If each person would sweep before his own house, the city would soon be clean.
Related quotes
When A Person Does Not Know What To Do With Himself
WHEN A PERSON DOES NOT KNOW WHAT TO DO WITH HIMSELF
When a person does not know what to do with himself
When a person feels empty
When a person feels everything he had done and everything he can do do is meaningless
When a person is bored
When a person does not know what to do with himself
And wonders why he is on this earth
And how he will endure more of it
When a person does not know what to do with himself
He must do any little thing he can do
To get himself going-
He must wash the dishes or clean the house or take something to eat or take a small walk or read a page
Or do any one of a million or more other small things to get himself going
And once he is going he must somehow go on and on and from this to something else
So that at some point somewhere along the way somehow
He is doing something
Perhaps not that great
But doing something
And in doing something
Perhaps forgetting about himself
A bit
Perhaps.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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If every man would sweep before his own door, the city would soon be clean.
If every man would sweep his own doorstep the city would soon be clean.
If every man would sweep his own door-step the city would soon be clean.
Were every one to sweep before his own house, every street would be clean.
Were everyone to sweep in front of his own house, every street would be clean.
Nutbush City Limit
A CHURCH HOUSE GIN HOUSE
A SCHOOL HOUSE OUT HOUSE
ON HIGHWAY NUMBER NINETEEN
THE PEOPLE KEEP THE CITY CLEAN
THEY CALL IT
NUTBUSH OH NUTBUSH
CALL IT NUTBUSH CITY LIMITS
TWENTY-FIVE WAS THE SPEED LIMIT
MOTORCYCLE NOT ALLOWED IN IT
YOU GO TO THE STORE ON FRIDAY
YOU GO TO CHURCH ON SUNDAY
THEY CALL IT
NUTBUSH OH NUTBUSH
CALL IT NUTBUSH CITY LIMITS
YOU GO TO THE FIELDS ON WEEKDAYS
AND HAVE A PICNIC ON LABOR DAY
YOU GO TO TOWN ON SATURDAY
BUT GO TO THE CHURCH EV'RY SUNDAY
THEY CALL IT
NUTBUSH OH NUTBUSH
CALL IT NUTBUSH CITY LIMITS
NO WHISKEY FOR SALE
YOU CAN'T COP NO BAIL
SALT PORK AND MOLASSES
IS ALL YOU GET IN JAIL
THEY CALL IT
NUTBUSH OH NUTBUSH
CALL IT NUTBUSH CITY LIMITS
LITTLE OLD TOWN IN TENNESSEE
THAT'S CALLED A QUIET LITTLE OLD
COMMUNITY
A ONE-HORSE TOWN YOU HAVE TO
WATCH
WHAT YOU'RE PUTTIN' DOWN IN OLD
NUTBUSH
THEY CALL IT
NUTBUSH OH NUTBUSH
CALL IT NUTBUSH CITY LIMITS
song performed by by Tina Turner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nutbush City Limts
Words and music by tina turner
Theres a church house, gin house,
School house, outhouse.
On u.s. 19,
Hey, the people keep the city clean.
They call it nutbush, nutbush,
Nutbush city, nutbush city limits.
25 is the speed limit,
Motorcycles not allowed in it.
Go to town on saturday,
Go to church on sunday.
Up in ... up in ... nutbush city, nutbush city limits.
Say it again...
Work the fields on weekdays,
Have a picnic every labor day.
Go to town on a friday,
Be in church on a sunday.
Up in ... up in ... nutbush city, nutbush city limits.
Little old town,
Down in tennessee.
A real quiet community,
A real quiet southern community.
Not much happens in nutbush;
You can hear the corn grow.
Got to watch out for the police,
Drivin through nutbush.
Got to watch out for the police,
If youre drivin through nutbush.
Watch out for the police,
Watch out for the police.
Keep an eye out for the police,
Keep an eye out for the police.
An eye out for the police.
Nutbush city limits,
Nutbush city limits,
Nutbush city limits.
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When A Person Does Not Know What
When a person does not know what to do with himself
When a person feels empty
When a person feels everything he had done and everything he can do do is meaningless
When a person is bored
When a person does not know what to do with himself
And wonders why he is on this earth
And how he will endure more of it
When a person does not know what to do with himself
He must do any little thing he can do
To get himself going-
He must wash the dishes or clean the house or take something to eat or take a small walk or read a page
Or do any one of a million or more other small things to get himself going
And once he is going he must somehow go on and on and from this to something else
So that at some point somewhere along the way somehow
He is doing something
Perhaps not that great
But doing something
And in doing something
Perhaps forgetting about himself
A bit
Perhaps.
WHAT DO I KNOW? \AND WHO AM I?
What do I know?
And who am I?
The real questions
I cannot answer
They are beyond me.
And I don't think
I have anything to give
Even in beginning to answer them.
Just another human being
Who has come this way
And soon will be gone
Without ever having answered
The real questions.
poem by Shalom Freedman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sweep the house with a broom in may and you'll sweep the luck of the house away.
Clean
Eat clean,
Live clean,
Sleep clean,
dress clean,
Walk clean,
Learn clean,
Play clean,
Think clean,
dance clean,
Talk clean,
Sing clean,
work clean,
Because the world around you is watching what you do;
You are the only one on this earth,
So live and let us live too.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Reach Out
I reach my hand out for you
But you're not here anymore
I ask an empty chair for advice
Because thats where you once were
I get no reply of course
But old habits die hard
Tears start to well up
I quickly wipe them away
I have to be strong for your mate
She depends on me so
I a 15 year old am the only one she can trust
I have to clean the big house
I have to dust
I work all day and all night
To keep my grades up
And to keep the house clean
Where is my break
I get none
Where is the person I can depend on
He's gone
He died
I'm all alone
Where is my break
Where are my friends
I have lost so many
I reach my hand out
I call to the empty chair
Then I break down and cry
poem by Rachel Dowd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Nutbush City Limits
(t. turner)
Producer (73): ike turner
Album: nutbush city limits(73),the collected recordings(94)
Producers (91): c. j. mackintosh and dave dorrell
Album: simply the best (91)
Producers(93): chris lord-alge,roger davies and tina turner
Album: whats love got to do with it (93)
A church house gin house
A school house outhouse
On highway number nineteen
The people keep the city clean
They call it nutbush, oh nutbush
They call it nutbush city limits
Twenty-five for speed limit
Motorcicle not allowed in it
You go to store on friday
You go to church on sunday
They call it nutbush, oh nutbush
They call it nutbush city limits
You go to the fields on weekdays
And have a picnic on labor day
You go to town on saturday
And go to church every sunday
They call it nutbush, oh nutbush
They call it nutbush city limits
No whiskey for sale
If you get drunk no bail
Salt pork and molasses
Is all you get in jail
They call it nutbush, oh nutbush
They call it nutbush city limits
A little old town in tennessee
A quiet little community
A one-horse town
You have to watch what youre putting down
In old nutbush, oh nutbush
song performed by by Tina Turner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Brass Spittoons
Clean the spittoons, boy.
Detroit,
Chicago,
Atlantic City,
Palm Beach.
Clean the spittoons.
The steam in hotel kitchens,
And the smoke in hotel lobbies,
And the slime in hotel spittoons:
Part of my life.
Hey, boy!
A nickel,
A dime,
A dollar,
Two dollars a day.
Hey, boy!
A nickel,
A dime,
A dollar,
Two dollars
Buy shoes for the baby.
House rent to pay.
Gin on Saturday,
Church on Sunday.
My God!
Babies and gin and church
And women and Sunday
All mixed with dimes and
Dollars and clean spittoons
And house rent to pay.
Hey, boy!
A bright bowl of brass is beautiful to the Lord.
Bright polished brass like the cymbals
Of King David’s dancers,
Like the wine cups of Solomon.
Hey, boy!
A clean spittoon on the altar of the Lord.
A clean bright spittoon all newly polished—
At least I can offer that.
Com’mere, boy!
poem by Langston Hughes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Movin' To The Country
I'm gonna get myself out of this city
I'm gonna get myself out of this city
Gonna get myself out of this city
Cause livin' here is just a pity
I'm gonna get myself out of this city
I'm gonna breathe myself clean country air
I'm gonna breathe myself clean country air
Gonna breathe myself clean country air
In the city, they aint no air there
I'm gonna breathe myself clean country air
I'm gonna get myself a jug of moonshine
I'm gonna get myself a jug of moonshine
Gonna get myself that jug a shine
And I'm gonna have a real good time
I'm gonna get myself a jug of moonshine
I'm gonna get myself some country women
I'm gonna get myself some country women
Gonna get myself some country women
Baby, that's what I call livin'
I'm gonna get myself some country women
Yeah, I'm movin' to the country
(folkpoem)
poem by Edwin Robinette
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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City Of Sin
City of sin
When will thou go clean
A foolish society
In an archaic city
Full of vanity
A city without conscience
Full of violence
Greediness and selfishness
Why should there be a city
Without justice and fairness
The rich over the poor
Blood do they devour
Life becomes sore
Her daughters turn hoer
How can there exist
Such a city
If goodness is banish
Then we are all finish
Why won't they perish
Why must i cherish
Such an evil city
poem by Matt Ancient
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It's Hard to Grow
Little do they know,
Each season has an ending.
With one clean sweep...
What was no longer is to be!
It's hard to grow,
And go through doors that have to close.
But for them...
They want these doors stayed open.
But they've been stopped...
Hitting bottom from the top.
Dropped and blocked.
Little do they know,
Each season has an ending...
Swoosh
With one clean sweep...
What was no longer is to be!
Oh Lawd it's hard to grow,
And go through doors that have to clossssuup.
But for them...
They want these doors stayed open.
Little do they know,
Each season has an ending.
With one clean sweep...
What was no longer is to be!
It's hard to grow,
And go through doors that have to close.
But for them...
They want these doors stayed open.
But for them...
They want these doors stayed open.
But for them...
These doors will not be opened again!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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No Exceptions Made
And now...
The clean up!
Like none ever done.
Some will not be in it for the healing of it!
Many will sit in bitterness.
In divisions that they are accustomed.
They will not accept,
A participation without choice.
There is a clean up that is going to be done!
By everyone.
There will be no exceptions made!
All of those you see,
Looking from the windows,
Inside the house?
If they wish to eat and sleep in comfort...
They will work the fields,
And yield to discipline!
They, them, those and others...
Will sweep the dirt,
Everyone let collect.
'This' will become your reality!
'He will never be 'my' president! '
I doubt if that is a concern of his.
He prefers the title...
Chief Delegator!
What is his concern...?
Everyone will do their chores!
Complete assignments.
And 'earn' their right to complain.
Including you!
You see those obstacles?
Those hurdles to be jumped?
Those problems to be solved!
They are tremendous.
Embrace them!
Consider them yours!
The best way to get familiar...
I suggest?
Less protest.
This is the 'change' you can believe in!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tale of Three Cities
New York blasted London blasted
Singapore -
Ripped off each other's metaphoric balls,
Crumbling walls.
Priapic city monoliths -
Blue-sky scraping bastards -
Shout about their height (but really length) .
V8 arseholes didn't care -
Pumping shit into the air,
So long as they were always there to
Fart aloud a smoggy cloud,
Laughing at the weak asthmatic,
Humoured that it seems traumatic.
Watch the greedy cities oozing
Chair-bound fat committees, though they
Look a bunch of titties as they
Waffle on about the pound.
Ever thought to look around and see
That they were dead?
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Get Out Of My House
(hee-haw! hee-haw! hee-haw!)
When you left, the door was
(slamming!)
You paused in the doorway
(slamming!)
As though a thought stole you away.
(slamming!)
I watched the world pull you away.
(lock it!)
So I run into the hall,
(lock it!)
Into the corridor.
(lock it!)
Theres a door in the house
(slamming).
I hear the lift descending.
(slamming!)
I hear it hit the landing,
(slamming!)
See the hackles on the cat
(standing).
With my key i
(lock it).
With my key i
(lock it up).
With my key i
(lock it).
With my key i
(lock it up).
I am the concierge chez-moi, honey.
Wont letcha in for love, nor money.
(let me in!)
My home, my joy.
Im barred and bolted and i
(wont let you in).
(get out of my house!)
No strangers feet
Will enter me.
(get out of my house!)
I wash the panes,
(get out of my house!)
I clean the stains away.
(get out of my house!)
This house is as old as I am.
(slamming.)
This house knows all I have done.
(slamming.)
They come with their weather hanging round them,
(slamming.)
But cant knock my door down!
(slamming.)
With my key i
(lock it).
With my key i
(lock it).
This house is full of m-m-my mess.
(slamming.)
This house is full of m-m-mistakes.
(slamming.)
This house is full of m-m-madness.
(slamming.)
This house is full of, full of, full of fight!
(slam it.)
With my keeper i
(clean up).
With my keeper i
(clean it all up).
With my keeper i
(clean up).
With my keeper i
(clean it all up).
I am the concierge chez-moi, honey.
Wont letcha in for love, nor money.
(its cold out here!)
My home, my joy.
Im barred and bolted and i
(get out of my house!)
(wont let you in).
(get out of my house!)
No strangers feet
(get out of my house!)
Will enter me.
(get out of my house!)
I wash the panes.
(get out of my house!)
I clean the stains.
(get out of my house!)
(get out of my house!)
(get out of my house!)
(get out of my house!)
Wont enter me.
(get out of my house!)
(get out of my house!)
(get out of my house!)
(get out of my house!)
Yeah! wont let you in!
(get out of my house!)
(get out of my house!)
Let me in!
Woman let me in!
Let me bring in the memories!
Woman let me in!
Let me bring in the devil dreams!
I will not let you in!
Dont you bring back the reveries.
I turn into a bird,
Carry further than the word is heard.
Woman let me in!
I turn into the wind.
I blow you a cold kiss,
Stronger than the songs hit.
I will not let you in.
I face towards the wind.
I change into the mule.
I change into the mule.
Hee-haw! hee-haw! hee-haw-hee-haw-hee-haw-hee-haw...
Hee-haw! hee-haw! hee-haw!
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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