He was a fiddler, and consequently a rogue.
quote by Jonathan Swift
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Fiddler
There's a fiddler in the street,
And the children all are dancing:
Two dozen lightsome feet
Springing and prancing.
Pleasure he gives to you,
Dance then, and spare not!
For the poor fiddler's due,
Know not and care not.
While you are prancing,
Let the fiddler play.
When you're tired of dancing
He may go away.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Kiss Me Red
I could paint your picture in the sky tonight
Your lipstick on the moon it shines so bright
Baby its full and white
Honey its full tonight
(chorus 1)
So kiss me red
Kiss me rogue
Kiss me rough
Kiss me smooth
Oh..
I could paint your picture in my room tonight
Your bodys on my mind its clear and bright
Oh but youre far away
And what I wouldnt pay
(chorus 2)
To kiss you red
Kiss you rogue
Kiss you rough
Kiss you smooth
Oh..
Its black out
And Im alone in the dark
But light a candle to replace your heart
What I wouldnt give to have you here in my bed
So kiss me red
Kiss me rogue
Kiss me rough
Kiss me smooth
Oh..
To kiss you red
Kiss you rogue
Kiss you rough
Kiss you smooth
Oh..
So kiss me red
Kiss me rogue
Kiss me rough
Kiss me smooth
Oh..
To kiss you red
Kiss you rogue
Kiss you rough
Kiss you smooth
Oh..
So kiss me red
Kiss me rogue
Kiss me rough
Kiss me smooth
Oh..
song performed by by Cheap Trick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I wish I lived on a planet that had two suns---regular sun and 'rogue' sun. That way, when somebody asked me what time it was, I'd say, 'Regular time' And they'd say, 'Yeah.' And I'd say, 'Sorry, all I have is rogue time.' It'd be fun to be a stuck-up rogue-time guy.
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Double Ballad Of Life And Death
Fools may pine, and sots may swill,
Cynics gibe, and prophets rail,
Moralists may scourge and drill,
Preachers prose, and fainthearts quail.
Let them whine, or threat, or wail!
Till the touch of Circumstance
Down to darkness sink the scale,
Fate’s a fiddler, Life’s a dance.
What if skies be wan and chill?
What if winds be harsh and stale?
Presently the east will thrill,
And the sad and shrunken sail
Bellying with a kindly gale,
Bear you sunwards, while your chance
Sends you back the hopeful hail: -
‘Fate’s a fiddler, Life’s a dance.’
Idle shot or coming bill,
Hapless love or broken bail,
Gulp it (never chew your pill!)
And if Burgundy should fail,
Try the humbler pot of ail!
Over all is heaven’s expanse.
Gold’s to find among the shale,
Fate’s a fiddler, Life’s a dance.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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The Fiddler in London's Tower
Fernando, I do sincerely extol thee.
You were as much passionate in symphony
as you were in death, which you faced willfully.
Cursed were the cruel war machines that silenced thee.
But still to celestial heights they lifted thee.
For in great honour at heaven's distant gates,
you became heaven's fiddler at God's request,
to play in courts before the heavenly greats,
in a manner timeless at their own behest.
Fernando Buschmann, the fiddler at the tower.
He that rendered sad tunes in his final hour,
playing Pagliacci at the twilight of life.
Continue to rest in a world void of strife,
until justice for your death we all shall see.
poem by Joseph C Ogbonna (19 June 2017)
Submitted by Joseph C Ogbonna
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You must pay the fiddler if you want to dance.
I was really excited to have the opportunity to make Fiddler.
quote by Norman Jewison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The older the fiddler, the sweeter the tune.
quote by Pope Paul VI
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Speak good of pipers your father was a fiddler.
A man must properly pay the fiddler. In my case it so happened that a whole symphony orchestra had to be subsidized.
quote by John Barrymore
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I’m A Rogue
I’m a rogue who likes to prorogue any
routine job because I know, tomorrow
I will stop procrastinating, if I should do
everything today, what on earth would
I do another day
Some people may think postponement
should not be condoned; but it gives me
time to assemble my thoughts, sip a little
wine, reflect on la dolce vita, and as soon
as inspiration
Springs spontaneously, this rogue tackles
her work without prorogue, enjoying a merci-
less march through the dry marshes of her
boring documents, until she reaches the
satisfying end
And throttles back again, back to reflective
cruising mode, ready to prorogue in the same
roguish way until the next spurt of inspiration…
poem by Margaret Alice
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