therefore he called the tailor 'lown.'
He was a king and wore the crown,
And thou'se but of a low degree:
It 's pride that puts this country down:
Man, take thy old cloak about thee!
He. Bell my wife, she loves not strife,
Yet she will lead me, if she can;
And to maintain an easy life
I oft must yield, though I'm good-man.
It 's not for a man with a woman to threap,
Unless he first give o'er the plea:
As we began, so will we keep,
And I'll take my old cloak about me.
Scarlet Cloak
The scarlet cloak of loneliness
covers my sorrowed soul
and my gentle heart is benign
to any chosen fact.
Each day I gather straws
I reach out to cling to
but each one snaps within my grasp
and I wonder what I’ll do.
The hollow world I live in
echoes my vacant thoughts.
Even the hues of colours that
surround me everyday
cannot remove this scarlet cloak
that wants to smother me away.
25 September 2009
poem by David Harris
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Cloak to Gloat
I am not inspired by those who conspire,
To undo what the good ones do.
I am so tired by the backstabbing done...
By those who cloak to gloat and run.
I am not pleased by any of this.
And wish this evilness dismissed.
But this is how we live today and breathe!
It's got to flee!
Maybe someone like Barack will stop it.
Blocking ignorance that mocks it!
Hopefully this sleaze will up and leave.
And a peace to feed we'll greed.
I am not pleased by any of this.
And wish this evilness dismissed.
But this is how we live today and breathe!
It's got to flee!
Maybe someone like Barack will stop it.
Blocking ignorance that mocks it!
Hopefully this sleaze will up and leave.
And a peace to feed we'll greed.
I am not inspired by those who conspire,
To undo what the good ones do.
I am so tired by the backstabbing done...
By those who cloak to gloat and run.
Maybe someone like Barack will stop it.
Blocking ignorance that mocks it!
Hopefully this sleaze will up and leave.
And a peace will feed our needs.
Hopefully Barack will stop it!
Blocking ignorance that mocks it.
To undo what the good ones do we see.
And those who cloak to gloat will leave.
Put those who cloak to gloat on the run!
Put those who cloak to gloat on the run!
Put those who cloak to gloat on the run!
To redo all the good deeds done we need.
And those who cloak to gloat will leave.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Coping Up With The Realities Of This Earth...
it will be
another lie, it will be another justification for
the preciousness of life
and its survival,
it will be another excuse
for having to follow rules,
it will be another saying
that because
i am here, so i must be like you,
and the rest of
the residents
it will be another sacrifice of
my authenticity
in favor of conformity
it will be from one cloak to another cloak
in order to keep this body warm
and then one cold wind
follows another cold wind
to make me colder all over
again
my hands shall then
by the passage of time
have mastered the techniques
of folding
to protect what i am
and what i have.
it will be another pain,
to another pain, ... i do not really know
when will this end
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Cloak
Thou keep'st thy rose-leaf
Till the rose-time will be over,
Think'st thou that Death will kiss thee?
Think'st thou that the Dark House
Will find thee such a lover
As I? Will the new roses miss thee?
Prefer my cloak unto the cloak of dust
'Neath which the last year lies,
For thou shouldst more mistrust
Time than my eyes.
poem by Ezra Pound
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