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Costly
Costly life costly time
Truth is costly life is costly.
No one can say
The exact cost of life
No one can investigate
What is life
No one can speak
Bare truth of life
No one can
No one can.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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A pint can't hold a quart - if it holds a pint it is doing all that can be expected of it.
quote by Margaret Deland
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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And, perhaps most importantly, regional conflicts will again and again confront us with a cruel choice between costly engagement and costly indifference.
quote by Lord Robertson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Song From ‘The Princess’
As through the street at eve we went
(It might be half-past ten),
We fell out, my friend and I,
About the cube of x+y,
And made it up again.
And blessings on the falling out
Between two learned men,
Who fight on points which neither knows,
And make it up again!
For when we came where stands an inn
We visit now and then,
There above a pint of beer,
Oh there above a pint of beer,
We made it up again.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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Lamerica
Yeeeaahh
I took a trip down to lamerica
To trade some beads for a pint of gold
I took a trip down to lamerica
To trade some beads for a pint of gold
Lamerica, lamerica, lamerica x2
Cmon people, dont ya look so down
You know the rain mans comin ta town
Change the weather, change your luck
And then hell teach ya how ta...find yourself
Lamerica
Friendly strangers came to town
All the people put them down
But, the women loved their ways
Come again some other day
Like the gentle rain
Like the gentle rain that falls
I took a trip down to lamerica
To trade some beads for a pint of gold
I took a trip down to lamerica
To trade some beads for a pint of gold
Lamerica, lamerica, lamerica
Lamerica, lamerica, lamerica, lamerica
song performed by by Doors
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Plant a kernel of wheat and you reap a pint; plant a pint and you reap a bushel. Always the law works to give you back more than you give.
quote by Anthony Norvell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Universe Is Flat
a pint of real ale
the Angel who'd been holding aloft a screen
beyond the furthest galaxies
or just about as far as man could dream
in the pub car-park
had rolled it up
and stood it against the wall
is that all it is
pinpricks of light
half a pint still in his glass
the Angel let pass
more tiresome questions about unfathomable things
just sat
framed by an arched window
making slight quivery movements with his wings
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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So Close To Love
Too close to love!
Yet it's,
Costly to keep.
And it's,
Too costly to leave it.
So close to love.
I prayed with faith to get it.
Never knowing love would be 'that' close.
Never knowing I would love it most.
Too close to love!
Yet it's,
Costly to keep.
And it's,
Too costly to leave it.
Too close to love!
Yet it's,
Costly to keep.
And it's,
Too costly to leave it.
So close to love.
Never knowing love would be 'that' close.
Never knowing I would love it most.
And I'm,
So close to love.
Never knowing love would be 'that' close.
Never knowing I would love it most.
Too close to love!
Yet it's,
Costly to keep.
And it's,
Too costly to leave it.
So close to love.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Pint of Thoughts
I found a sour pint of milk,
Flashing and smiling like an act of money.
Five hundred tubes of milk, sweeter,
I purchased from the provider of happiness.
They were thoughts, greater thinkers make,
Like those philosophical creams always pondered.
I found the sour pint of milk,
And used it for thinking purposes,
Drinking it whole, for nobody,
For the first time.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Sloppy Drunk
Written by: sonny boy williamson
I would rather be sloppy drunk, than anything I know
I would rather be sloppy drunk, than anything I know
Give me another half a pint, boy, then you will see me go
Now I love that moonshine whiskey now, tell the world I do
Yes I love that moonshine whiskey now, tell the world I do
Now this is the reason why that I drink, Im just trying to get along with you
I said oh, oh, bring me another half a pint
I said mmmhuh, bring me another half a pint
Well I believe Ill get drunk, boy, and then we gonna rock this joint
Well I love that moonshine whiskey now, tell the world I do
Yes I love that moonshine whiskey now, tell the world I do
Now this is the reason why that I drink, Im just trying to get along with you
I said oh, oh bring me another half a pint
I said mmmhuh, bring me another half a pint
Well I believe Ill get drunk, boy, and then we gonna rock this joint
song performed by by Black Crowes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Marie-Rose de Beauharnais 1795
To what shall I liken thee?
An angel in realms above,
a mermaid in Oceans beneath,
a costly stone in the fiercest
contention sought for,
or even a costly diamond in the
earth's elusive epicentre buried?
Your beauty is a turning point
reference in your amazing book
of chronicles.
poem by Joseph C Ogbonna (13 May 2021)
Submitted by Joseph C Ogbonna
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A proud mind and an empty purse gree ill thegither.
New customers are lik razor-toothed Gree worms, they may be succulent, but sometimes they bite.
Spiritually Costly
It has been spiritually costly,
For the status quo to adopt policies...
That has kept racist inequities,
Unchecked.
Without reflecting.
Or introspectively accepting.
And keeping ignorant beliefs,
A segment of their population suppressed...
In an oppressive freedom,
That advances irresponsibility.
And with excuses made to feed...
Upon perceptions that leaves them,
Feeling rejected and in dire need.
To be left convinced...
Staying to pray on their knees,
Saves their souls.
It has been spiritually costly,
For them not to participate...
In the upgrading of a mindset,
That does not compensate...
Those that do not initiate respect.
With a protection done,
Not of benefit to anyone.
It has been spiritually costly,
For them not to insist...
An advantage is received,
By those with desires to relieve themselves
Of fantasies.
And to live life right,
Is to forgive.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Ballad
In a costly palace Youth goes clad in gold;
In a wretched workhouse Age's limbs are cold:
There they sit, the old men by a shivering fire,
Still close and closer cowering, warmth is their desire.
In a costly palace, when the brave gallants dine,
They have store of good venison, with old canary wine,
With singing and music to heighten the cheer;
Coarse bits, with grudging, are the pauper's best fare.
In a costly palace Youth is still carest
By a train of attendants which laugh at my young Lord's jest;
In a wretched workhouse the contrary prevails:
Does Age begin to prattle?-no man heark'neth to his tales.
In a costly palace if the child with a pin
Do but chance to prick a finger, straight the doctor is called in;
In a wretched workhouse men are left to perish
For want of proper cordials, which their old age might cherish.
In a costly palace Youth enjoys his lust;
In a wretched workhouse Age, in corners thrust,
Think upon the former days, when he was well to do,
Had children to stand by him, both friends and kinsmen too.
In a costly palace Youth his temples hides
With a new devised peruke that reaches to his sides;
In a wretched workhouse Age's crown is bare,
With a few thin locks just to fence out the cold air.
In peace, as in war, 'tis our young gallants' pride,
To walk, each one i' the streets, with a rapier by his side,
That none to do them injury may have pretence;
Wretched Age, in poverty, must brook offence.
poem by Charles Lamb
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To My Bartender
Night after night
You serve me
Pint after pint
You greet me with a smile
And I stay for awhile
As lines start to blur
And my words begin to slur
Feeling start to stir
I begin to wonder what you look like under your dress
And how your skin would feel to caress
And if maybe,
Maybe you would dance with me in the yellow moonlight
On this starless night
As clouds drift by and I drift into you
As one we would be
But alas,
I see the bottom of my glass
You ask me if I want another
I can think of none other
I’d like to see night after night
This is to you, my bartender
poem by Andrew Carson
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Down the Gallowgate
I took a stroll one Saturday along to Argyle Street,
To Glasgow Cross, were the Gallowgate & the Trongate meet,
Under the railway bridge and McKinnon’s pub, I would often pass,
Heading up towards to the Barras, towards the Celtic bars.
My first stop of the journey was the famous Saracen Head
Were rebel songs by Glasgow bands, were loudly, proudly played.
I drank my pint plus two more and gladly sang along;
‘Crossmaglen’, ‘Irish Soldier Laddie’, ‘Sean South of Garryowen’.
I squeezed by some thirsty fans, in through the doorway of Bairds Bar
Were a pint of Tennents 80/, I was duly served,
By the jukebox on the wall, I always like to stand
Listening to a ballad, of the martyr, Bobby Sands.
By the time, I reached the entrance of Bar 67
Grey clouds had gathered and threatened to rain,
I stood amongst fans, who hailed from Belfast and from Derry,
Who had travelled to the game, on the overnight ferry.
After finishing my third pint in the Hoops Bar
I contemplated on buying and drinking another jar,
With the game to set to start in less than 20 minutes,
I had a glass of Jamieson’s whiskey & toasted the Glasgow Celtic.
Nov’14th 2005
poem by Daniel McDonagh
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