Sex - the poor man's polo.
quote by Clifford Odets
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Kicks-Cauchy3
Kick….
Dancer marked by polo heads.
Politics pieces are served on easy.
Strange to walk are catchy winds.
Strange to get are polo tint.
Give the butcher candy can.
Give the fools my little rights.
Minor rules are candy man.
Upper ranges are over our might.
Buggers ears that sting our words!
Bugger works are bitchy worlds.
Versions on laws are riddle piles.
Version laws are poor to kick.
Kick the dances are crying down.
Kick on sides are piggy crown.
Rare to rise are polo thinks.
Give the fools my little rights.
--Cheung Shun Sang=Cauchy3--
poem by Cheung Shun Sang
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You are a dear soul who plays polo, and I am a poor Pole who plays solo.
quote by Ignacy Jan Paderewski
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hollywood Holiday
I rode my motorcycle through a watermelon patch
Right on the california freeway
I took my holy Bible on my blessed boogie woogie drive
Cause I know I know I know
Where I go oh lord theyre gonna bless me jive
Poor you poor me
Poor everybody who buy to be
Poor me poor you
Poor everybody who die to do
I parked my motorcycle on hollywood and vine
And sang till my red blood turned boiling blue
I took my sole survival and bore my cross on a string
Cause I know I know I know
What I dear I bear my charm to king
Poor you poor me
Poor everybody who buy to be
Poor me poor you
Poor everybody who die to do
song performed by by Gino Vanelli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Now I Understand Marco Polo
You have no idea how difficult it is.
To awaken.
Determined to seek,
Fresh inventive ways...
To sustain controversy.
And to resist,
Mainstream acceptance.
Oh, the agony endured.
Updating those used insults.
The ones that manifested some attention,
With ease and applied intention.
Today...
There seems to be an obsession,
To be as disgusting as possible.
And I remember those times,
When being respectable was encouraged.
I know I 'date' myself with those fading visions.
I kept my sights upon new adventures!
Or so I thought!
I grow distraught as I think about it!
Yet keeping up to date,
Seems a task rapidly unachievable.
Especially when I have made it known...
I had been one of the those to market obnoxiousness,
Years ago.
And not one celebration for my efforts have taken place.
You have no idea how this upsets me.
Now I understand Marco Polo too well!
He is all but forgotten.
I am the Marco Polo of my time.
It ain't my fault I wasn't born in Venice.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I have not told half of what I saw.
quote by Marco Polo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Without stones there is no arch.
quote by Marco Polo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Go For Simplicity My Friend
i go for simplicity my friend
because i am poor
i do not go for sophistication
because i am poor
i do not complicate matters
because i am poor
i do not want you to misunderstand
because i am poor
i do not want you to think some more
because i am poor
i do not want to convince you
because i am poor
i do not want you to be with our side
because we are poor
i want all things in their simplified forms
because we cannot afford
any other form of convolutions
we cannot afford another revolution
it will be expensive
and we have no more years to give
to pay for the sponsors
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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But I went to the University of Texas in the 30s, and while there I learned to ride. Mostly polo ponies.
quote by Eli Wallach
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Playing polo is like trying to play golf during an earthquake.
quote by Sylvester Stallone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Famous People - 1
Enrico Caruso
Carrying a stiletto
Wearing a sombrero
Sang “On To Mexico”.
Enrico Caruso
Never played polo.
Often sang solo
With Marco Polo.
John Paul Jones
Moaned and groaned
At home all alone
With his fighting sea bones.
Bob Hope
No dope
Hitched a ride with that crooner
Sailing to Bali on a schooner.
Bing Crosby
Made a fuss
Climbed a tree
And sang White Christmas
Bob Hope from London Townes
Sang all kinds of sounds
The best of all were with Lamour
Going all the way to Singapore.
(Bob Hope's real name is Leslie Townes Hope. He was born in London.)
Published online by PoetsofMars
Go to www.poetsofmars.com/index_copy(26) .html
Also published in the book, 'Oh, What A Tangled Web'
poem by Ben Gieske
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Polo Lounge is like a fine old mink coat: opulent, dignified and warm.
quote by Bryan Miller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ojos As
Ayer conoc un cielo sin sol
Y un hombre sin suelo
Un santo en prisin
Y una cancin triste sin dueo
Ya he ya he ya la he
Y conoc tus ojos negros
Ya he ya he ya la he
Y ahora s que no
Puedo vivir sin ellos yo
Le pido al cielo slo un deseo
Que en tus ojos yo pueda vivir
He recorrido ya el mundo entero
Y una cosa te vengo a decir
Viaje de bahrein hasta beirut
Fui desde el norte hasta el polo sur
Y no encontr ojos as
Como los que tienes t
Rabboussamai fikarrajaii
Fi ainaiha aralhayati
Ati ilaika min haza ikaaouni
Arjouka labbi labbi nidai
Viaje de bahrein hasta beirut
Fu desde el norte hasta el polo sur
Y no encontr ojos as
Como los que tienes t
Ayer vi pasar una mujer
Debajo de su camello
Un ro de sal un barco
Abandonado en el desierto
Ya he ya he ya la he
Y vi pasar tus ojos negros
Ya he ya he ya la he
Y ahora s que no
Puedo vivir sin ellos yo
Le pido al cielo slo un deseo
Que en tus ojos yo pueda vivir
He recorrido ya el mundo entero
Y una cosa te vengo a decir
Viaj de bahrein hasta beirut
Fu desde el norte hasta el polo sur
Y no encontr ojos as
Como los que tienes t
Le pido al cielo slo un deseo
Que en tus ojos yo pueda vivir
He recorrido ya el mundo entero
Y una cosa te vengo a decir
Viaje de bahrein hasta beirut
Fu desde el norte hasta el polo sur
Y no encontr ojos as
Como los que tienes t
song performed by by Shakira
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Geebung Polo Club
It was somewhere up the country, in a land of rock and scrub,
That they formed an institution called the Geebung Polo Club.
They were long and wiry natives from the rugged mountain side,
And the horse was never saddled that the Geebungs couldn't ride;
But their style of playing polo was irregular and rash --
They had mighty little science, but a mighty lot of dash:
And they played on mountain ponies that were muscular and strong,
Though their coats were quite unpolished,
and their manes and tails were long.
And they used to train those ponies wheeling cattle in the scrub:
They were demons, were the members of the Geebung Polo Club.
It was somewhere down the country, in a city's smoke and steam,
That a polo club existed, called `The Cuff and Collar Team'.
As a social institution 'twas a marvellous success,
For the members were distinguished by exclusiveness and dress.
They had natty little ponies that were nice, and smooth, and sleek,
For their cultivated owners only rode 'em once a week.
So they started up the country in pursuit of sport and fame,
For they meant to show the Geebungs how they ought to play the game;
And they took their valets with them -- just to give their boots a rub
Ere they started operations on the Geebung Polo Club.
Now my readers can imagine how the contest ebbed and flowed,
When the Geebung boys got going it was time to clear the road;
And the game was so terrific that ere half the time was gone
A spectator's leg was broken -- just from merely looking on.
For they waddied one another till the plain was strewn with dead,
While the score was kept so even that they neither got ahead.
And the Cuff and Collar Captain, when he tumbled off to die,
Was the last surviving player -- so the game was called a tie.
Then the Captain of the Geebungs raised him slowly from the ground,
Though his wounds were mostly mortal, yet he fiercely gazed around;
There was no one to oppose him -- all the rest were in a trance,
So he scrambled on his pony for his last expiring chance,
For he meant to make an effort to get victory to his side;
So he struck at goal -- and missed it -- then he tumbled off and died.
. . . . .
By the old Campaspe River, where the breezes shake the grass,
There's a row of little gravestones that the stockmen never pass,
For they bear a crude inscription saying, `Stranger, drop a tear,
For the Cuff and Collar players and the Geebung boys lie here.'
And on misty moonlit evenings, while the dingoes howl around,
You can see their shadows flitting down that phantom polo ground;
You can hear the loud collisions as the flying players meet,
And the rattle of the mallets, and the rush of ponies' feet,
Till the terrified spectator rides like blazes to the pub --
He's been haunted by the spectres of the Geebung Polo Club.
A.B. (Banjo) Paterson
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Ojos Asi
ayer conoci un cielo sin sol
y un hombre sin suelo
un santo en prision
y una cancion triste sin dueno
ya he ya he ya la he
y conoci tus ojos negros
ya he ya he ya la he
y ahora si que no
puedo vivir sin ellos yo
le pido al cielo solo un deseo
que en tus ojos yo pueda vivir
he recorrido ya el mundo entero
y una cosa te vengo a decir
viaje de Bahrein hasta Beirut
fui desde el Norte hasta el polo sur
y no encontre ojos asi
como los que tienes tu
rabboussamai fikarrajaii
fi ainaiha aralhayati
ati ilaika min haza lkaaouni
arjouka labbi labbi nidai
viaje de Bahrein hasta Beirut
fui desde el Norte hasta el polo sur
y no encontre ojos asi
como los que tienes tu
ayer vi pasar una mujer
debajo de su camello
un rio de sal un barco
abandonado en el desierto
ya he ya he ya la he
y vi pasar tus ojos negros
ya he ya he ya la he
y ahora si que no
puedo vivir sin ellos yo
le pido al cielo solo un deseo
que en tus ojos yo pueda vivir
he recorrido ya el mundo entero
y una cosa te vengo a decir
viaje de Bahrein hasta Beirut
fui desde el Norte hasta el polo sur
y no encontre ojos asi
como los que tienes tu
le pido al cielo solo un deseo
que en tus ojos yo pueda vivir
he recorrido ya el mundo entero
y una cosa te vengo a decir
viaje de Bahrein hasta Beirut
fui desde el Norte hasta el polo sur
y no encontre ojos asi
como los que tienes tu
song performed by by Shakira from Donde Estan Los Ladrones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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SHORT; Silly; History: Yakkity-yak
A yak's a large cow found in Asia,
somewhere it gets cold, not Malaysia,
near Polo's route of silk
(he stopped for yak milk) .
Don't get it? Don't let it faze ya.
(2-10-06)
poem by Bri Edwards
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Brought From Beyond
The magpie and the bowerbird, its odd
predilection unheard of by Marco Polo
when he came upon, high in Badakhshan,
that blue stone’s
embedded glint of pyrites, like the dance
of light on water, or of angels
(the surface tension of the Absolute)
on nothing,
turned, by processes already ancient,
into pigment: ultramarine, brought from
beyond the water it’s the seeming
color of,
and of the berries, blooms and pebbles
finickingly garnishing an avian
shrine or bower with the rarest hue
in nature,
whatever nature is: the magpie’s eye for
glitter from the clenched fist of
the Mesozoic folding: the creek sands,
the mine shaft,
the siftings and burnishings, the ingot,
the pagan artifact: to propagate
the faith, to find the metal, unearth it,
hoard it up,
to, by the gilding of basilicas,
transmute it: O magpie, O bowerbird,
O Marco Polo and Coronado, where do
these things, these
fabrications, come from—the holy places,
ark and altarpiece, the aureoles,
the seraphim—and underneath it all
the howling?
poem by Amy Clampitt
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When I was fourteen and first started going out, I always wanted to be the opposite of everyone else. So I would go to the club in a polo T-shirt and pants and sneakers and a hat on backward, just so I would not be dressed like other girls.
Worry
the polo shirt
no longer fits
the pair of pants
needs to
be repaired
everyday the line
of the
weighing scale
moves further
right
quality life
perhaps
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Almost all the noblest things that have been achieved in the world, have been achieved by poor men; poor scholars, poor professional men, poor artisans and artists, poor philosophers, poets, and men of genius.
quote by Albert Pike
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Small Plot Of Land
Poor soul
Spit upon that
Poor soul
He never knew what hit him
And it hit him so
Poor dunce
He pushed back the pigmen
The barbs laughed
The fool is dead
Poor dunce
Hes less than within us
The brains talk
But the will to live is dead
And prayer cant
Travel so far these days
The talk of your life
Standing so near
To innocent eyes
Poor dunce
Swings thru the tunnels
And claws his way
Is small life so manic
Are these really the days
Poor dunce
Poor dunce
Poor soul
Poor soul
Poor soul
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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