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A Plea
Writers of baseball, attention!
When you're again on the job-
When, in your rage for invention,
You with the language play hob-
Most of your dope we will pardon,
Though of the moth ball it smack;
But-cut out the 'sinister garden,'
Chop the 'initial sack.'
Rake poor old Roget's 'Thesaurus'
For phrases fantastic and queer;
And though on occasions you bore us,
We will refrain from a sneer.
We will endeavour to harden
Ourselves to the rest of your clack,
If you'll cut out the 'sinister garden'
And chop the 'initial sack.'
Singers of words that are scrambled,
Say, if you will, that he 'died,'
Write, if you must, that he 'ambled'-
We shall be last to deride.
But us to the Forest of Arden,
Along with the misanthrope Jaques,
If you cling to the 'sinister garden'
And stick to 'initial sack.'
Speak of the 'sphere's aberration,'
Mention the 'leathery globe,'
Say he got 'free transportation'-
Though that try the patience of Job.
But if you're wise you'll discard en-
Cumbrances such as we thwack-
Especially 'sinister garden'
And the 'initial sack.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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An empty sack can't stand up; a full sack cannot bend.
Virgin Islander proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm gonna give them the advice that I always took myself, that it's better to get to know somebody before you jump into the sack with them. Because then if you jump into the sack and fall in love, and you liked them already, you're home free.
quote by Pia Zadora
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sack Owoe
Always screaming cause Im suffering so
Lifes done never such a terrible blow
Thing Im in is just a sack owoe
Misery company and Im feeling low
Trouble follows me wherever I go
Thing Im in is just a sack owoe
Trouble one thing I understand
Seems to be a part of me
Misery and me go hand in hand
Never ever let me be
Sure as Im born one thing I know
Thing Im in is just a sack owoe
Repeat first and second verse
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Consumed by love
Thanks to the hundreds of you who daily
are so eager to enhance my life
and that of my partner
with pills and extensions
giving night-long passion -
now, do you have a cure
for arriving at the office in the morning
exhausted?
It's a tale of two sacks -
hit the sack, or get the sack...
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Sack Full Of Stones
(Travis Tritt/Marty Stuart)
I used to be the kind of guy
I could laugh as well as cry
With a heart feather-soft and summer-warm
Since you've left me I've been faced
With emptiness that's been replaced
With a heart that's hard and heavy as a sack full of stones
I never thought I'd ever see
The man my mirror is showing me
Lord I must have aged ten years
Since you've been gone
The longest mile you'll ever crawl
Is the one after you fall
Draggin' around a heart that's heavy as a sack full of stones
With the world upon my shoulders
And my feelings on my sleeve
Every time I close my eyes at night
All I do is watch you leave
But by far the biggest curse of being left alone
Is draggin' around a heart that's heavy as a sack full of stones
Well I tried turning to a bottle
But the bottle turned on me
I've tried everything
But nothing sets your memory free
I'm serving life here in a prison
That we once called a home
With a heart that's cold and heavy as a sack full of stones
With the world upon my shoulders
And my feelings on my sleeve
Every time I close my eyes at night
All I do is watch you leave
But by far the biggest curse of being left alone
Is draggin' around a heart that's heavy as a sack full of stones
Yes by far the biggest curse of being left alone
Is draggin' around a heart that's heavy as a sack full of stones
song performed by by Travis Tritt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Falstaff's Lament Over Prince Hal Become Henry V
One that I cherished,
Yea, loved as a son -
Up early, up late with,
My promising one:
No use in good nurture,
None, lads, none!
Here on this settle
He wore the true crown,
King of good fellows,
And Fat Jack was one -
Now, Beadle of England
In formal array -
Best fellow alive
On a throne flung away!
Companions and cronies
Keep fast and lament; -
Come, drawer, more sack here
To drown discontent;
For now intuitions
Shall wither to codes,
Pragmatized morals
Shall libel the gods.
One I instructed,
Yea, talked to -alone:
Precept -example
Clean away thrown!
Sorrow makes thirsty:
Sack, drawer, more sack! -
One that I prayed for,
I, Honest Jack!
To bring down these grey hairs -
To cut his old pal!
But, I'll be magnanimous -
Here's to thee Hal!
poem by Herman Melville
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Ton, Torn, Thorn!
This ton of the cocoa sack is now torn at the side because,
There is a thorn in the sack;
However, it is just a minute for the minuet! !
Because, you are on the road to nowhere.
I am in the dark and very hopeful,
For the light will surely come to me one day;
Because, i am interested in the muse of love.
Ton, torn, thorn!
And like breaking rthe spell on you;
Because, the condom is no defence to you my brother! !
And, it is leading you to hell than closer to heaven.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Sackcloth
I made sackcloth my garment once, by cutting
arm and neck holes into a burlap bag.
A croker sack they called it. Sackdragger
they called the man who dragged a croker sack
between the cotton rows to pick. He dragged
a gunnysack behind him in the ditch
collecting empties. Him they chose
the Likeliest to Sack Seed in the feed store,
or to suck seed. He was your daddy. He sacked
groceries part-time, and they jeered:
you sorry sack of shit. Sackcloth,
which Job sewed upon his skin, was goat hair.
God who clothed the heavens with such blackness
said, I make sackcloth their covering.
Isaiah understood. God had him speak a word
in season to the weary. Speak, Isaiah, now, to me.
Before the stars like green figs in a windstorm
drop, the sun is black as sackcloth, and the moon
becomes as blood. My soul is weary. Speak,
Isaiah. Sing. I was a scholar as a boy:
I cut the neck and arm holes into the burlap,
pulled it on, and cinched it with a hank of rope:
what I have done from then till now is itch.
poem by Brooks Haxton
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Words
So many words are there in our speech,
they can be very poor, they can be rich.
No one can be indifferent to their meaning
as they are alive and express your feeling.
Spoken word is not just a sound,
it can’t be found on the ground,
it’s always in your head, sometimes in your soul.
When it is spoken it becomes a parole.
A word is an energy of your spirit,
it was presented to you by God, it’s His merit.
A word is a tool of communication,
A word is a source of information.
“A word spoken is past recalling”.
Strolling all around it can’t be found,
returned back and kept in your sack.
“The pen is mightier than the sword”,
that was told about a written word.
Words, words, words………………
They are love and seduction,
each one with a certain function.
They are wonders of sin
and songs of education.
They are salvation, temptation, affectation…
They can be an executioner,
they can be the owner of a whiner.
A word can be a treatment,
It helps when you are ill.
A kind word is better than a pill.
But…there are words that just kill.
They sound like a horrible drill.
Words, words, words…………
They are triumph and defeat,
They can be pleasant and sweet.
At the end of my message
I would like everyone to acknowledge:
Each word has a strength
and it doesn’t depend on its length.
So, think before saying a word,
as it is quite well heard even by walls,
it touches someone’s soul,
it shouldn’t be a wicked foul.
“Better the foot to slip than the tongue”.
And… there is no exception for the young.
Larisa R (Odessa, Ukraine)
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Why Does It Make You Weep
Take what you value,
And put it in a sack.
Leave it where it's at,
And don't look back.
Why does it make you weep?
When you made it were you sleeping?
Take what you value,
And put it in a sack.
Leave it where it's at,
And don't look back.
Look around and see what's on the streets.
That reality you made to keep.
Why does it make you weep?
When you made it were you sleeping?
Look around and see what's on the streets.
That reality you made to keep.
Why does it make you weep?
When you made it were you sleeping?
Take what you value,
And put it in a sack.
Leave it where it's at,
And don't look back.
Why does it make you weep?
When you made it were you sleeping?
Take what you value,
And put it in a sack.
Leave it where it's at,
And don't look back.
Look around and see what's on the streets.
That reality you made to keep.
Why does it make you weep?
When you made it were you sleeping?
Take what you value,
And put it in a sack.
Leave it where it's at,
And don't look back.
Unstrap and remove those shackles.
It's an addiction you've got to detach...
And avoid interaction.
And avoid interaction.
And avoid interaction.
And avoid interaction.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Apache Rose Peacock
Sittin' on a sack of beans
Sittin' down in New Orleans
You wouldn't believe what I've seen
Sitting on that sack of beans
Lunatics on pogo sticks
Another southern fried freak on a crucifix
Hicks don't mix with politics
People on the street just kickin' to the licks
Yes my favorite place to be
Is not a land called Honah Lee (MI.)
Mentally or physically
I wanna be in New Orleans
Oh good brother just when I thought
That I had seen it all
My eyes popped out
song performed by by Red Hot Chili Peppers from Blood Sugar Sex Magik
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Words
Words on this paper
Words in my head
Words while I'm texting
Computing
Unsaid
Words between people
Words on the phone
Words upon words
Even when I'm alone
Words from the Bible
I question
Don't mesh
Words from pornography
Making them flesh
Words with flat letters
Written in black
Good words and bad words
You cannot take back
Words that are shallow
Words that are deep
When they're too many
They put me to sleep
Words that I'm writing
And rhyming you read
Whatever I'm saying
There's prolly no need
Words from the alphabet
Words that can't be
When you are blind
And it's Braile that you see
Words that are worthless
And said on the fly
My words or your words
Are most likely lies
Words in a sentence
Wise words or fair
The only words earnest
Are those said in prayer
Written by Sara Fielder © 2011
poem by Sara Fielder
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Lip Service
Words inspire and words destroy
Words conspire and words annoy
Words spread freedom and words detain
Words believe them in sound refrain
Words of passion in words misleading
Words without action are words without meaning
poem by P.R. Prosper
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What the Ghost of the Gambler Said
Where now the huts are empty,
Where never a camp-fire glows,
In an abandoned cañon,
A Gambler's Ghost arose.
He muttered there, "The moon's a sack
Of dust." His voice rose thin:
"I wish I knew the miner-man.
I'd play, and play to win.
In every game in Cripple-creek
Of old, when stakes were high,
I held my own. Now I would play
For that sack in the sky.
The sport would not be ended there.
'Twould rather be begun.
I'd bet my moon against his stars,
And gamble for the sun.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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