Most of us spend the first six days of each week sowing wild oats; then we go to church on Sunday and pray for a crop failure.
quote by Fred Allen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sowing my wild oats
Oats
Wild oats
My wild oats
Sowing my wild oats?
Since when did I have any wild oats to sow?
Middle age brings on the nostalgia for an enfance perdue
I would act differently now,
Gone wild with girls and boys
No doubt caught some venereal disease
But hopefully not AIDS
It is now that I have studied
And learnt that fornication
Viewed linguistically
Is from furnix,
the bridge where prostitutes hung out
So the prohibition if there was one
Was against prostitution, the abuse of women
Not against sex before marriage
With a loving partner
In a consensual relationship
And probably one leading to marriage.
How would that have changed me?
Would I have taken up some of the offers?
Male as well as female,
In Durham as well as in France?
Too late now but the will is still there
To love everyone, well almost, and sleep with many
Nothing worse though than a middle age man
Trying to live like a teenager
Wild oats are for the young,
With the old they are sour grapes.
©2009
James Hart
poem by James Hart
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On the Road to Nowhere
On the road to nowhere
What wild oats did you sow
When you left your father's house
With your cheeks aglow?
Eyes so strained and eager
To see what you might see?
Were you thief or were you fool
Or most nobly free?
Were the tramp-days knightly,
True sowing of wild seed?
Did you dare to make the songs
Vanquished workmen need?
Did you waste much money
To deck a leper's feast?
Love the truth, defy the crowd
Scandalize the priest?
On the road to nowhere
What wild oats did you sow?
Stupids find the nowhere-road
Dusty, grim and slow.
Ere their sowing's ended
They turn them on their track,
Look at the caitiff craven wights
Repentant, hurrying back!
Grown ashamed of nowhere,
Of rags endured for years,
Lust for velvet in their hearts,
Pierced with Mammon's spears,
All but a few fanatics
Give up their darling goal,
Seek to be as others are,
Stultify the soul.
Reapings now confront them,
Glut them, or destroy,
Curious seeds, grain or weeds
Sown with awful joy.
Hurried is their harvest,
They make soft peace with men.
Pilgrims pass. They care not,
Will not tramp again.
O nowhere, golden nowhere!
Sages and fools go on
To your chaotic ocean,
To your tremendous dawn.
Far in your fair dream-haven,
Is nothing or is all...
They press on, singing, sowing
Wild deeds without recall!
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Wild Oats
I saw a fair youth, with a brow broad and white,
And an eye that was beaming with intellect's light:
And his face seemed to glow with the wealth of his mind;
And I said, 'He will grace and ennoble mankind:
He is Nature's own king.'
We met yet again. I saw the youth stand
With a bowl that was flowing and red in his hand;
And he filled it again, and again did he quaff,
And his friends gathered round him, and said with a laugh,
'He is sowing his oats.'
Ah! his eye was too bright, and his cheek was too red,
And I gazed on the youth with a feeling of dread;
And again as he laughingly lifted the bowl,
I turned from the scene with a shuddering soul:
It was terrible seed!
We met but once more. I found in the street
A corpse half-enveloped in mud and in sleet:
A foul, bloated thing; but I saw in the face
A something that told of its boyhood's grace:
He had reaped the dire crop.
O youths who are sowing wild oats! do you know
That the terrible seed you are planting will grow?
Have you thought how your God will require some day
An account of the life you are throwing away?
Have you thought, O rash youth?
It will soon be too late, there is no time to waste;
Then throw down the cup! do not touch, do not taste!
It is filled with destruction and sorrow and pain:
Throw it down! throw it down! do not lift it again:
It will soon be too late!
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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I'll Sleep When I'm Dead
Seven days of Saturday
Is all that I need
Got no use for Sunday
'Cause I don't rest in peace
Don't need no Mondays
Or the rest of the week
I spend a lot of time in bed
But baby I don't like to sleep on
I won't lie to you
I'm never gonna cry to you
I'll probably drive you wild 8 days a week
Until I'm 6 feet under
Baby I don't need a bed
Gonna live while I'm alive
I'll sleep when I'm dead
Till they roll me over
And lay my bones to rest
Gonna live while I'm alive
I'll sleep when I'm dead
So you're looking for some action
I got everything you need
Better keep your motor running
song performed by by Bon Jovi from Keep The Faith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hypocrisy In Christianity
today is Sunday
the one day sunday christians
are off to church
these are the Christians
who are only Christian
one day Sunday a week
Christians for only one day?
one day sunday for a few hours?
sin of Hypocrisy in Christianity?
is one of the most detestable sins
it causes righteous worshippers to stumble
it takes the name of God in vain
poem by Terence George Craddock
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There's Many Still Caring
There's many still caring,
What they believe and hear.
Who says what about them.
And who to impress and how they live.
There's many still caring,
How they dress and appear.
And who's going to think what of them.
And what they have and what they give.
There's many still caring,
Where they go to pray.
And who sits in church with them.
And who is not there on Sunday.
And...
There's many still caring,
Once they prepare for bed.
If a neighbor is sleeping.
And who they know,
Is having sex instead.
And who is it with them in bed!
There's many still caring,
Where they go to pray.
And who sits in church with them.
And who is not there on Sunday.
And who they know,
Is having sex instead.
And who is it with them in bed!
And when they're done what's being said!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Battling Days
So, sit you down in a straight-backed chair, with your pipe and your wife content,
And cross your knees with your wisest air, and preach of the ‘days mis-spent;’
Grown fat and moral apace, old man! you prate of the change ‘since then’—
In spite of all, I’d as lief be back in those hard old days again.
They were hard old days; they were battling days; they were cruel at times—but then,
In spite of all, I would rather be back in those hard old days again.
The land was barren to sow wild oats in the days when we sowed our own—
(’Twas little we thought or our friends believed that ours would ever be sown)
But the wild oats wave on their stormy path, and they speak of the hearts of men—
I would sow a crop if I had my time in those hard old days again.
We travel first, or we go saloon—on the planned-out trips we go,
With those who are neither rich nor poor, and we find that the life is slow;
It’s ‘a pleasant trip’ where they cried, ‘Good luck!’ There was fun in the steerage then—
In spite of all, I would fain be back in those vagabond days again.
On Saturday night we’ve a pound to spare—a pound for a trip down town—
We took more joy in those hard old days for a hardly spared half-crown;
We took more pride in the pants we patched than the suits we have had since then—
In spite of all, I would rather be back in those comical days again.
’Twas We and the World—and the rest go hang—as the Outside tracks we trod;
Each thought of himself as a man and mate, and not as a martyred god;
The world goes wrong when your heart is strong—and this is the way with men—
The world goes right when your liver is white, and you preach of the change ‘since then.’
They were hard old days; they were battling days; they were cruel times—but then,
In spite of all, we shall live to-night in those hard old days again.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Lazy Day
Lazy day, sunday afternoon,
Like to get your feet up, watch t.v.
Sunday roast is something good to eat,
Must be beef today cause lamb was last week.
So full up, bursting at the seams,
Soon youll start to nod off, happy dreams.
Wake up, for tea and buttered scones
Such a lot of work for you sunday moms.
Its such a crying shame
Week after week the same.
Todays heaven-sent and youre feeling content,
You worked all week long.
Still, its quite sad tomorrows so bad
And I dont feel so strong.
Lazy day, sunday afternoon,
Like to get your feet up, watch t.v.
Sunday roast is something good to eat,
Now its almost over till week.
Thats how your life goes by
Until the day you die.
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lean On Me (Tonight)
Lazy day, Sunday afternoon,
Like to get your feet up, watch TV.
Sunday roast is something good to eat,
Must be lamb today 'cause beef was last week.
So full up, bursting at the seams,
Soon you'll start to nod off, happy dreams.
Wake up, for tea and buttered scones
Such a lot of work for you Sunday moms.
It's such a crying shame
Week after week the same.
Today's heaven-sent and you're feeling content,
You worked all week long.
Still, it's quite sad tomorrow's so bad
And I don't feel too strong.
Lazy day, Sunday afternoon,
LIke to get your feet up, watch TV.
Sunday roast is something good to eat,
Now it's almost over till next week.
That's how your life goes by
Until the day you die.
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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7 Days
VERSE 1:
I'm in love with my man but it seems like everyone always asks me
How is it that we can work out
We got the type of ghetto love
We fuss and fight then we make up
I guess that's what it's all about
CUz time and time I tried to leave but
For him I get weak, I just can't let him go
And even though he gets to me
Seven days a week
We just can't get enough
And that's why
CHORUS:
On Monday we'll be breaking up
On Tuesday we'll be making up
Wednesday we'll be making love
On Thursday it just sleep all day
On Friday I give you room to play
Saturday, Sunday I just can't stay away
VERSE 2:
I just can't spend a day without him, sometimes my girls trip about it
But I don't care what they have to say
See, he don't have to buy me roses
He loves me and knows how to show it
He turns me on in every way
Day by day it seems to be that for him I get weak
I just can't let him go
And it's not that hard to see that
Seven days a week
We just can't get enough
And that's why
(CHORUS)
It's so hard for everyone to see I love him and he loves me
Seven days a week
I'm so down for him and
He's so down for me and
That's how we're gonna be
(On Sunday - Monday - Tuesday - Wednesday - Thurdsay - Friday - Saturday)
It's gonna be; yeah
(REPEAT CHORUS 3x)
song performed by by Christina Milian
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Saturdays Child
By david gates
Monday had a sad child
Always feeling low down,
Tuesday had a dream child
Shes always on the go
Now Im in love with saturdays child
She drives me wild
Gonna spend my time
Makin sure that saturdays child is mine.
If you love a wednesday
Youll live your life apart now
And if you love a thursday
Shes gonna break your heart,
So Im in love with saturdays child
She drives me wild
Gonna spend my time
Makin sure that saturdays child is mine.
Seven days of the week made to choose from
But only one is right for me
I know that saturdays got what it takes, babe.
I can tell by the way she looks at me
Friday likes the good life
Shell take you for a ride now
And sunday makes a good wife
But she wants to be a bride
So Im in love with saturdays child
She drives me wild
Gonna spend my time
Makin sure that saturdays child is mine.
[repeat 8 bars 3 times then fade out]
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poem
And if it snowed and snow covered the drive
he took a spade and tossed it to one side.
And always tucked his daughter up at night
And slippered her the one time that she lied.
And every week he tipped up half his wage.
And what he didn't spend each week he saved.
And praised his wife for every meal she made.
And once, for laughing, punched her in the face.
And for his mum he hired a private nurse.
And every Sunday taxied her to church.
And he blubbed when she went from bad to worse.
And twice he lifted ten quid from her purse.
Here's how they rated him when they looked back:
sometimes he did this, sometimes he did that.
poem by Simon Armitage
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Church Bells Ring
The church bells ring merrily
their wake up call
for all those sinner to repent
the sins they committed all week.
In their Sunday best
looking smartly dressed,
they amble down to the church
and take their place on a pew.
After several hymns they sing,
the minister gives his address
of how the evils of the world
are creeping up on all of us.
How we must be always wary
in everything we do
as the devil is always waiting
just to ensnare you.
More prayers and hymns follow
and then they are on their way.
However, did they learning anything
while they were at church today,
sadly for a lot
what was said went in one ear
and went out the other,
for during the week
they follow the same path
and go about sinning again.
19 February 2007
poem by David Harris
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Sonnet: What a Christian Loves Most
I love to hear the church-bells peeling loud
For Angelus, before each service starts;
I am a Christian and I am so proud
To keep my soul pure till my life departs.
God’s peace descends on minds that deeply pray;
The atmosphere within a church is great;
I wish to get communion every day,
Confessing sins mortal, venial till date.
I love to pray kneeling ’fore grotto-gate
Emptying the heaviness from off my heart;
And then, I know my God will change my fate,
And help me do my duty and my part.
’Tis nice to live quite near a church always,
And spend in Piety our earthly days.
7-25-2002
poem by John Celes
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My Neighbours Proclaim I Am Not A Christian
My neighbours say I am not a Christian...
because I rarely proudly go to church
weekly week by week proudly as they do.
Yet I worship God spend time with God...
every day we meet still have so much to say
while God’s poor suffer daily for them I pray.
Worship for me cannot be but once one day a week...
among those already happy proudly saved
while in the wilderness still cry our Lord's lost sheep?
Sermons for those already saved these words do not stay...
where Holy Spirit and I walk among sinners weak
my energy dissipates as I run the race to ease pain of sinners weak?
This may be all in vain I unseen do as their cry...
comes to me ever anew but with their pain I remain
for the flock has shepherds many these poor have not any?
God I miss fellowship in worship with my fellow man...
but in the pulpit I rarely stand within any given community
yet I pray for local churches who support the weak at every stand.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Seeger's Theme
by David Gates
Monday had a sad child,
Always feeling low down.
Tuesday had a dream child,
She's always on the go
So I'm in love with Saturday's child.
Every time you take her out at night
(She drives me wild)
You want to kiss and hold her way up tight,
(Gonna spend my time)
You can tell the future's looking bright.
(Making sure that Saturday's child is mine)
If you love a Wednesday,
You live your life apart now.
And if you love a Thursday,
She's gonna break your heart
So I'm in love with Saturday's child.
Every time you hold her close you'll see
(She drives me wild)
You can feel the furor that's gonna be,
(Gonna spend my time)
Now the future has a guarantee.
(Making sure that Saturday's child is mine)
Seven days of the week made to choose from,
But only one is right for me.
I know that Saturday's got what it takes, babe,
I can tell by the way she looks at me.
SOLO
Ohh...
Friday likes a good life,
She'll take you for a ride, now.
And Sunday makes a good wife,
She wants to be your bride
So I'm in love with Saturday's child.
Every time you take her out at night
(She drives me wild)
You want to kiss and hold her way up tight
(Gonna spend my time)
You can tell the future's looking bright.
(Making sure that Saturday's child is mine)
(Saturday's child)
Every time you take her out at night
(She drives me wild)
You want to kiss and hold her way up tight
(Gonna spend my time)
You can tell the future's looking bright.
(Making sure that Saturday's child is mine)
(Saturday's child)
(fade out)
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We Pray
Each day we thank the good lord
for everything he gives us
from the birth of each new day,
to the young who enjoy a game to play.
The food on our table
that keeps our stomachs full,
to the love we are blessed with
within our chosen partner.
We pray each night to see another day
and always hoping for it to be better than today.
We pray for all our friends
to enjoy all the happiness they deserve.
We pray for all those we do not know
to have a little of what we have.
We pray for our health and safety
and that everyone be free.
On Sunday when we go to church
and on our knees we get
and for all these things,
we pray.
17 May 2009
poem by David Harris
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Always Another Sunday
There is always another Sunday,
From where do Sundays come from?
Do they sell them next to strike-anywhere matches,
Can you buy a three-pack and get one free
To make a perfect month, of Sundays?
Sunday afternoon might find you sitting at table
With some people you don't know too well,
Trying to make polite conversation
While slicing up some shoe-leathery beef roast,
That has always been the hallmark of the day.
Is it the first day of the week
Or effectively, the last?
How can the week start without any work?
Because it seems to make a better ending, instead.
Will we ever run out of Sundays?
Not unless we run out of football, baseball
Basketball and soccer first; it seems evident
That Sunday is merely a cog, attached to the sports wheel,
And is born and dies each week, with the big game.
You will not find most people discussing their sins
On Sunday afternoons:
You already know what they will be talking about.
poem by Patti Masterman
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Sunday Christians
today is Sunday
the one day sunday christians
are off to church
these are the Christians
who are only Christian
one day Sunday a week
Christians for only one day?
one day sunday for a few hours?
sin of Hypocrisy in Christianity?
is one of the most detestable sins
it causes righteous worshippers to stumble
it takes the name of God in vain
my neighbor proclaims I am not a Christian
because I do not show go to church Sunday
she is correct I am not a Christian as she is?
this is all that she is correct in...
I do not claim to be a good Christian...
I do not even claim to be a Christian...
although every hour every day God
motivates many multiple actions in my life
God even at times enters my dreams
motivates the first actions of my day
after I arise from precious sleeping
even in sleep God is part of my life
I am Christian Buddhist Muslim Jewish
I am respectful of all who worship God
respectful of all who worship in sincerity
God said love your neighbor
I love them and pity them both
God said thy shall not judge
I am mindful of my own sins
I have pity for the sins suffering of others
I rejoice in my Lord Savior Jesus
poem by Terence George Craddock
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It's not enough to attend church and pray every Sunday; you have to act.
quote by Abbe Pierre
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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