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Friar Lubin. (From The French)
To gallop off to town post-haste,
So oft, the times I cannot tell;
To do vile deed, nor feel disgraced,--
Friar Lubin will do it well.
But a sober life to lead,
To honor virtue, and pursue it,
That's a pious, Christian deed,--
Friar Lubin can not do it.
To mingle, with a knowing smile,
The goods of others with his own,
And leave you without cross or pile,
Friar Lubin stands alone.
To say 't is yours is all in vain,
If once he lays his finger to it;
For as to giving back again,
Friar Lubin cannot do it.
With flattering words and gentle tone,
To woo and win some guileless maid,
Cunning pander need you none,--
Friar Lubin knows the trade.
Loud preacheth he sobriety,
But as for water, doth eschew it;
Your dog may drink it,--but not he;
Friar Lubin cannot do it.
ENVOY
When an evil deed 's to do
Friar Lubin is stout and true;
Glimmers a ray of goodness through it,
Friar Lubin cannot do it.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Barefooted Friar
I'll give thee, good fellow, a twelvemonth or twain,
To search Europe through, from Byzantium to Spain;
But ne'er shall you find, should you search till you tire,
So happy a man as the Barefooted Friar.
Your knight for his lady pricks forth in career,
And is brought home at even-song bunny'd through with a spear;
I confess him in haste - for his lady desires
No comfort on earth save the Barefooted Friar's.
Your monarch? - Pshaw! many a prince has been known
To barter his robes for our cowl and our gown,
But which of us e'er felt the idle desire
To exchange for a crown the grey hood of a Friar!
The Friar has walk'd out, and where'er he has gone,
The land and its fatness is mark'd for his own;
He can roam where he lists, he can stop when he tires,
For every man's house is the Barefooted Friar's.
He's expected at noon, and no wight till he comes
May profane the great chair, or the porridge of plums
For the best of the cheer, and the seat by the fire,
Is the undenied right of the Barefooted Friar.
He's expected at night, and the pasty's made hot,
They broach the brown ale, and they fill the black pot,
And the goodwife would wish the goodman in the mire,
Ere he lack'd a soft pillow, the Barefooted Friar.
Long flourish the sandal, the cord, and the cope,
The dread of the devil and trust of the Pope;
For to gather life's roses, unscathed by the briar,
Is granted alone to the Barefooted Friar.
poem by Sir Walter Scott
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The Headless Friar of Santo Tomas
In my alma mater, Santo Tomas
We had heard of a mysterious tale
Of a gentle, young Spanish friar who was
A sight that turned anyone very pale.
They said he was a handsome novice
And that time, his superior took fancy.
But the events after that were amiss,
When this friar was lost into mystery.
They say he had been beheaded
By civilians the Spanish called 'Indios'
Though no one believed what was said,
And presumed the circumstances - devious.
Through the years the old building there saw
The appearance of a friar without head,
Frightening students in this age and so
There were masses and prayers for this dead.
It seemed the solution was ineffective-
For soon the appearances became many,
The building had seemed quite conducive
And the ghosts there included the nunnery!
At graduation, we avoided that building
For fear the friar will greet us 'Congrats! '
And had sighed much relief at the leaving
Santo Tomas, and its ghostly 'frats'.
-
Copyright Cynthia Buhain-Baello
February 17,2010
Philippines
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
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Monkshood
Most beautiful of poisons,
border-plant,
wearing your small green cowl,
little friar, little murderer,
aconitine flows
from your roots
to your deep purple flowers,
small deceiver,
centerpiece
for a poisonous
feast.
A few leaves
in the salad,
a few seeds
in the soup,
a thick root
to flavor
the stock-
& it is all over.
Let the lover beware
who buys you
for love philters.
The dose is deceptive.
One pinch leads to passion
but two will surely lead
to death.
Yet you twinkle
little blue bell
at the edge
of the garden,
wearing no warning
about your slim green neck.
Wolfsbane, Friar's cap,
Chariot of Venus-
how many may claim
to be poisonous
head to toe?
That honor-
Friar Death-
belongs to you.
poem by Erica Jong
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Your Gold Dress
You gold dress is whirling around
Like a fan its lifting you high
High above the ground
Never coming down
You gold dress is burning alight
Deafens me with the sound of the sun
Setting fire to the night
And everythings all right
Vibrations coming my way
When youre floating on by
In your gold dress
Vibrations coming to play
When youre filling the sky
With your gold ... dress
Your gold dress is shaming the stars
A thousand melting dali guitars
Make no sound
And dripping slowly down
Your gold dress is all I can see
Blind my eyes but there it will be
Beacon burning bright
And everythings all right
Your gold dress!
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dress Me Up As A Robber
Well you can dress me up as a robber
But I wont be in disguise
Only love is a robber
And he lives within your eyes
Ooh, ooh eee ooh
You can dress me up as a sailor
But Ill never run to sea
As long as your love is available to me
What do I do with a sea of blue?
Ooh, eee ooh
Dressing me up
It doesnt make a difference
What you want to do
Whichever way you look at it
Im still in love with you
If we go on forever
I may never make a change
Dressing me up
And if I dont convince you
You neednt look too far
To see that Im not lying
cos I love you the way you are
And whats the point of changing
When Im happy as I am?
Well you can dress me up as a soldier
But I wouldnt know what for
I was the one that told you he loved you
Dont wanna go to another war
No, no, no
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Those who make their dress a principal part of themselves, will, in general, become of no more value than their dress.
quote by William Hazlitt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Detroit Medley
Devil with the blue dress, blue dress, blue dress
Devil with the blue dress on
Devil with the blue dress, blue dress, blue dress
Devil with the blue dress on
Fe, fe, fi, fi, fo, fo, fum
Look at Molly now, here she come
Wearin' a wig, hat, shades to match
High healed sneakers and an aligator hat
Wearin' her diamons, wearin' a big ring
She got rasors on her fingers and everything
Devil with the blue dress, blue dress, blue dress
Devil with the blue dress on
Devil with the blue dress, blue dress, blue dress
Devil with the blue dress on
Wearin' her perfume, Chanel number five
Got to be the finest looking woman alive
She looks so pretty every time she walks by
The boys are too nervous, even to say hi
Not too skinny, not too fat
She's a real humdinger and I like it like that
Devil with the blue dress, blue dress, blue dress
Devil with the blue dress on
Devil with the blue dress, blue dress, blue dress
Devil with the blue dress on
Good golly Miss Molly, sure like to ball
Good golly Miss Molly, sure like to ball
When you're rockin' and rollin'
Don't you hear your mama call
From the early, early morning to the early, early night
See Miss Molly rockin' in the house of blue light
Good golly Miss Molly, sure like to ball
When you're rockin' and rollin'
Don't you hear your mama call
Well c., c.c. rider
Come on see just what you've done
Well I said c., c.c. rider
Come on see just what you've done
You made me loving you
And now, now, now your man has come
Well now I'm goin' c.c. rider
Goin' to see my baby c.c. rider
And I won't be back c.c. rider
B
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Woman In The Red Dress
The woman in the red dress
How I admire thee
How could one walk with such grace
And such beauty?
The woman in the red dress
Your comforting eyes
The beautiful color
Resembles the sunrise
The woman in the red dress
So young and youthful
A lie never leaves your lips
You are always truthful
The woman in the red dress
Your name, unknown
Your voice speaks with
The most beautiful of tone
The woman in the red dress
Why must you go?
Why don’t you stay
And allow our love to grow?
(May 2010)
poem by Devon McElveen
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Nun in FRiar Small-Bro's Grave... Yard
The midnight clings to dwarfish kings
While robot drones, adorning thrones,
Kneel, bowing to the Old...Guard.
Arrhythmic clocks and wooden box
Grace FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.
The diplohacks, in melting wax,
Are swept along, a thriving throng,
Just dying for a life...guard.
And Nun, alone, has beached their bones
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.
Beyond the streams, a raven screams
At loser fish that swarm and swish;
Nun gently drips her dreams...jarred.
There are no thanks along the banks
Of FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.
While FRiar smiles and prowls the aisles
The hierarch obeys his bark;
His maw is oozing pure...lard.
He tells you who and what to do
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.
Well, FRiar's pets are in a sweat;
He calls the tunes near burning dunes
And taps his cloven feet...charred.
They roast in rooms within the tombs
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.
His myrmidons, they drool and fawn
While chanting verse near FRiar's hearse -
Extolling, wild, the van...guard.
Remote controls promote the trolls
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.
With faces straight, in bent debate,
They compromise their empty lies
With any passing re...tard.
Grey zombies groom white flies in bloom
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.
With ghouls, unlearned, no stone's unturned,
They burnish blame with Nun's proud name
And leave the midnight sky... scarred.
They raise their hats to copy cats
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.
The rumours spread amongst the dead -
Nun marks the place with saving grace,
And phantoms keep their face...marred.
The sinner digs with twisted twigs
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.
In tempests strong, Nun rang the gong
But failed to rise in vacant eyes -
He gouged the one-eyed trump...card.
Nun sets her sail, to no avail
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.
Nun asked him why a bird can't fly.
His mouth, a slut, replied "tut, tut",
With conscience painted white...tarred.
A mushroom mold has taken hold
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.
"To get ahead", his mouth, it said
"Lay bare your breast! I'll do the rest,
I'll bless you in the church...yard".
The golden rules are made for fools
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.
When day's undone, and night's begun,
Nun stirs a cup and turns face up,
A feeling that she's ill...starred.
'Tis such a crime to waste her prime
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.
Nun planned to dine with sparkling wine
But sips instead a bitter red
Served with a crystal glass...shard,
Behind the bog, beneath the fog
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.
Well, minstrels fight beyond the night
And demons wait behind the gate,
While silence chokes the host...bard.
An angel sings with broken wings
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.
A web waits, spun neath dying sun.
And caught ensnared, her flight impaired,
Nun's thoughts are how they'd die...hard.
The puppet people storm the stee-
pled FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.
And voices wail beyond the pale,
"The old taboo - it echoes true -
Nun's bound to have her way...barred".
The schemes are strange and minds deranged
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.
Ms.! Cast your nets, but hedge your bets -
There are no odds, where purple gods
And hungry idle ghosts...sparred.
The morning foams amongst the gnomes
In FRiar Small-Bro's grave...yard.
poem by Terry O'Leary
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Reds
Red dress, red shoes,
A dancing moonlight reflecting from you
A diamond laced necklace, so cheap but expensive
Shining on through,
knowing a charged up essence of you jeweled
Will never escape the memory of you
Red dress, red shoes,
Ripples in the still breeze
Tracing the woods following footsteps made of you
Red dress red shoes,
I remember clearly the day I met you,
The beauty of you, red dress red shoes
Cold day, warm night
That red dress red shoes first entered my sight
Like a demon or devil, delving deeply to my heart, you entered my blood stream
With an evil curderling scream of art,
The ripping then began to start
This lady of red dress and red shoes
Enters the mind
Red dress, red shoes
Trapped in time
its true
poem by Daniel Richards
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All's Well
The red dress hung from a hanger on the door.
A garment that she had never worn before.
Its vibrant rich colour called to her to buy,
But why?
The red dress made her feel very feminine.
Clad in silkiness she’d felt sylph-like and thin.
Would he really like it, would he like her too,
No clue!
The red dress fitted, so clever the design.
No doubt he would think this lady so divine.
So out on her date she went, one heart beating,
First meeting!
The red dress had made all her dreams come true.
Her beau was so charming the whole evening through.
Love was in the air, the dress had worked its spell,
All’s well!
poem by Ernestine Northover
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I Want Home
Take off your dress , put on a new one
Im going to take you out tonight
Put on a dress , make it blue one
Evrythings gonna be all right
I want home again
I want home again
So I can be with you , with you
I want home again
To do the things you do , you do , yeah
Take off your dress , put on a new one
Im going to take you out tonight
Put on a dress, make it a blue one
Evrythings gonna be all right
(break)
I want home
I want home again
So I can be with you, with you
I want home again
To do the things you do , you do yeah
Take off your dress, put on a new one
Im going to take you out tonight
Put on a dress, make it a blue one
Evrythings gonna be all right
I want home
I want home again
So I can be with you .. etc (fadeout)
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little Black Dress
Every woman has one in her closet,
Although some are loathe to confess.
It’s perfect for many occasions.
It is known as the little black dress..
For Women who seek to entice,
or have men they want to impress.,
There is nothing terribly virginal
concerning that little black dress.
Its of Spidery inspiration and,
oh, what a web they can weave.
They use it, some say, ensnaring their prey.
It comes out again when they grieve.
In Wedding, our Ladies wear white.,
A Little black dress when they keen.
They dress in subtler shades of gray
on all the days in between.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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A turn of the key is better than the conscience of a friar.