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A hundred tailors, a hundred millers, and a hundred weavers make three hundred thieves.
Millers, tailors, and weavers are not hanged, or the trade would soon be extinct.
Where there are women there is talk, where there are geese there is keck, where there are tailors there are crabs, where there are carpenters, there are chips.
Beggars of acceptance
One tailors one’s talks, designs one’s clothes,
Sets one’s faith, trains ones mind and mould oneself,
Each to a targeted audience
And thus all are beggars of acceptance.
17.10.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A hundred bakers, a hundred millers, and a hundred tailors are three hundred thieves.
A hundred tailors, a hundred millers, and a hundred weavers, are three hundred thieves.
The lady is not at fault.
Dear lady, how enticing you are at first sight!
The milkman comes to you daily
The vendors, the technicians, the tailors
And such sorts visit you frequently.
They are more fortunate to get stirred.
You have no desire for us,
That does not mitigate our desire for you.
How enticing you are and yet how
nonchalant!
25.08.2002
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gods May Speak
Gods may speak against the other tailors,
Ions and atoms, whatever, are stormy.
How does one suddenly grow like clothing?
The areas concentrate with fluid of musk
To show an angry course of behaviour.
My sea of blood and tissue is too large,
They say the burden of the water is itself too much in magnitude.
Gods may sell a bargain to the infinity.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Something Finally Believed
Why are those now so concerned,
About a budget?
When then they expressed no limits seen.
While feeding their greed that became obscene?
Why are they concerned,
About jobs they consciously outsourced...
To leave those here incapable of earning.
And they wish to convince,
Everything done they do makes sense?
To who?
Their tailors paid to keep them in expensive suits?
Well...
Maybe if they defined themselves as 'mindless',
It would be something done admitted.
And something finally believed,
Many would agree has validity and substance.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Is it possible?
When I see you all together here babe,
My heart never skipped a beat, tap,
One after another to feel the texture,
Silky, smooth, rough and velvety,
Gorgeous, you all my property,
Flowers bloomed for me to smell.
Checkered are you, later we drill,
Sizes are only three, strip the extras,
Laying you all on the table,
Spread my hands of fingers noble,
Hurting you is not my intention,
Here come the pieces of perfection,
Stay still for few more moments,
Let me join the bodies that lament,
Necks are folded and pressed,
Colored buttons make you finished,
You are individually wonderful,
When the girls pick to wear you,
You are the most beautiful,
Blouses from the tailors to the shops,
Uniformly same and no mishap,
When the women wear and walk,
The blouses acquire different shape.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Twice My Fun
Twice my fun has begun,
Open the door to some ghost,
Once a middle name is learnt,
Join the brigade of the Sun.
Join the messenger of the gun,
He is called gunner over-burnt,
Gunman of the supper-sonnet,
Real person, real tonne.
Because I have many colours,
Something blue, and already new,
Like red and green, of the leaf.
Going the way so tailors,
Like or love a station of you,
Often over you so many creators.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Once Below A Time
I
Once below a time,
When my pinned-around-the-spirit
Cut-to-measure flesh bit,
Suit for a serial sum
On the first of each hardship,
My paid-for slaved-for own too late
In love torn breeches and blistered jacket
On the snapping rims of the ashpit,
In grottoes I worked with birds,
Spiked with a mastiff collar,
Tasselled in cellar and snipping shop
Or decked on a cloud swallower,
Then swift from a bursting sea with bottlecork boats
And out-of-perspective sailors,
In common clay clothes disguised as scales,
As a he-god's paddling water skirts,
I astounded the sitting tailors,
I set back the clock faced tailors,
Then, bushily swanked in bear wig and tails,
Hopping hot leaved and feathered
From the kangaroo foot of the earth,
From the chill, silent centre
Trailing the frost bitten cloth,
Up through the lubber crust of Wales
I rocketed to astonish
The flashing needle rock of squatters,
The criers of Shabby and Shorten,
The famous stitch droppers.
II
My silly suit, hardly yet suffered for,
Around some coffin carrying
Birdman or told ghost I hung.
And the owl hood, the heel hider,
Claw fold and hole for the rotten
Head, deceived, I believed, my maker,
The cloud perched tailors' master with nerves for cotton.
On the old seas from stories, thrashing my wings,
Combing with antlers, Columbus on fire,
I was pierced by the idol tailor's eyes,
Glared through shark mask and navigating head,
Cold Nansen's beak on a boat full of gongs,
To the boy of common thread,
The bright pretender, the ridiculous sea dandy
With dry flesh and earth for adorning and bed.
It was sweet to drown in the readymade handy water
With my cherry capped dangler green as seaweed
Summoning a child's voice from a webfoot stone,
Never never oh never to regret the bugle I wore
On my cleaving arm as I blasted in a wave.
Now shown and mostly bare I would lie down,
Lie down, lie down and live
As quiet as a bone.
poem by Dylan Thomas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Pray Ole
Lets say goodbye till tomorrow
With a word sincere
How do you make it through the night
I hope to God youre still here
I pray ole
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through
I pray
I pray
Its a God eat God world
Its a dogs tomorrow
And the song and wind
Brings nothing but sorrow
Oh ho oh ho, oh ho oh ho, oh ho oh ho
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through, can you make it
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through, can you make it
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The three tailors
I shall tell you in rhyme how, once on a time,
Three tailors tramped up to the inn Ingleheim,
On the Rhine, lovely Rhine;
They were broke, but the worst of it all, they were curst
With that malady common to tailors--a thirst
For wine, lots of wine.
"Sweet host," quoth the three, "we're hard up as can be,
Yet skilled in the practice of cunning are we,
On the Rhine, genial Rhine;
And we pledge you we will impart you that skill
Right quickly and fully, providing you'll fill
Us with wine, cooling wine."
But that host shook his head, and he warily said:
"Though cunning be good, we take money instead,
On the Rhine, thrifty Rhine;
If ye fancy ye may without pelf have your way
You'll find that there's both host and the devil to pay
For your wine, costly wine."
Then the first knavish wight took his needle so bright
And threaded its eye with a wee ray of light
From the Rhine, sunny Rhine;
And, in such a deft way, patched a mirror that day
That where it was mended no expert could say--
Done so fine 't was for wine.
The second thereat spied a poor little gnat
Go toiling along on his nose broad and flat
Towards the Rhine, pleasant Rhine;
"Aha, tiny friend, I should hate to offend,
But your stockings need darning"--which same did he mend,
All for wine, soothing wine.
And next there occurred what you'll deem quite absurd--
His needle a space in the wall thrust the third,
By the Rhine, wondrous Rhine;
And then all so spry, he leapt through the eye
Of that thin cambric needle--nay, think you I'd lie
About wine--not for wine.
The landlord allowed (with a smile) he was proud
To do the fair thing by that talented crowd
On the Rhine, generous Rhine.
So a thimble filled he as full as could be--
"Drink long and drink hearty, my jolly friends three,
Of my wine, filling wine."
poem by Eugene Field
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Pray, Ol
Let's say goodbye till tomorrow
With a word sincere
How do you make it through the night
I hope to God you're still here
I pray Ole
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through
I pray
I pray
It's a God eat God world
It's a dog's tomorrow
And the song and wind
Brings nothing but sorrow
Oh ho oh ho, oh ho oh ho, oh ho oh ho
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through, can you make it
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through
Can you make, can you make it through, can you make it
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
Ba ba, ba ba ba ba ba ba ba ba
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Goats and Bread
Goats and bread are great additions to the menu,
For they attract the population and all they do is argue,
For the hills are attracted to joys of tailors
Who want their climbing done, as declarers.
For the hill tallest receives reward
From the clothed men who are to discard.
I release a mania on this world of hills
And receive a mountain of ordeal that chills.
Goats and bread are to be in the restaurant
Served with more wealth to the exuberant.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Country Girl
The Country Girl reflects at last –
And well in her young days –
For she is learning very fast,
The worth of City ways.
The emptiness of Tailors men
The women’s paltry strife
The Sham of ‘Smart Society’
Compared with Country Life.
The novelty wore off at length,
And flattered at the Ball,
She things of one who has the strength
And brains above them all.
She things of men who Live and Work
For sweetheart and for wife.
And though it be as far as Bourke’
Are true to Country Life
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Big Speech
Sentences are big, small as well,
Their tailors stupidly work
And the tools split when words are built.
The tools are a spirit, a well-being, a promise,
The tools benefit us in soothing ways.
The sentences become a speech for the royal kings,
They think overall that they own them,
Giving work and problems, saving us, living with danger.
The intelligence of a wish is that of writing
And poetry.
Words spell what we know,
They always now keep magic
That the king sows deep in the land.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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All I Need Is The Girl
Once my clothes where shabby
Tailors called me cabby
So I took a vow
Said this bum'll be Beau Brummell
Now I'm smooth and snappy
Now my tailor's happy
I'm the cat's meow
My wardrobe is a-wow
Paris silk, Harris tweed
There's only one thing I need
Got my tweed pressed
Got my best vest
All I need now is the girl
Got my striped tie
Got my hopes high
Got the time and the place and I got rhythm
Now all I need is the girl to go with 'em
If she'll just appear
We'll take this big town for a whirl
And if she'll say
"My darling, I'm yours," I'll throw away
My striped tie and my best pressed tweed
All I need now is the girl
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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