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I do honour the very flea of his dog.

quote by Ben Jonson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Flea

A flea that bit you had bitten me too.
The two bloods mingled for single blood.
The flea’s body is our marriage lobby.
Neither shame nor sin would accrue since than.
Nor would you have grown any weaker too.
By yielding to me and getting my blood
You would shed no grace nor honour either.
You will make me than the flea happier.
Your yielding to me will not do more harm
Than what the flea has done to you, dear.
[the verse of John Donne, The Flea, rewritten]
20.12.2007

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Flea

Mark but this flea, and mark in this,
How little that which thou deniest me is;
It suck'd me first, and now sucks thee,
And in this flea our two bloods mingled be.
Thou know'st that this cannot be said
A sin, nor shame, nor loss of maidenhead;
Yet this enjoys before it woo,
And pamper'd swells with one blood made of two;
And this, alas! is more than we would do.

O stay, three lives in one flea spare,
Where we almost, yea, more than married are.
This flea is you and I, and this
Our marriage bed, and marriage temple is.
Though parents grudge, and you, we're met,
And cloister'd in these living walls of jet.
Though use make you apt to kill me,
Let not to that self-murder added be,
And sacrilege, three sins in killing three.

Cruel and sudden, hast thou since
Purpled thy nail in blood of innocence?
Wherein could this flea guilty be,
Except in that drop which it suck'd from thee?
Yet thou triumph'st, and say'st that thou
Find'st not thyself nor me the weaker now.
'Tis true; then learn how false fears be;
Just so much honour, when thou yield'st to me,
Will waste, as this flea's death took life from thee.

poem by John Donne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Fifi The Flea

(ransford)
Fifi the flea fell in love
With a clown from a flea circus fair
She gave him her heart
But he still couldnt see
That for such a long time she had cared
He put himself round all the other girl fleas
Unaware that he hurt her so badly
She cried in the arms of his manager friend
And declared that she loved the clown madly
One day fifi went
And this drove the clown wild
The poor little flea started crying
Never you mind his manager said
I ought not to tell but shes dyin
Dyin for love of you little flea
Youve broken her heart with your lyin
She couldnt stand to see you throw
Her love away without tryin
The day fifi died the little clown vowed
Hed tend her grave every hour
He broke down and cried
When he saw her grave
And on it he placed a small flower
Poor little flea he wasted away
Hed lost his fifi forever
So they opened her grave
Put him inside
Now at last they are together

song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Flea (Fun Poem 120)

You get into bed with your partner
and they toss and turn
as if they have a flea up their arse.
They keep you awake
with their fidgeting,
eventually you get to sleep
and believe it or not
they start to do it again.
By now, you are ready
to give up trying to sleep
or get the bug killer spray
to kill that damn flea.

poem by David Harris
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M: II: I Cannot Pay your Honour

I have sought to triumph over nothing,
have tri-ed,
have failed to -umph.

Honour is paid
By accepting honour.

By accepting honour,
I would honour trying,
would honour lack of -umph.
I cannot pay your honour.

poem by Douglas Scotney
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A flea can trouble a lion more than the lion can harm a flea.

Kenyan proverbs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Shall I Do For the Land that Bred Me

What shall I do for the land that bred me,
Her homes and fields that folded and fed me?—
Be under her banner and live for her honour:
Under her banner I’ll live for her honour.
CHORUS. Under her banner live for her honour.

Not the pleasure, the pay, the plunder,
But country and flag, the flag I am under—
There is the shilling that finds me willing
To follow a banner and fight for honour.
CH. We follow her banner, we fight for her honour.

Call me England’s fame’s fond lover,
Her fame to keep, her fame to recover.
Spend me or end me what God shall send me,
But under her banner I live for her honour.
CH. Under her banner we march for her honour.

Where is the field I must play the man on?
O welcome there their steel or cannon.
Immortal beauty is death with duty,
If under her banner I fall for her honour.
CH. Under her banner we fall for her honour.

poem by Gerard Manley Hopkins
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Now I Have My Eyes On Dinner

When I say I am seeking something substantial in my life?
Why does that make you laugh to see me at a flea market?
I am seeking something that doesn't need to be high maintenanced...
Looking for wrinkles to moisturized.
To get nipped and tucked when bags begin to sag.

'And...
You are going to find that at a flea market? '

OH yes.
Some people don't know quality to throw it away.
Just like that.
Maybe recently divorced?
Or separated?

'You are talking about being at flea market,
Right! '

Ab-so-yes indeed-lutely!
And today must be my lucky day.
Because I am looking at a bargain.
A steal that's too genuine to leave.
And...
What do you think I've discovered?

'A day you found something priceless? '

Is there such a thing...
Of hoping to spend every moment,
With something so priceless...
To wish it is available?

'What can I say?
Your discovery is as good as mine? '

Are you sure you don't want to look around?

'What makes you think I haven't been doing just that?
I was hoping to see those candleholders you purchased,
Last week...
Again.'

So you had your eyes on 'them' too?

'Very much so.
Now I have my eyes on dinner! '

With breakfast?

'And lunch? '

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My War With The Fleas

Came August
the Flea Commander
slapped his walking stick
upon the table bare

surveying his battle plan
testing his jumping legs
assembled before him were
flea battalions on the ground
restless for the attack
mosquitoes and flies to buzz the air,
giant bedbug tanks from New York
gnats, moths, and crawlies eager for blood to suck
bat sentries, owl look-outs
coyotes to howl signals out
all was ready.

“Now, ” he began slowly

The family in there does not yet suspect
and we must not relinquish to them
our element of surprise.
We don't want them to get a chance to mobilize
until after we attack
and gain our cache of blood
surprise before they discover where our larvae lay
before they deploy their canisters of Raid
or insect repellents
before they open their bomb sprays
before their wash the beddings
before they deploy their expense flea sprays
and lethal flea droplets
we want to hide in their beds, dug in
we want to hide in their animals fur
in their clothing
everywhere
and before morning we will have established
our impenetrable beachhead.

So he said ready your selves for the strike this night
as they lay asleep.

With that he stood
his flea legs elevating him
above the others, shouting

Are you will me?
A roar went up

and I watching from my hiding place
crept away
saying to myself;
not this year you suckers
you’ll get your own surprise
glee in my voice.

To be continued.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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A flea

A flea came my way

And I crushed it senseless

Later I had a pang of guilt

Cos it was vulnerable and quite defenseless

But in my defence I stopped its plight

For the sake of one meagre bite

I clipped it with my thumb

Until squashed and rendered numb

I kissed its soul goodnight

And with the [flea] angels it took flight

And left it's earthly home

To settle on celestial clouds

Where it could 'Hop, and Skip, and Roam'

yvette m smith feb 09

poem by Yvette Smith
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To Succeed With Honour

the will to honour win
to succeed with honour
to sacrifice for honour

is worth in excess
of 24 carat gold
an attitude not to be sold

poem by Terence George Craddock
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The Flea Market (Fun Poem 68)

When I was just a little nipper,
I cycled along to see
a flea market on the green.
I parked my bike,
and then sat down in the tall grass.
No one had to me
that they gave away fleas there too.
Therefore, while I was sitting there
one jumped on my ass,
and when I got back to school
and went to park my bike.
The little beggar bit
and I went dancing around
doing the flea-a-me-jig.
I must have looked a sight for sure,
a sight for sore eyes
as I racked my rear end to bits,
jumping around like a bouncing ball.
I either got him,
or he fell of dizzy as hell,
but he never bit me again.

29 February 2008

poem by David Harris
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Interlopers

Two tables along
From two Dutch lovers whispering
And a housemaid pushing a broom,
Three sparrows hoop round a menu.

A flea-bitten dog climbs onto a seat,
Not ordering,
Lolling abundantly.

This is not reciprocal.
I do not perch on sparrow's branch,
Or slouch in the brown dog's kennel.

Moreover,
Not content with
Patronising the eatery,
Even now
Three sparrows are hopping about this page,
The flea-bitten dog is lolling across this poem.

poem by Sheena Blackhall
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The Little Turtle

A Recitation for Martha Wakefield, Three Years Old

There was a little turtle.
He lived in a box.
He swam in a puddle.
He climbed on the rocks.

He snapped at a mosquito.
He snapped at a flea.
He snapped at a minnow.
And he snapped at me.

He caught the mosquito.
He caught the flea.
He caught the minnow.
But he didn't catch me.

poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Loquacious

this afternoon, i talk a lot, and the more i talk,
the more words flowed from my mouth, the more i become less
of myself,

that is the irony of talking, the more i empty myself of this burden
using words, the lighter i become, the more useless i become of myself,
words and more words,
the more i have of them, the more meaningless my thoughts have become

and they who are listening have become more silent than ever,
i know, their minds are somewhere else, and i know that they know
that there is this spirit in front of them so restless,
wriggling like a worm, jumping like a horse, flapping like a bird

wanting to get rid of something: the fruit wanting to be free from the worm,
the horse from a gadfly, and the bird from the pricking flea....

what else can they say? they must have been saying.
we perfectly understand, we have been there, we were once a fruit
with a worm in our pulp, a horse with a gadfly in our tail,
a bird unable to get rid of the flea....

we were rotten once, we jumped the more, and now we are flying away.
what a life we have, we are never free, and we are never for even once
comfortable with what we are and what we have....

what we do not have of course, is what bothers us the most.
be it a horse, a bird, or a fruit, a flea, a worm, a gadfly of old
like what Socrates once mentioned before he took the fatal poison.

well he died, and here we are always trying to remember.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Honour Life

honour life
honour people loved
while they are here

rather than mourn
when they are gone
when it is too late

show a little sincere appreciation
for family friends life loved
saving you from empty alienation

appreciate gift love time
subtle small gifts divine
memories shine through time

to love appreciate fully now
seems a far better rational response
than to regret at fatal final hour

honour life
honour life
while it is here

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Energy

Matter
It wants to play
Be a mother of singing
Waiting for the return of words
Into her womb
Sparkles between a living and dead self
And an anti self
Honour the innocence
Of its unawareness

Gravity
It wants to play
Increase decrease inside out
Strongholds
And an anti self
Honour the innocence
Of its unawareness

Time
It wants to play
Be a father of changes
It waits for nothing
But its own end
And its anti self
Honour the innocence
Of its unawareness

Space
It wants to play
Be a brother to spacious
Waiting in spasm of the dead ends
For a playful vast
And its anti self
Honour the innocence
Of its unawareness

Energy
It wants to play
Over the dimensions
Be a soul's sister
Across the humans
Free
To kill its anti self
Honour the innocence
Of its awareness

poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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The Jolly Miller

It was a Jolly Miller lived on the River Dee;
He looked upon his piller, and there he found a flea:
'O Mr. Flea! you have bit' me,
And you shall shorely die!'
So he scrunched his bones against the stones--
And there he let him lie!

Twas then the Jolly Miller he laughed and told his wife,
And _she_ laughed fit to kill her, and dropped her carvin'-knife!--
'O Mr. Flea!' 'Ho-ho!' 'Tee-hee!'
They _both_ laughed fit to kill,
Until the sound did almost drownd
The rumble of the mill!

_'Laugh on, my Jolly Miller! and Missus Miller, too!--
But there's a weeping-willer will soon wave over you!'_
The voice was all so awful small--
So very small and slim!--
He durst' infer that it was her,
Ner her infer 'twas him!

That night the Jolly Miller, says he, 'It's Wifey dear,
That cat o' yourn, I'd kill her!--her actions is so queer,--
She rubbin' 'ginst the grindstone-legs,
And yowlin' at the sky--
And I 'low the moon haint greener
Than the yaller of her eye!'

And as the Jolly Miller went chuckle-un to bed,
Was _Somepin_ jerked his piller from underneath his head!
'O Wife,' says he, on-easi-lee,
'Fetch here that lantern there!'
But _Somepin_ moans in thunder tones,
'_You tetch it ef you dare!_'

'Twas then the Jolly Miller he trimbled and he quailed--
And his wife choked until her breath come back, 'n' she _wailed!_
And '_O!'_ cried she, 'it is _the Flea_,
All white and pale and wann--
He's got you in his clutches, and
_He's bigger than a man!_'

'_Ho! ho! my Jolly Miller,' (fer 'twas the Flea, fer shore!)
'I reckon you'll not rack my bones ner scrunch 'em any more!_'
And then _the Ghost_ he grabbed him clos't,
With many a ghastly smile,
And from the doorstep stooped and hopped
About four hundred mile!

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Flea Fly

Flea!
Flea fly!
Flea fly flo!
Bee-stay!
A koom-a-lado koom-a-lado koom-a-lado bee-stay!
Oh, no no no, not to bee-stay!
Eenie-minnie ex-a-minnie ex-a-minnie sol-a-minnie
eenie-minnie ex-a-minnie sol-a-minnie so!
Ah, tweep-a-sopa, eep-a-sopa, eep-a-sopa lilly
and a rom-scom-tom and a time-a-yo
Ah tweep-a-sopa- eep-a-sopa, eep-a-sopa lilly
and a lily-o, lily-o, lily-o blow

song performed by by Red Hot Chili Peppers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The king is extraordinary.

Honour is made for human functions.

A monarch is not extraordinary;
The ordinary people make him so.
Unless he is made extraordinary
He could not rule the ordinary ones.

The extraordinary must respect
The demand of the honour bestowed
On him by the ordinary people,
And must act to be extraordinary.

Masters must honour the headmaster,
Who must respect the demand of honour
Expected of him by other masters,
Failing which he will lose his status.
26.10.2012

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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