Memory, in widow's weeds, with naked feet stands on a tombstone.
quote by Aubrey de Vere
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Weeds
Brown passed away, and Mrs Brown,
In weeds all smothered, went through town
By Brown's neat grave to take her stand,
And hold a metaphoric hand.
She diligently drove away
The sorrel springing every day.
When Mrs. Robert Wittle died
Poor Bob would sit her grave beside
On Sunday afternoons, and shed
His briny tribute to the dead;
And dimpled Mrs. brown and he
Had quite a bond of sympathy.
But presently, I understand,
'Twas Bob who held the widow's hand.
She decker herself in orange spray,
And all her weeds she cast away.
Now where the sorrel sheds its seeds
Brown's grave is thick with widow's weeds.
poem by Edward George Dyson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Tombstone
Look at all the plans I made
Falling down like scraps of paper
I will leave them where they lie to remind me
From the past a rumour comes
Dont let it keep draggin you down
Throw the memory in an open fire
Youll be free
Roll back the tombstone
Let the saints appear
Roll back the tombstone
Make a new man out of me
Beware the passenger
The train already left the station
We are neither at home nor at work
We are moving
Listen to the howling of steel
A face betraying no emotion
Like you never had a chance to be
Wild and free
Roll back the tombstone
Let the saints appear
Roll back the tombstone
Till the lone ranger rides again
Rides again in your mind
Rode across the open plain
All the way and back again
song performed by by Crowded House
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Song For Heroes
Captain O’Hare was a mariner brave;
He refused to abandon his ship;
A hero, he sleeps in a watery grave—
And his widow is now Mrs. Bipp,
Haw! Haw!
His widow is now Mrs. Bipp!
Henri Dupont was a fearless young ace;
Five thousand feet up he was hit;
Each year on his grave pretty flowers we place—
And his widow is now Mrs. Schmitt,
Haw! Haw!
His widow is now Mrs. Schmitt!
Corporal Dunn was a volunteer bold;
He plunged in the deadliest fray;
A bayonet thrust laid him out stony cold—
And his widow is now Mrs. Gray,
Haw! Haw!
His widow is now Mrs. Gray!
But Peter McGuck was a cowardly sneak,
Like a hound he remained home in fear;
When fishing one day he fell into the creek—
And his widow is now Mrs. Greer,
Haw! Haw! Haw!
Mrs. William O’Houlihan Greer!
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Buck Nekkid
Two shots shy of a 40 ounce quart
A hand in the pocket and a hand in the shorts
Shoot me with two and don't be slow
Only got one good way to go
Get naked
Buck naked
Buck naked
It's the only way to go
Twenty six chicks, all tied in a knot
Ain't all good, but it's what we got
Get naked
Buck naked
Let me see you naked
It's the only way to go
Buck buck
I was feelin' so fine
And things were lookin' better
My baby said maybe
And I said I'd let her
Get naked
Buck naked
Let's get naked
It's the only way to go
Get naked
Everybody get naked
Buck naked
It's the onliest way to go
Get naked
Get buck naked, yeah
song performed by by ZZ Top
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Black Knight's Song
Knight And Wamba
There came three merry men from south, west, and north,
Ever more sing the roundelay;
To win the Widow of Wycombe forth,
And where was the widow might say them nay?
The first was a knight, and from Tynedale he came,
Ever more sing the roundelay;
And his fathers, God save us, were men of great faine,
And where was the widow might say him nay?
Of his father the laird, of his uncle the squire,
He boasted in rhyme and in roundelay;
She bade him go bask by his sea-coal fire,
For she was the widow would say him nay.
Wamba
The next that came forth, swore by blood and by nails,
Merrily sing the roundelay;
Hur's a gentleman, God wot, and hur's lineage was of Wales,
And where was the widow might say him nay?
Sir David ap Morgan ap Griffith ap Hugh
Ap Tudor ap Rhice, quoth his roundelay;
She said that one widow for so many was too few,
And she bade the Welshman wend his way.
But then next came a yeoman, a yeoman of Kent,
Jollily singing his roundelay;
He spoke to the widow of living and rent,
And where was the widow could say him nay?
Both
So the knight and the squire were both left in the mire,
There for to sing their roundelay;
For a yeoman of Kent, with his yearly rent,
There never was a widow could say him nay.
poem by Sir Walter Scott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Black Widow
I just love my nightmares
I cant wait to sleep
Enjoying all my dreams
Got no regrets
I can be a flash of lightning
Striking down on rocks
Burning down the law
Getting things I never got
Turning the world
Nothing unheard
One night can be more than a day
Just like a black widow
Like a black widow
I cant stand the dreamers
Scared of things that fly
They just have sweet fantasies
And fade and die
Nightmares - are so good, so good
And they always end just when they should
Nightmares are cool, nightmares are cruel
I love the fun and the thrill
Just like a black widow
Like a black widow
Black widow
Just like a black widow
Here comes the morning
And who can deny
Leaving the dream is so hard
I love my nightmares
I await their return
And this time, Im dressed to kill, dressed to kill
Just like a black widow............
song performed by by U. D. O.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Making Love With Memories
You poked my blurring eye,
Let me lift your mushy breast.
We aged onwards
While you stroked flaccidity –
Recalling decades of
Blood-gorged coming, shuddering to boot.
I kissed a venerable mouth
Crammed with falsities –
Once brilliant keys
Guarded by crimson lips
Washed by a sensual tongue.
And so we writhed in wrinkles,
Tiring effort, and
Memories.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
Memory memory memory memory memory
Memory memory memory memory memory
Memory memory memory memory memory
Memory memory memory memory memory
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Strolling down memory lane
Strolling down memory lane
Where the colors begin to fade.
Strolling down memory lane
Is where I want you to come along.
Strolling down memory lane
is a test of time and mind.
Strolling down memory lane
I won’t be afraid.
Strolling down memory lane
Is not lacking in color.
Strolling down memory lane
Is not a big bummer.
Strolling down memory lane
Not a storm in sight
Strolling down memory lane
is joy without bite.
A memory that I have created in my mind,
Stands the test of time.
Memories are like dream, a reflection of the past.
My memories can kiss my…
Ask me no questions I will tell you no lies.
poem by Taran Burke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Day Will Come
When the tombstone reads my name
There at-last
There will be no pain
Maybe my family will say then
That they didn't know me that well
Now maybe, They'll start to understand
What made my heartaches, and swells
We were so young when
I started the fight
To end that past
It's why I couldn't ever hold my tears back
You see, I was the one that had
Gotten tired of what made them cry
Now maybe they'll stand here
Trying to understand my words and why
So
Those words, on my tombstone
Shows how true love, says good-by
But the time is not now
Yet the time is slowly coming near
On that day they will see love
My kind of love, that doesn't cause tears
It's what I've fought for
All those years
So on my tombstone
They'll see what I've done
How I ended all their abuse
Through love songs that I've sung
poem by Clyde Bryson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Widow's Party
"Where have you been this while away,
Johnnie, Johnnie?"
'Long with the rest on a picnic lay,
Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha!
They called us out of the barrack-yard
To Gawd knows where from Gosport Hard,
And you can't refuse when you get the card,
And the Widow gives the party.
(~Bugle~: Ta--rara--ra-ra-rara!)
"What did you get to eat and drink,
Johnnie, Johnnie?"
Standing water as thick as ink,
Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha!
A bit o' beef that were three year stored,
A bit o' mutton as tough as a board,
And a fowl we killed with a sergeant's sword,
When the Widow give the party.
"What did you do for knives and forks,
Johnnie, Johnnie?"
We carries 'em with us wherever we walks,
Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha!
And some was sliced and some was halved,
And some was crimped and some was carved,
And some was gutted and some was starved,
When the Widow give the party.
"What ha' you done with half your mess,
Johnnie, Johnnie?"
They couldn't do more and they wouldn't do less,
Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha!
They ate their whack and they drank their fill,
And I think the rations has made them ill,
For half my comp'ny's lying still
Where the Widow give the party.
"How did you get away -- away,
Johnnie, Johnnie?"
On the broad o' my back at the end o' the day,
Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha!
I comed away like a bleedin' toff,
For I got four niggers to carry me off,
As I lay in the bight of a canvas trough,
When the Widow give the party.
"What was the end of all the show,
Johnnie, Johnnie?"
Ask my Colonel, for ~I~ don't know,
Johnnie, my Johnnie, aha!
We broke a King and we built a road --
A court-house stands where the reg'ment goed.
And the river's clean where the raw blood flowed
When the Widow give the party.
(~Bugle~: Ta--rara--ra-ra-rara!)
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Woodspurge
The wind flapp'd loose, the wind was still,
Shaken out dead from tree and hill:
I had walk'd on at the wind's will,--
I sat now, for the wind was still.
Between my knees my forehead was,--
My lips, drawn in, said not Alas!
My hair was over in the grass,
My naked ears heard the day pass.
My eyes, wide open, had the run
Of some ten weeds to fix upon;
Among those few, out of the sun,
The woodspurge flower'd, three cups in one.
From perfect grief there need not be
Wisdom or even memory:
One thing then learnt remains to me,--
The woodspurge has a cup of three.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Woodspurge
The wind flapped loose, the wind was still,
Shaken out dead from tree and hill:
I had walk’d on at the wind’s will,—
I sat now, for the wind was still.
Between my knees my forehead was,—
My lips, drawn in, said not Alas!
My hair was over in the grass,
My naked ears heard the day pass.
My eyes, wide open, had the run
Of some ten weeds to fix upon;
Among those few, out of the sun,
The woodspurge flower’d, three cups in one.
From perfect grief there need not be
Wisdom or even memory:
One thing learnt remains to me,—
The woodspurge has a cup of three.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Honey is to taste
Honey is sweet to any one to taste
But its confinement, alas, is its fate.
Others, suited, are forbidden to taste.
When that one is lost honey goes naked
And seems sweeter to many wicked,
For which must it find soon a safe pocket.
Otherwise, it may turn sour in neglect,
Or may dry out in long disuse,
Or, perhaps, lies bare for someone’s abuse.
Honey, when orphaned by the host,
Be reclaimed by any one worth it,
Before it is too late, and thus be it blest.
Youth is honey,
Be she a a virgin or a widow,
With the same flow.
[About a young beautiful widow]
12.04.2000, Palakkad Lady Airly
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Weeds or The Wheat
When all of creation, for eternity, bow at The Lord's feet,
Will you be separated and gathered with the weeds or the wheat?
Those who believe and are saved, whom The Lord calls the wheat,
Will humbly and thankfully cast all their reward at His feet.
While all of those who continued in their own willful deeds,
The Lord will separate from the wheat and mark them as weeds.
While the weeds, who were deceived by the evil one into unbelief,
Will suffer for their choice throughout all eternity with no relief.
The wheat will be gathered by The Lord and brought into His barn,
Taken to their home in Heaven where they will face no more harm.
However, all of the weeds will be bundled and tossed into the fire,
Cast into eternal darkness, although this is not The Lord's desire.
The Lord's will is not eternal damnation for any man or nation,
But that all men will truly believe and accept His gift of Salvation.
The patience of The Lord is truly a mystery and something to cherish,
For in His unparalleled love for the world He wants no one to perish.
As people in the world, that He created, truly get colder and colder,
Christians He set apart for a purpose should get bolder and bolder.
The Christian's boldness should be filled with His eternal desire,
To share The Good News with all and so snatch them from the fire.
(Copyright © 06/2002)
Widow of Massacre
Some said she lost,
None said she crossed,
Nothing was known clear
Something about her was fear.
Everything, though said,
She's a widow of massacre.
If asked, she never say,
because witness you can pay,
She lost hee husband,
Then lost her hand.
Everything, though said,
She's a widow of massacre.
Behind her, there're stories,
Behind stories, there's worries,
Her village was ambushed,
And in bullets, washed.
Everything, though said,
She's a widow of massacre.
She survived the claws of wild,
After death of her single child,
Finally she ran to this village,
Where we paid her homage.
Everything, though said
She's a widow of massacre.
poem by Buyunde Acura Sylivester
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Tombstone Shadow
Tombstone shadow, stretchin across my path.
Tombstone shadow, stretchin across my path.
Evry time I get some good news, ooh,
Theres a shadow on my back.
Saw the gypsy man, way down in san berdoo.
Said, I saw the gypsy man, way down in san berdoo.
Five dollars on the table, ooh,
Keep me way from my tomb.
Oh! oh!
Said I got thirteen months of bad luck,
Bound to be some pain.
Dont you do no travlin,
Fly in no machines.
Tombstone shadow, stretchin across my path.
Evry time I get some good news, ooh,
Theres a shadow on my back.
The man gave me a luck charm, cost five dollars more,
Said, put some on your pillow, and put some on your door.
He said, take a long vacation, ooh,
For thirteen months or more.
Oh, lord!
Tombstone shadow, stretchin across my path.
Tombstone shadow, stretchin across my path.
Evry time I get some good news, ooh,
Theres a shadow on my back.
Oh, oh, lord!
Oh, lord!
song performed by by Creedence Clearwater Revival
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The World
By day she woos me, soft, exceeding fair:
But all night as the moon so changeth she;
Loathsome and foul with hideous leprosy
And subtle serpents gliding in her hair.
By day she woos me to the outer air,
Ripe fruits, sweet flowers, and full satiety:
But through the night, a beast she grins at me,
A very monster void of love and prayer.
By day she stands a lie: by night she stands
In all the naked horror of the truth
With pushing horns and clawed and clutching hands.
Is this a friend indeed; that I should sell
My soul to her, give her my life and youth,
Till my feet, cloven too, take hold on hell?
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Naked
So you want me to take it off
Just to see whats
Underneath my cloth
Ill show you Im every
Inch a man
Measure all that you
Think you can
Im more than what
Meets the eye
Flesh n blood is
Often a white lie
By the cover you misjudge
The book
Open your mind and take
Another look
Naked, and Im unashamed
Naked, with no one to blame
Naked, ya you want the truth
Naked, heres my birthday suit
Naked, naked, naked, naked
I pretend to be not anyone
Except me and my imperfections
There is nothing i
Expect of you
That you wouldnt
Expect of me, too
Chorus
Will you excuse me for my ignorance
cause I can see only one
Difference
Those of you who seek to find
While all the others choose
To walk n talk blind
song performed by by Extreme
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Poor Boy’s Christmas
Observe, my child, this pretty scene,
And note the air of pleasure keen
With which the widow’s orphan boy
Toots his tin horn, his only toy.
What need of costly gifts has he?
The widow has nowhere to flee.
And ample noise his horn emits
To drive the widow into fits.
MORAL:
The philosophic mind can see
The uses of adversity.
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!