The friar preached against stealing when he had a pudding in his sleeve.
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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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Valentine Chameleon
Who be my
valentine?
Even a friend'd
do, Tina
said- but how
dare i think
valentine
if C
who i thought be
my friend asked
me not to
contact her
furthermore
pudding china
rang in her
voice still yet
cold pudding
it was- imagine
cold pudding!
aye but i
glutton on
cold pudding -
hot pudding
scorches my
lips but hoo
this china
i knew not
self-changed
into chalk
ice plaster
and sour milk
hi what do
you want from
me actually?
wish no more
contact C.-
chameleon
poem by Michael Witkowski
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The monk preached against stealing, and had the good in his larder.
Pudding Time
You can have a lolly pop
A candy bar a jelly bean.
Ill buy you a rainbow
To hang above your door.
Its pudding time.
Laughter is a sweet
You cant put a price on.
When laughters all gone
Daddy wont buy you more.
Its pudding time.
Its pudding time children.
Money money money
To buy you things.
Daddys gonna buy you a
Diamond ring.
Humpty dumpty sat on a wall
Humpty dumpty had a great fall
All the kings horses and all the kings men
Couldnt put humpty together again.
San francisco bay the
Striped bass are dying.
But youre gonna get
That brand new bike
Oh joy
Its pudding time
Its pudding time children.
song performed by by Primus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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If you're an ant, and you're walking along across the top of a cup of pudding, you probably have no idea that the only thing between you and disaster is the strength of that pudding skin.
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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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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Stealing Rosemary
If you need me
Ill be here
On my knees
On my knees
In the neighbors garden
Where the light is growing long
Stealing rosemary for you, my love
Its the tiny lies I tell
For you to please
You to please
Early in the morning
When the light is growing strong
Stealing rosemary for you, my love
Im stealing rosemary
Flowers crushing on my skin
Tuscan blue
All for you
Caught in rain and running
Home to you
Im coming home
Stealing rosemary for you, my love
Im stealing rosemary for you, my love
Stealing rosemary
song performed by by Bangles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Proof Is In The Pudding
What on Earth is going on with them over there?
'I was approached to give my opinion,
Concerning the world affairs.
And all I said was...
The proof is in the pudding.
The truth in it has been revealed.
And before I knew it,
That's what they began to do.
I'm sure the store owner is thrilled.'
But...
How is the dumping of pudding mixes,
Out into the street...
Connect to your comments made?
'Observe to witness this.
That's all I have to say.
It never ceases to amaze me,
How people re-act to what they hear.'
You don't think they took your figurative comments,
Literally...
Do you?
'Observe to witness this.
That's all I have to say.'
What do you think they are hoping to find?
'Something that reminds them of truth.
Or proof of it.
Who knows? '
I'm not going to say what they are doing is stupid.
'Don't even let that cross your mind.
Just observe it to witness.
The proof is in the pudding.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Conscience Pricks First Time
The maiden stealing makes me shy.
Stealing tenth time from home,
I don’t feel that I am stealing.
Conscience pricks me the first time.
(17.03.2011)
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Two Faced Preacher
Writer, hank williams
(e) let me tell you bout a preacher,
With a cane and a long tailed coat, (e7)
Let me (a) tell you bout a preacher,
With a cane and a long tailed (e) coat,
But he (b7) does all his preachin,
With his eyes on the women - (e) folk.
Chorus
(e) send him back, send him back, where he (e7) was be - (a) fore,
Hes a (b7) two-faced man, and we dont want him here no (e) more.
Well he preached about gamblin, said its a sin and its a shame,
Yes he preached about gamblin, said its a sin and its a shame,
But when I met him in a alley, he won my watch and chain.
Repeat chorus
Well he preached about liquor, said leave the stuff alone,
Yes he preached about liquor, said leave the stuff alone,
But then I saw a deacon, totin the preacher home.
Repeat chorus
Well he preached about wedlock, the finest thing in life,
Yes he preached about wedlock, the finest thing in life,
But then I saw the preacher, kissin brother jacksons wife.
Repeat chorus
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Put It On The Shelf
Just take that,
Pudding and put in on the shelf.
Just take that,
Pudding and put in on the shelf.
Just take that,
Pudding and put in on the shelf.
Right now we are tightening up,
Loosen belts!
Just take that,
Out of sight of those uptight.
Just take that,
Perhaps for tomorrow night...
Just take that,
Maybe we will celebrate...
With the eating of icecream,
And with cake!
Just take that,
Pudding and put in on the shelf.
Just take that,
Pudding and put in on the shelf.
Just take that,
Pudding and put in on the shelf.
Right now we are tightening up,
Loosen belts!
Just take that,
With a vision of a peace.
Just take that,
With a vision of a peace.
Just take that,
With a vision of a peace.
A peace that will come and will never leave!
Just take that,
Out of sight of those uptight.
Just take that,
Perhaps for tomorrow night...
Just take that,
Maybe we will celebrate...
With the eating of icecream,
And with cake!
Just take that,
With a vision of a peace.
Just take that,
With a vision of a peace.
Just take that,
With a vision of a peace.
A peace that will come and will never leave!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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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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Monks have both a capacious sleeve and a tight sleeve.
Its Christmas time
Its almost Christmas
People buying plenty of presents
People preparing puddings and pork
The countdown is on
Corks are sealed on Christmas drinks
Many parents wrapping presents
The Choir singing Christmas Carols
Countdown to corks popping Christmas pudding and people cracking up
Perfect plump pudding made to perfection coming on the plate
Excited playful children
Ready for the crazy crackers
Christmas carols flowing through our cheerful ears
There's pork, there's plump pudding, there's presents, pancakes and Christmas joy in our souls
poem by Alyssia Innocent
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Time crimes
She drove as I fiddled with the radio.
I was stealing looks at her,
young, fresh, clean.
and oh my god her cleavage was hypnotizing.
Her eyes had the same sorrow as mine.
The wounded,
they know each other when they see each other
instinctively.
Like 2 sick junkies passing each other on the street.
They can just TELL.
You can see the emptiness where something or someone use to be.
Spending time with her was like stealing from death.
It was time taken out of time.
She, young and beautiful,
Once she held my corpse and said
'We are the same, you and I'.
I laughed,
A harsh,
mean, laugh that said
'You're right, we are. But that's none of your business'.
She sat on the grass
legs out stretched,
I would lie my head on her thighs.
She looked down at me and sweetly said
'Do you love me a little? '
A line from a film I had intrduced her to.
I answered with:
'What time is it? '
It was all time out of time.
Time stolen from the jaws of death
The death that nibbles away the hours,
the minutes,
the seconds of our lives so slowly we rarely even notice.
Laying there,
in the grass,
in the park,
we were co-conspiritors
stealing time from time
stealing it from death itself.
Stealing time from each other.
Such a fine line,
it occurs to me as I write this
between 'stealing' and 'wasting' sometimes.
-----30----------
poem by Brevet Wilson
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Christ himself, who preached the life of love, was yet as lonely as any man that ever lived. Yet I could not say that he was mistaken because he preached the life of love and fellowship, and lived and died in loneliness; nor would I dare assert his way was wrong because a billion men have since professed his way and never followed it.
quote by Thomas Wolfe
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A ball had passed between my body and the right arm which supported him, cutting through the sleeve and passing through his chest from shoulder to shoulder. There was no more to be done for him and I left him to his rest. I have never mended that hole in my sleeve.
quote by Clara Barton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Clash with Books
I clash with books, with words of enormous depth,
The meaning on the page is that of beauty.
I see fire in the whole of literature, the whole poison,
When information has a path, forming beauty.
My books are written with zeal, full of fervour,
Entirely exact, full of splendour, and rich.
This sea of bringing in has many problems
I need to crash into, into a lovely pudding.
The pudding is perfect as a sight or image,
The picture on the wall of my house.
poem by Naveed Akram
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No people is wholly civilized where a distinction is drawn between stealing an office and stealing a purse.
quote by Theodore Roosevelt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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