Related quotes
Beaten To The Punch
You say that you can and then you run to get your mummy
And youre almost beaten to the punch
Looking for the man who sold you the dummy
And youre almost beaten to the punch
Laughing at the older guys who say its just as well
Saved by the wedding bell
Almost beaten to the punch
Youre looking for somebody new that you can knock around
You are almost beaten to the punch
If youve got a head for figures then youd better count me out
You were almost beaten to the punch
You pulled the piece but you soon called it love
You go hand in glove
Almost beaten to the punch
Your body speaks much louder than your voice
You let it do the talking so I dont have any choice
Now you find the younger guys are putting up resistance
And youre almost beaten to the punch
You better get out now because youll never go the distance
And youre almost beaten to the punch
Youll find a girl and youll promise her anything
Even a wedding ring
Almost beaten to the punch
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Woman, Made a Punching Bag of Man
A woman, beaten by the cruel hands of her man
Beaten as she raises her voice to challenge his words
Beaten as she goes out to celebrate her freedom
Beaten as she refuses to do what he orders and wants.
And the battered woman accepts her tragic lot
Bearing the marks of violence on her own body
Longing for golden days of love and romance
Lamenting on her destiny as punching bag of man.
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To mourn a mischief that is past and gone Is the next way to draw new mischief on.
quote by William Shakespeare
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
Vote! | Copy!
Beaten Into Sweetness
Beaten into sweetness.
Like grapes to produce,
A fine wine sipped.
Beaten into sweetness.
To allure and maintain,
A sizable profit held in a firm fist.
And every whiff of it sniffed,
Satisfied to the very last drop.
Beaten into sweetness.
Although a sadness carried,
Inside would not stop!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
It has been said that idleness is the parent of mischief, which is very true; but mischief itself is merely an attempt to escape from the dreary vacuum of idleness.
quote by George Borrow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Waltz Into Mischief
The latest and greatest
Amazing arrival
No conscience no shame
For the game of survival
Theives and villians
And fraudulent swindlers
Gathered in tribute
With masks of respect
A big hand hooray
Oh come all ye trustful
Let the band play
A waltz into mischief
The chairman is speaking
Instructs the apprentice
All faces are turned
To the wizard of sentence
Years of experience
Fall from his tongue
Like teardops to puddles
They ripple among
A big hand hooray
Oh come all ye trustful
Let the band play
A waltz into mischief
This king of the cowboys
Holds fast his deception
Rides their misgivings
To rapturous reception
Calls on the crowd
Of white pointed heads
To check under carpets
(while were in our beds? )
A big hand hooray
Oh come all ye trustful
Let the band play
A waltz into mischief
A big hand hooray
Oh come all ye trustful
Let the band play
A waltz into mischief
A big hand hooray
Oh come all ye trustful
Let the band play
A waltz into mischief
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Who’ll Wear the Beaten Colours?
Who’ll wear the beaten colours—and cheer the beaten men?
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, till our time comes again?
Where sullen crowds are densest, and fickle as the sea,
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, and wear them home with me?
We closed the bars and gambling dens and voted straight and clean,
Our women walked while motor cars were whirling round the scene,
The Potts Point Vote was one for Greed and Ease and Luxury
With all to hold, and coward gold, and beaten folk are we.
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, with hands and pockets clean?
(I wore the beaten colours since I was seventeen)
I wore them up, and wore them down, Outback and across the sea—
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, and wear them home with me?
We wore them back from Ladysmith to where the peace was signed,
And wore them through the London streets where Jingoes howled behind.
We wore them to the Queen’s Hall, while England yelled “Pro-Boers!”
And sat them over victory while London banged the doors.1
We wore them from Port Arthur round till all sunk in the sea—
(Who’ll wear the white man’s colours, and wear them home with me?)
I’ve worn them through with gentlemen, with work-slaves and alone—
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, boys, and wear them on his own?
There’s one would look with startled eyes and shrink while I caressed,
Came I not with the colours of the conquered on my breast.
And twenty thousand Bushmen would stand with hands behind
And scorn in all their faces for the coward of his kind.
Who’ll wear the beaten colours and raise the voice they drowned—
It may be when we march again, they’ll bear some other sound—
Who’ll pin the beaten colours on and drive the beaten pen—
It may be other steel and ink when we march out again.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mischief & Control
There is a fire within all of us
There is a river flowing in your soul
To put out the fire when it gets out of control
There is a stranger in all of us
That we try to get to know
There is a wise woman in there, too
She's trying to run the show
I can not escape the constant equipoise
In between the mischief and control
Swinging from the pendulum of desires
In between the mischief and control
There is a painter in all of us
She knows exactly which brush to choose
She knows exactly where to make a stroke
But there's an army of voices
She might have to get through
There is a writer in all of us, yeah
He knows what to say and he knows when it's done
But then there's this twenty-foot blank page
You gotta fill, darling
Or you think your life has no meaning
I can not escape the constant equipoise
In between the mischief and control
Swinging from the pendulum of desires
In between the mischief and control
Excuses piling up like junkyards
We never want to sort through
Efficiently we hide our needs
And all along a voice is calling out please, please
'cause i'm so hungry and i'm so tired
I feel so lonely, i feel so wired
I need my angel...where is my angel
song performed by by Vonda Shepard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Mischief Control
There is a fire within all of us
There is a river flowing in your soul
To put out the fire when it gets out of control
There is a stranger in all of us
That we try to get to know
There is a wise woman in there, too
Shes trying to run the show
I can not escape the constant equipoise
In between the mischief and control
Swinging from the pendulum of desires
In between the mischief and control
There is a painter in all of us
She knows exactly which brush to choose
She knows exactly where to make a stroke
But theres an army of voices
She might have to get through
There is a writer in all of us, yeah
He knows what to say and he knows when its done
But then theres this twenty-foot blank page
You gotta fill, darling
Or you think your life has no meaning
I can not escape the constant equipoise
In between the mischief and control
Swinging from the pendulum of desires
In between the mischief and control
Excuses piling up like junkyards
We never want to sort through
Efficiently we hide our needs
And all along a voice is calling out please, please
cause Im so hungry and Im so tired
I feel so lonely, I feel so wired
I need my angel...where is my angel
song performed by by Vonda Shepard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Feelings Of A Fiancee
A fiancee, longing for her lover
who had gone to a distant place to earn,
To come back and embrace her, feels as follows:
While I see him again
After longing for him to come to me,
I don't find his faults and mischief;
While I don't see him for some time,
I don't see nothing but his faults
And mischief!
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
We are beaten, we will make no bones about it; but we are not too badly beaten still to fight.
quote by James Larkin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A chief is a man who assumes responsibility. He says ""I was beaten,"" he does not say ""My men were beaten"".
quote by Antoine de Saint-Exupery
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
He who is not beaten by the sun or the rain, will eventually be beaten by the hunger.
One may as well be well beaten as badly beaten.
So Tired
Scent on a postcard
A memory left behind
Warm hand, cool look but no time...
Winsome lose some
Hung up on old flame
My heart depends on fire
So who am I to make demands on love?
...relax and walk on by
So tired
So tired
Beaten like a drum
So tired
Living life alone
So tired
Beaten like a drum
Kiss the right faces
And tap the party line
Short measure of cheap skate pleasure
Easier said than done
Sip the night water
But not too drunk to say
Well just who am I to ever hope to love you?
Id turn and shy away
So tired
So tired
Beaten like a drum
So tired
Living life alone
So tired
Beaten like a drum
Once upon a bed
You said you loved me
Once upon a bed
Those eyes of blue
Now what am I supposed to do?
So tired -
So tired
Beaten like a drum
So tired
Live my life alone, so alone
Once upon a bed
You said you loved me
Once upon a bed
Those eyes of blue
And what am I to rhyme with you?
Now I lie alone and so defenceless
Dream of love in sunny daze with you
So tired...
song performed by by Haircut 100
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Nunc Dimmitus For Friend Chandra
The deep notes of the organ sound,
The choirboys look slyly round
to see what mischief they can find.
They look like angels but I find.
They’re really demons in disguise
a choirmaster must be wise.
They seem to have endless supplies
of mischief hid behind their eyes.
But I forgive them when they sing.
The treble voices echoing
high in the roofspace where they bring
pleasure to all those listening.
I love and hate them equally.
But now and then I can still see.
They’re not so different from me,
When I recall I used to be
a naughty little choirboy.
Full of tricks meant to annoy.
The mischief all small boys enjoy.
This knowledge which I now employ.
To keep my choirboys in line
Ensuring that they sound divine.
They do respond to discipline
just as I did when I was nine.
Each one posses a fine voice
sufficient reason to rejoice
I don’t regret I made the choice
to teach cathedral choirboys.
06/07/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Having been to Europe and working and traveling there, the restaurants my wife and I remember were always off the beaten trail restaurants. So I tried to seek a little 'off the beaten trail,' but cool area.
quote by Todd English
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Remember I told you 2
What the heck is it with you?
Why cant you see things like I do?
I see it all so very clear.
Its all clearer by the day.
Why cant you just let me go?
I cant live my life any more.
All I can do is think of my new forfound end.
Please just let me go now
Im sick and tired of fighting.
The past has beaten me
But then it had beaten me from the start.
So please please let me go
I ve nothing left to give
I cant forgive.
So when you find me cold and stiff.
Just remember I told you
I told you Id do it
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Wildfire
The border of this fire crackled and snapped.
It's undulating movement that moved
All over the earth's body.
It's leaping orange and red intertwined,
This fire in all it's glory made me scream.
It made me heat up, this fire of old and fire of new.
This fire's constant singing made me wonder how it had a voice.
But it did, sometimes lower and sometimes higher, and then
So high.
This fire was nature's mischief maker and he made mischief.
Of all the leaves, branches and trees around him,
And he made mischief on me.
One day I disclosed to all my friends,
This fire was not a true fire.
It didn't burn down anything,
But it so excited me that it did burn my heart.
It excited my whole body and burned through my soul.
This fire just lit up my life.
But this wildfire was no ordinary fire.
This wildfire was my lover.
For this there was no other.
For his mother had named my lover Wildfire.
Watching his antics and speeding around on the playground,
I'll always hold Wildfire tightly in my arms because he's so hot.
poem by Vera Sidhwa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!