Iron may be rubbed so long that it gets heated.
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Rags & Old Iron
Norman curtis, oscar brown jr
Rags old iron rags old iron
All he was buying was just rags and old iron
I heard that old rag man now making his rounds
He came right to my alley lord with sorrowful sounds
Crying rags old iron and pulling his cart
Ask him how much hed give me for my broken heart
Rags old iron rags old iron
All he was buying was just rags and old iron
So I asked that old rag man how much he would pay
For a heart that was broken baby when you went away
For a burnt out old love light that no longer beams
And a couple of slightly used second hand dreams
Rags old iron rags old iron
All he was buying was just rags and old iron
For those big empty promises you used to make
For those memories of you that are no longer sweet
I wish he could haul them off down the street
Rags old iron rags old iron
All he was buying was just rags and old iron
When love doesnt last tell me what is it worth
It was once mamas most precious possession on earth
When I asked that old rag man if hed like to buy
He just shook his head and continued to cry
Rags old iron rags old iron
All he was buying was just rags and old iron
Rags old iron rags old iron
Rags old iron rags old iron rags old iron
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heated Words
The Sun.
Heated words from someone.
Blistering the ears,
Of those fearing what they hear.
And yet when this is done...
They claim not to know,
Where the burning churns from!
With wishes and desires,
To be noticeably tanned.
Tongue spanked,
With an off colored reprimand,
Demanded and asked.
Applied to one's face, arms and legs.
And rubbed firmly into one's back!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Cracked Up Passion
Cracked dry lips,
Clinging to each other.
Fiercely
where two couple of curious hands
roam all around
two heated bodies.
Heated feelings, heated passion.
Passion to know,
Passion to discover,
To explore,
To take and give pleasure,
To be loved
and to love.
poem by Tulay Beyhan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rub Offs
People buy those rub off tickets.
I see 'em on the ground.
I don't buy those rub off tickets
but there was one I found.
I rubbed it off and won ten bucks
so I went and bought two more
and when I rubbed them off again
I went back in the store.
The lady said, 'You've won big money
What are you gonna do? '
I said to her 'What's big money'
She answered '10 thousand for you.'
So I bought ten thousand tickets
and rubbed 'em off all day.
And not even one was a winner
so I went on my way.
Money comes and money goes.
That's how it is for me.
So if I find another ticket
I'll give it away for free.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Iron till it be thoroughly heated is incapable to be wrought; so God sees good to cast some men into the furnace of affliction, and then beats them on his anvil into what frame he pleases.
quote by Anne Bradstreet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Newcomers are hot.
Water heated an hour before
Isn’t as hot as one just now heated.
Women found hot a decade ago
Would get warmed with newcomers.
27.09.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Was There
In this world when you first arrived
I was there at your mothers side,
Holding her hand, I was filled with pride,
I was there when you first arrived.
It was I alone who rubbed your hair
It was I who counted your fingers and toes,
And I was I who proudly held you first
And it was I alone who rubbed your nose.
When you first arrived in this world
It was I, who was thinking is it a boy or a girl
But then to myself, I really didn't care,
As long as you arrived, to answer my prayer.
I was there with you every step of the way
I watched your birth, and your coming of age
And what I say now, I say with both a vigor and pride,
That I was there, when you first arrived.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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A Rondeau
To iron a shirt, first lightly spray,
then left and right hand interplay;
with one to press and one to lead,
the path's prepared, the creases freed
and gathered wrinkles fade away.
The woman's old, in slow decay,
she's taken care of every day,
yet restless hands still feel the need
to iron a shirt.
Her mind now tends to disarray,
yet sometimes skills, long practiced, stay
and though she lacks her former speed,
her family and friends concede,
she's always known the proper way
to iron a shirt.
poem by Diane Hine
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Cabinessence
Light the lamp and fire mellow,
Cabin essence timely hello,
Welcomes the time for a change.
Lost and found, you still remain there.
Youll find a meadow filled with grain there.
Ill give you a home on the range.
Who ran the iron horse?
Who ran the iron horse?
Who ran the iron horse?
Who ran the iron horse?
Who ran the iron horse?
Who ran the iron horse?
Who ran the iron horse?
Who ran the iron horse?
Who ran the iron horse?
Who ran the iron horse?
I want to watch you windblown facing
Waves of wheat for your embracing.
Folks sing a song of the grange.
Nestle in a kiss below there.
The constellations ebb and flow there.
And witness our home on the range.
Who ran the iron horse?
(truck driving man do what you can)
Who ran the iron horse?
(high-tail your load off the road)
Who ran the iron horse?
(out of night-life-its a gas man)
Who ran the iron horse?
(I dont believe I gotta grieve)
Who ran the iron horse?
(in and out of luck)
Who ran the iron horse?
(with a buck and a booth)
Who ran the iron horse?
(catchin on to the truth)
Who ran the iron horse?
(in the vast past, the last gasp)
Who ran the iron horse?
(in the land, in the dust, trust that you must)
Who ran the iron horse?
(catch as catch can)
Have you seen the grand coolie workin on the railroad?
Have you seen the grand coolie workin on the railroad?
Have you seen the grand coolie workin on the railroad?
Over and over,
The crow cries uncover the cornfield.
Over and over,
The thresher and hover the wheat field.
Over and over,
The crow cries uncover the cornfield.
Over and over,
The thresher and hover the wheat field.
Over and over,
The crow cries uncover the cornfield.
Over and over,
The thresher and hover the wheat field.
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Imagination revealed
Looking out a winter window
My eyes were focused on the snow.
A streetlight cast a yellow glow
Causing an eerie sight below.
The shadows from some barren trees
Seemed not unlike nightmarish dead
Dancing diabolically
Around a severed human head.
I rubbed my eyes and rubbed again
For what I witness can’t be real
I backed away from the cold pane
That’s when I spied a surreal
View, no doubt a clear distinction:
Aforementioned … my reflection!
poem by Albert Ahearn
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If I lived back in the Wild West days, instead of carrying a six-gun in my holster, I'd carry a soldering iron. That way, if some smart-aleck cowboy said something like, 'Hey look. He's carrying a soldering iron' and started laughing, and everybody else started laughing, I could just say, 'That's right, it's a soldering iron. The soldering iron of justice.' Then everybody would get real quiet and ashamed, because they made fun of the soldering iron of justice, and I could probably hit them up for a free drink.
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Summers Night Reality
Desire maps its scrutiny
'Round shadows lusty foreplays
Encapsulating a heated forever
In a 'Never-Ever' kind of day...
Clever contradictions they are
In our heated after-glow
Where two master lovers
Colour this sensual show...
Masters of loves illusions
Magicians of pure delight
Surrender to one another
In the swelter of this summer night!
I Love You...
poem by Theodora Onken
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Faded into bliss
Last night you were with me
and the big old dog
could not lie still
and she turned
every now and then.
Her nails rubbed
against the wood floor,
but while you were lying against me
my senses was filled by you
and my flu
was somewhere in the background.
For a long time I laid against you
and saw you sleep
and everything about me,
faded into bliss.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Keep That Beat Just Heated
You keep that conga beat strickly in the rhythm.
You keep that conga beat heat, rhythmically.
And keep that beat just heated as it flows around the room.
And keep that beat just heated.
Keep it and just heated.
Keep it as it's needed.
You keep that conga beat heat, rhythmically.
And keep that beat just heated as it flows around the room.
And keep that beat just heated.
Keep it and just heated.
Keep it as it's needed to stir up a good mood.
Give me some cello,
With the flute and bassist playing.
You keep that conga beat heat,
Rhythmically.
Add some violins and French horns too.
With the build up of some trumpets,
And a sax player's groove.
You keep that conga beat strickly in the rhythm.
You keep that conga beat heat, rhythmically.
And keep that beat just heated as it flows around the room.
And keep that beat just heated.
Keep it and just heated.
Keep it as it's needed.
Give me some cello,
With the flute and bassist playing.
You keep that conga beat heat,
Rhythmically.
You keep that conga beat...
Strickly in the rhythm.
You keep that conga beat heat, rhythmically.
Give me some cello,
With the flute and bassist playing.
You keep that conga beat heat,
Rhythmically.
You keep that conga beat...
Strickly in the rhythm.
You keep that conga beat heat, rhythmically.
Give me some cello,
With the flute and bassist playing.
Add some violins and French horns too.
With the build up of some trumpets,
And a sax player's groove.
You keep that conga beat heat, rhythmically.
And keep that beat just heated.
Keep it as it's needed.
You keep that conga beat heat, rhythmically.
And keep that beat just heated.
Keep it as it's needed.
Give me some cello,
With the flute and bassist playing.
Add some violins and French horns too.
With the build up of some trumpets,
And a sax player's groove.
And keep that beat just heated.
Keep it as it's needed.
Give me some cello,
With the flute and bassist playing.
And keep that beat just heated.
Keep it as it's needed.
Give me some cello,
With the flute and bassist playing.
And keep that beat just heated.
Keep it as it's needed.
Give me some cello,
With the flute and bassist playing.
And keep that beat just heated.
Keep it as it's needed.
Keep that beat just heated.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Iron, Lion, Zion
I am on the rock and then I check a stock
I have to run like a fugitive to save the life I live
Im gonna be iron like a lion in zion (repeat)
Iron lion zion
Im on the run but I aint got no gun
See they want to be the star
So they fighting tribal war
And they saying iron like a lion in zion
Iron like a lion in zion,
Iron lion zion
Im on the rock, (running and you running)
I take a stock, (running like a fugitive)
I had to run like a fugitive just to save the life I live
Im gonna be iron like a lion in zion (repeat)
Iron lion zion, iron lion zion, iron lion zion
Iron like a lion in zion, iron like a lion in zion
Iron like a lion in zion
song performed by by Bob Marley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Look Back In Anger
You know who I am, he said
The speaker was an angel
He coughed and shook his crumpled wings
Closed his eyes and moved his lips
Its time we should be going
(waiting so long, Ive been waiting so, waiting so)
Look back in anger, driven by the night
Till you come
(waiting so long, Ive been waiting so, waiting so)
Look back in anger, see it in my eyes
Till you come
No one seemed to hear him
So he leafed through a magazine
And, yawning, rubbed the sleep away
Very sane he seemed to me
(waiting so long, Ive been waiting so, waiting so)
Look back in anger, driven by the night
Till you come
(waiting so long, Ive been waiting so, waiting so)
Look back in anger, feel it in my voice
Till you come
(waiting so long, ahhh...)
(waiting so long, Ive been waiting so, waiting so) (waiting so long, Ive been waiting so, waiting so)
(waiting so long, ahhh...)
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Yad Mordechai
Yad Mordechai. Those who fell here
still look out the windows like sick children
who are not allowed outside to play.
And on the hillside, the battle is reenacted
for the benefit of hikers and tourists. Soldiers of thin sheet iron
rise and fall and rise again. Sheet iron dead and a sheet iron life
and the voices all—sheet iron. And the resurrection of the dead,
sheet iron that clangs and clangs.
And I said to myself: Everyone is attached to his own lament
as to a parachute. Slowly he descends and slowly hovers
until he touches the hard place.
Translated by Chana Bloch and Chana Kronfeld
poem by Yehuda Amichai
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Cold Iron
Gold is for the mistress -- silver for the maid --
Copper for the craftsman cunning at his trade.
"Good!" said the Baron, sitting in his hall,
"But Iron -- Cold Iron -- is master of them all."
So he made rebellion 'gainst the King his liege,
Camped before his citadel and summoned it to siege.
"Nay!" said the cannoneer on the castle wall,
"But Iron -- Cold Iron -- shall be master of you all!"
Woe for the Baron and his knights so strong,
When the cruel cannon-balls laid 'em all along;
He was taken prisoner, he was cast in thrall,
And Iron -- Cold Iron -- was master of it all!
Yet his King spake kindly (ah, how kind a Lord!)
"What if I release thee now and give thee back thy sword?"
"Nay!" said the Baron, "mock not at my fall,
For Iron -- Cold Iron -- is master of men all."
Tears are for the craven, prayers are for the clown --
Halters for the silly neck that cannot keep a crown.
"As my loss is grievous, so my hope is small,
For Iron -- Cold Iron -- must be master of men all!"
Yet his King made answer (few such Kings there be!)
"Here is Bread and here is Wine -- sit and sup with me.
Eat and drink in Mary's Name, the whiles I do recall
How Iron -- Cold Iron -- can be master of men all!"
He took the Wine and blessed it. He blessed and brake the Bread,
With His own Hands He served Them, and presently He said:
"See! These Hands they pierced with nails, outside My city wall,
Show Iron -- Cold Iron -- to be master of men all."
"Wounds are for the desperate, blows are for the strong.
Balm and oil for weary hearts all cut and bruised with wrong.
I forgive thy treason -- I redeem thy fall --
For Iron -- Cold Iron -- must be master of men all!"
Crowns are for the valiant -- sceptres for the bold!
Thrones and powers for mighty men who dare to take and hold.
"Nay!" said the Baron, kneeling in his hall,
"But Iron -- Cold Iron -- is master of men all!
Iron out of Calvary is master of men all!"
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Summer Holiday
When the sun shouts and people abound
One thinks there were the ages of stone and the age of
bronze
And the iron age; iron the unstable metal;
Steel made of iron, unstable as his mother; the tow-
ered-up cities
Will be stains of rust on mounds of plaster.
Roots will not pierce the heaps for a time, kind rains
will cure them,
Then nothing will remain of the iron age
And all these people but a thigh-bone or so, a poem
Stuck in the world's thought, splinters of glass
In the rubbish dumps, a concrete dam far off in the
mountain...
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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When He Returns
The iron hand it aint no match for the iron rod,
The strongest wall will crumble and fall to a mighty god.
For all those who have eyes and all those who have ears
It is only he who can reduce me to tears.
Dont you cry and dont you die and dont you burn
For like a thief in the night, hell replace wrong with right
When he returns.
Truth is an arrow and the gate is narrow that it passes through,
He unleashed his power at an unknown hour that no one knew.
How long can I listen to the lies of prejudice?
How long can I stay drunk on fear out in the wilderness?
Can I cast it aside, all this loyalty and this pride?
Will I ever learn that therell be no peace, that the war wont cease
Until he returns?
Surrender your crown on this blood-stained ground, take off your mask,
He sees your deeds, he knows your needs even before you ask.
How long can you falsify and deny what is real?
How long can you hate yourself for the weakness you conceal?
Of every earthly plan that be known to man, he is unconcerned,
Hes got plans of his own to set up his throne
When he returns.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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