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Pull The Wool
Dear friend you dont have to lie to me
When I ask you whats going on
Are you doin right or ya doing wrong
If you do right will there not be a lifting up
You misbehave
Sin is crouching by your grave
We can begin to make amends
Fill your sails full with wind
I know youre tossed and tempest turned, but make no mistake
Ill never sleep on you faith
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Now your sin, you must mask it
Your face is all riddled with guilt
Cover you like a blanket, but no warmth will it give
Now Im sittin here and cant believe all the measures youve taken
To cheat, lie and decieve me and all your friends
You got a lot a crazy things in life that you want to do in life, thats all right, but
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Dont you pull the wool over my eyes
Lies in the nest enver ever let the birds get to rest
I can forgive, but I never can forget and lies in the nest never
Ever gave the birds no rest
Bricks built without straw were so weak they crumbled
To mud, just as your excuse with truth left you easily undone
Dont you run away
song performed by by G. Love & Special Sauce
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0271 The Covering
It was not bright enough, not bright enough
to show itself to them, to all; to tempt
the world to bring it gifts; the coloured wool
would say to them look here, look here
it was not strong enough, not strong enough
to meet the heat, the cold; to venture
in the world’s bright gifts; the coloured wool
would warm it in the cold, the cold
it was not safe enough, not safe enough
to shield itself from hurt; to live its life
amid the strong, the weak; the coloured wool
would hide it from the hurt, the hurt
there was not care enough, not care enough;
the wool was knotted; slipped and slid
around its centre there; the coloured wool
is knotted here and here and here
there is not time enough, not time enough
to free the wool; the wool it would cast off
from off its centre there; the coloured wool
that never was the need, the need
there were not words enough, not words enough
to free itself; itself which never had the need
to bind itself in coloured wools; it did not trust
the bright, the strong, the safe, the care, the time.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ballad of the Carpet Bag
Ho! Darkies, don't you hear dose voters cryin'
Pack dat carpet bag!
You must get to de Poll, you must get there flyin';
Pack dat carpet bag!
You must travel by de road, you must travel by de train,
And the things what you've done you will have to explain,
And the things what you've promised, you must promise 'em again.
Pack dat carpet bag!
Hear dem voters callin!
Pack de clean boiled rag.
For there's grass in the west, and the rain am fallin'.
Pack dat carpet bag!
You must pack up a volume of Coghlan's Figures,
Pack dat carpet bag!
And a lot o' little jokes to amuse those niggers.
Pack dat carpet bag!
You must wheedle all de gals with a twinkle of your eye,
You must bob down your head when de eggs begin to fly.
Oh! those eggs what they're saving, and they'll throw 'em by and by.
Pack dat carpet bag!
Hear dem voters callin'!
Pack de clean boiled rag.
For there's grass in the west, and the rain am fallin'.
Pack dat carpet bag!
You must get upon a stump, you must practise speakin',
Pack dat carpet bag!
You must follow Georgie Reid or Alfred Deakin.
Pack dat carpet bag!
You must come to de scratch, or you're bound to fail,
For it ain't any time to be sittin' on de rail,
Or de votes that you'll get -- they won't keep you out o' jail.
Pack dat carpet bag!
Hear dem voters callin'!
Pack de clean boiled rag.
For there's grass in the west, and the rain am fallin'.
Pack dat carpet bag!
And supposin' that you're beat, and you feel like cryin',
Pack dat carpet bag!
You must hustle back to work -- just to keep from dyin'.
Pack dat carpet bag!
You must travel second-class when you travel by de train,
For you haven't got a pass on de end of your chain,
While the other fellow's packing for de great campaign.
Pack dat carpet bag!
Hear dem voters callin'!
Pack de clean boiled rag.
For there's grass in the west, and the rain am fallin'.
Pack dat carpet bag!
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dress of Snow
“Dress of snow”
In a snow covered coffin
Her remains were laid to rest
Her god created a snow blanket
For one of his best
She lived a life so pure
Always thinking of others
Now a carpet of snow lay
For the mother of mothers
Not walking on a carpet of red
Her carpet was just right for her
A carpet of pure driven snow
Just as pure as her
MICMAC
poem by Michael Micmac Mccrory
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Season’s Carpet
I sat on a bench,
and watched the autumn leave fall.
A gentle breeze would shake them loose,
until they drifted to the ground.
Soon there is a carpet of leaves,
red, yellow and brown,
dancing with the wind
inches above the ground.
Another season ending,
as the autumn leave come drift down.
Winter would soon be here,
with another carpet grand.
This one would be a carpet white with snow,
and would stretch right across the land.
Another carpet for another season
would soon be close at hand.
poem by David Harris
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My view is quite simple. When your dog pees on the carpet, you do not give away your dog. You say, This dog is special. I have to teach him not to pee on the carpet. I feel exactly the same way about men. They need to be taught things.
quote by Jacqueline Bisset
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The wool of a thousand sheep in good pasture at the least ought to yield fifty marks a year, the wool of two thousand one hundred marks, and so forth, counting by thousands.
quote by Robert Grosseteste
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Out on the Roofs of Hell
SING us a song in this cynical age,
Sing us a song, my friend,
While the Flesh and the Devil are all the rage
And Death seems the only end.
Give it the clatter of hoof-clipped bones
And a note like a dingo’s yell,
And the long, low sigh when the big mob moans
Out on the roofs of hell.
For Wool, Tallow, and Hides and Co.,
For Wool, Tallow, and Hides—
Over the roofs of hell we go
For Wool, Tallow, and Hides.
We take the route or we take the track,
Hell-doomed by the greed of man,
And we leave our wives in the scrubs out back
To struggle as best they can.
For the credit is short and the flour is low—
And this is the tale we tell—
A check must be made and the stock must go
Over the roofs of hell.
Wake ere the burst of the great white sun
Into the blazing skies,
Our limbs are stiff and the lids are gummed
Over our blighted eyes.
But our souls have perished in dust and heat,
And this is the tale we tell—
Our lives are ever a grim retreat
With Death on the roofs of hell.
They drivel and say how the bushman drinks,
But what do the townsfolk know?
The life is a hell to the man who thinks—
He must drink or his reason go.
Drink and drink, as the bushman knows,
Till he strip to the skin and yell;
Down for a change! for a rest! he goes
Down through the roofs of hell.
For Wool, Tallow, and Hides and Co.,
For Wool, Tallow, and Hides,
Down through the roofs of hell they go
For Wool, Tallow, and Hides.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Wild Hills
Fly me across the wild hills in autumn,
With soft amber shades, brown, russet and brick,
Peach, copper and bronze all blending together,
A carpet of sadness, in this sight so tragic.
Fly me across the wild hills in winter,
With amethyst shades, puce, purple and grey,
Blue, ebony and pewter, all fusing together,
A carpet of starkness, in this scene of decay.
Fly me across the wild hills in springtime,
With pale emerald shades, sage, olive and lime,
White, yellow and silver, all mingling together,
A carpet of lushness, in this new view sublime.
Fly me across the wild hills in summer,
With magenta bright shades, pink, dark mauve and red,
Lemon, orange and gold all in harmony together,
A carpet of richness, in this panorama spread.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Let Me Give You This Starting Point
the starting point, of course, for a start
is
of course, the way we usually say
we agree, i will try,
a point, of course, a very small dot,
and then you push the dot, it rolls like
a mat
or this blanket, you spread it, of course,
it runs,
the point, turns into a carpet of your room
and you like the design spread
before you
some Arabic flowers, Bedouins with scimitars
carrying a princess on his arms,
riding on his warrior horse
under the moon
and the stars
and then, of course, it used
just to be a point
for a start, turning into a blanket,
then a carpet,
and what next, you have taken
the magic of it all,
you are riding now on the carpet
and then you fly
above the vast expanse of the
black skies
above the desert
you have become
the Aladin of my mind
poem by Antonio Liao
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I think a new, different kind of bowling should be 'carpet bowling.' It's just like regular bowling, only the lanes are carpet instead of wood. I don't know why we should do this, but my God, we've got to try something
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Delusions...
the rebel rat looks upon
from the hole in the ceiling
the cat taking its nap
on the white pillow and the
dog fast asleep on
the maple
carpet
on the roof is the rain
pouring heavily delusional
on cats and dogs and
rats alike....
the carpet and the pillow
passive, never in rage....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I can see through almost any scam, especially one perpetrated by the federal government. I can see through it... they can't pull the wool over my eyes, it's absolutely freakin' impossible to pull the wool over my eyes about the government.
quote by Gary Coleman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Magic Carpet
Some days I wish
I had a magic carpet I could jump on
and fly away to a paradise
somewhere beyond the sun.
Where life is peaceful
and no angry words are heard.
Where everyone is a friend
and there is, no enemies to be found.
Oh, to have a magic carpet
to take me anywhere I wish,
like a deserted Island
of golden sands and blue seas.
7 September 2012
poem by David Harris
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The Forbidden Charms of a Nymphet
Life is irreversible-
It will be staged in a new theatre,
In a different way, with different actors.
But the ultimate happiness
Is to fold its magic carpet
And make the ornament of the present
Match the pattern of the past...
Where are you riding, Dolores Haze?
What make is the magic carpet?
poem by Leone Richardson
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Cotton-Wool
Shun the brush and shun the pen,
Shun the ways of clever men,
When they prove that black is white,
Whey they swear that wrong is right,
When they roast the singing stars
Like chestnuts, in between the bars,
_Children, let a wandering fool
Stuff your ears with cotton-wool._
When you see a clever man
Run as quickly as you can.
You must never, never, never
Think that Socrates was clever.
The cleverest thing I ever knew
Now cracks walnuts at the Zoo.
_Children, let a wandering fool
Stuff your ears with cotton-wool._
Homer could not scintillate.
Milton, too, was merely great.
That's a very different matter
From talking like a frantic hatter.
Keats and Shelley had no tricks.
Wordsworth never climbed up sticks.
_Children, let a wandering fool
Stuff your ears with cotton-wool._
Lincoln would create a gloom
In many a London drawing-room;
He'd be silent at their wit,
He would never laugh at it.
When they kissed Salome's toes,
I think he'd snort and blow his nose.
_Children, let a wandering fool
Stuff your ears with cotton-wool._
They'd curse him for a silly clown,
They'd drum him out of London town.
Professor Flunkey, the historian,
Would say he was a dull Victorian.
Matthew, Mark, and Luke and John,
Bless the bed I rest upon.
_Children, let a wandering fool
Stuff your ears with cotton-wool._
Amen.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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I Am The Highway
Pearls that swim the rift of me
Long and weary my road has been
I was lost in the cities
Alone in the hills
No sorrow I feel
For anything I feel yea
I am not your rolling wheels
I am a highway
I am not your carpet ride
I am the sky
Friends and liars
Dont wait for me
Cause Ill get on
All by myself
Put millions of miles
Under my heels
And still too close to you
I feel
I am not your rolling wheels
I am the highway
I am not your carpet ride
I am the sky
I am not your blowing wind
I am the sky here
I am not your automn moon
I am the night
The night
I am not your rolling wheels
I am the highway
I am not your carpet rag
I am the sky
I am not your blowing wind
I am the lightining
I am not your automon
I am the night
song performed by by Audioslave
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Win, Winnable!
I tis the same size and,
It will fit in well;
Win, winnable!
And for the official records;
But, i am now walking on the red carpet.
Holiday on the ice!
Movement lies in anture;
Part, partnership!
On the red carpet,
Like B-Man and G-Woman!
With November blues;
But, drinking the black tea.
Black magic!
Healing,
But, maybe you missed the flight.
G-Man and B-Woman!
You are in love and,
That is why you are behaving that way;
And like the red light seen around you.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Blow Out
In my mind and nailed into my heels.
All the time killing what I feel.
And everything I touch
[All wrapped up in cotton wool]
[All wrapped up and sugar coated]
turns to stone.
And everything I touch
[All wrapped up in cotton wool]
[All wrapped up and sugar coated]
turns stone.
I am fused just in case I blow out.
I am glued just because I crack out.
Everything I touch turns to stone.
Everything I touch
[All wrapped up in cotton wool]
[All wrapped up and sugar coated]
song performed by by Radiohead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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