To an Old Lady in a Train
HER hair was beautifully white
Beneath her bonnet, black as night,
Which, plainly of New England kin,
Was tied with strings beneath her chin.
And when she spoke I had no choice
But listened to that soft crisp voice;
And when she smiled, I saw the truth,
She had been lovely in her youth,
And with those quick, observing eyes,
Was charming still to all the wise.
And still, in spite of bonnet strings,
She thought keen, quaint, amusing things,
With gaiety that many hold
Remarkable in one so old.
We talked ten minutes in a train,
And when we came to part again,
Good-bye, enjoy yourself,' said she,
I told her that ahead of me
No pleasure beckoned, no, I said,
Stern duty only lay ahead!
Oh, well,' her parting answer ran,
Enjoy yourself the best you can.'
And so unconquerably gay,
She went upon her darkening way.
poem by Alice Duer Miller
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Related quotes
My Bonnet Of Blue
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
Its gossamer fineness I'll sing to you;
For a delicate fabric in sooth it was,
All trimmed and finified off with gauze.
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
How well I remember thy azure hue!
To church I wore it, one pleasant day,
Bedecked in ribbons of fanciful ray;
And all the while I sat on my seat
I thought of naught save my bonnet so neat.
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
Broke not my heart when I bade thee adieu?
When service was over, my steps I bent
Towards home, a-nodding my head as I went
But, alas for my bonnet! there came a wind
And blew it away, for the strings were not pinned.
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
What shifting scenes have been thine to pass through!
I raised my eyes to the calm, blue sky,
There sailed my bonnet serene and high!
O, what a feeling of hopeless woe
Stole over me then, no heart may know!
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
As clear as the sky was thy azure hue!
'Twas vain to mourn for my bonnet, and yet
It taught me a lesson I shall not forget;
'Twas, never to make you an idol of clay,
For when you best love them they'll fly away.
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
I loved thee well, but thou wert untrue!
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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Bee In My Bonnet
I got a bee in my bonnet
Got a chip on my shoulder
I got a hole in my shoe
And my toes are getting colder
I got ants in my pants
I got fries in my thighs
I got a bone in my nose
I got frit in my ass
I got a bee in my bonnet
Got a chip on my shoulder
I got a flee in my ear
I wear my heart on my sleeve
I got a ticket for the train
And I'm ready to leave
I got a rockin' pneumonia
and the boogie woogie flu
I got the palpations
All because of you
I got a bee in my bonnet
Got a chip on my shoulder
I'm burning, with love
I got my fish on the line
I got my hand in the water
I know right from wrong
So I do what I oughta
I laugh in the day
I cry in the night
Woo hoo baby
Gonna be alright
I got a bee in my bonnet
Got a chip on my shoulder
I got a bee in my bonnet
Got a chip on my shoulder
song performed by by 10 Cc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Go Ahead On
(madeline bell / dusty springfield)
If youre gonna break my heart
Go ahead on
Guess you think youre kinda smart
Go ahead on
(well youve got another girl)
And youre having fun
(got her head in a whirl)
See what youve done
Go ahead on
(go ahead on)
I said go ahead on
(go ahead on)
You never call me on the phone
Make me so sad
Sittin all alone
Feelin bad
(tired of being your fool)
cause you told me lies
(I cant take no more)
Of no alibi
Go ahead on
(go ahead on)
Go ahead on
(go ahead on)
For a little while
We had a good thing goin
Everything was peaches and cream
But the devil in you started showin
Do you understand now
What I mean?
You put me down
Every night
If you wanna be a clown
Thats all right
(when its all too late)
Then youll see
(shes done the same to you)
Like you did it to me
Go ahead on
(go ahead on)
Go ahead on
(go ahead on)
You put me down
Every night
If you wanna be a clown
Thats all right
(when its all too late)
Baby youll see
(shes done the same to you)
Like you did it to me
Go ahead on
(go ahead on)
Go ahead on
(go ahead on)
Git, git, git
(go ahead on)
Go ahead on
(go ahead on)
Youd better pack your bag
(go ahead on)
Go ahead on
(go ahead on)
Bye, bye, bye
(go ahead on)
Go ahead on
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is not Always May
No hay pajaros en los nidos de antano.
Spanish Proverb
The sun is bright,--the air is clear,
The darting swallows soar and sing.
And from the stately elms I hear
The bluebird prophesying Spring.
So blue you winding river flows,
It seems an outlet from the sky,
Where waiting till the west-wind blows,
The freighted clouds at anchor lie.
All things are new;--the buds, the leaves,
That gild the elm-tree's nodding crest,
And even the nest beneath the eaves;--
There are no birds in last year's nest!
All things rejoice in youth and love,
The fulness of their first delight!
And learn from the soft heavens above
The melting tenderness of night.
Maiden, that read'st this simple rhyme,
Enjoy thy youth, it will not stay;
Enjoy the fragrance of thy prime,
For oh, it is not always May!
Enjoy the Spring of Love and Youth,
To some good angel leave the rest;
For Time will teach thee soon the truth,
There are no birds in last year's nest!
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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When to her Lute Corinna Sings
When to her lute Corinna sings,
Her voice revives the leaden strings,
And doth in highest notes appear,
As any challenged echo clear;
But when she doth of mourning speak,
E'en with her sighs, the strings do break,
And as her lute doth live or die,
Led by her passion, so must I:
For when of pleasure she doth sing,
My thoughts enjoy a sudden spring,
But if she doth of sorrow speak,
E'en from my heart the strings do break
poem by Thomas Campion
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Corinna
When to her lute Corinna sings,
Her voice revives the leaden strings,
And doth in highest notes appear
As any challenged echo clear.
But when she doth of mourning speak,
Even with her sighs the strings do break.
And as her lute doth live or die;
Led by her passion, so must I.
For when of pleasure she doth sing,
My thoughts enjoy a sudden spring;
But if she doth of sorrow speak,
Even from my heart the strings do break.
poem by Thomas Campion
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Invisible Strings
(ian hunter)
One, two, three
Well I woke up this morning - theres a girl in my bed.
How did she get there? was it something I said?
I dont understand it but somehow it seems
She visits me in invisible dreams.
Over and over I try to explain
How did that girl get into my veins?
Did somebody send her - was it my velvet wings?
And how does she touch my invisible strings?
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
Now its all over when the fat lady sings
Ill still be playing my invisible strings
Well maybe she dont have a world of her own
Maybe shes using me just like a phone
And sometimes shes cool and sometimes she stings
And Im all tangled up in invisible strings
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
When youre wearing black and Im wearing wings,
Well still be playing those invisible strings
Well she never leaves - Im never alone
I aint in the book but shes still calling home
I tried to lose her - watch the tv
But that womans always picking on me
Well, theres strings round my body, strings round my heart
Id like to know where the string-pulling starts
Id give anything to meet the angel who sends
Invisible ink to my invisible pen
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
When youre wearing black and Im wearing wings,
Well still be playing our invisible strings
Invisible strings - invisible strings
These are a few of my favorite things
Now its all over when the fat lady sings
Well still be playing our invisible strings
Invisible strings - invisible strings
Oh yeah
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Black Bonnet
A day of seeming innocence,
A glorious sun and sky,
And, just above my picket fence,
Black Bonnet passing by.
In knitted gloves and quaint old dress,
Without a spot or smirch,
Her worn face lit with peacefulness,
Old Granny goes to church.
Her hair is richly white, like milk,
That long ago was fair --
And glossy still the old black silk
She keeps for "chapel wear";
Her bonnet, of a bygone style,
That long has passed away,
She must have kept a weary while
Just as it is to-day.
The parasol of days gone by --
Old days that seemed the best --
The hymn and prayer books carried high
Against her warm, thin breast;
As she had clasped -- come smiles come tears,
Come hardship, aye, and worse --
On market days, through faded years,
The slender household purse.
Although the road is rough and steep,
She takes it with a will,
For, since she hushed her first to sleep
Her way has been uphill.
Instinctively I bare my head
(A sinful one, alas!)
Whene'er I see, by church bells led,
Brave Old Black Bonnet pass.
For she has known the cold and heat
And dangers of the Track:
Has fought bush-fires to save the wheat
And little home Out Back.
By barren creeks the Bushman loves,
By stockyard, hut, and pen,
The withered hands in those old gloves
Have done the work of men.
.....
They called it "Service" long ago
When Granny yet was young,
And in the chapel, sweet and low,
As girls her daughters sung.
And when in church she bends her head
(But not as others do)
She sees her loved ones, and her dead
And hears their voices too.
Fair as the Saxons in her youth,
Not forward, and not shy;
And strong in healthy life and truth
As after years went by:
She often laughed with sinners vain,
Yet passed from faith to sight --
God gave her beauty back again
The more her hair grew white.
She came out in the Early Days,
(Green seas, and blue -- and grey) --
The village fair, and English ways,
Seemed worlds and worlds away.
She fought the haunting loneliness
Where brooding gum trees stood;
And won through sickness and distress
As Englishwomen could.
.....
By verdant swath and ivied wall
The congregation's seen --
White nothings where the shadows fall,
Black blots against the green.
The dull, suburban people meet
And buzz in little groups,
While down the white steps to the street
A quaint old figure stoops.
And then along my picket fence
Where staring wallflowers grow --
World-wise Old Age, and Common-sense! --
Black Bonnet, nodding slow.
But not alone; for on each side
A little dot attends
In snowy frock and sash of pride,
And these are Granny's friends.
To them her mind is clear and bright,
Her old ideas are new;
They know her "real talk" is right,
Her "fairy talk" is true.
And they converse as grown-ups may,
When all the news is told;
The one so wisely young to-day,
The two so wisely old.
At home, with dinner waiting there,
She smooths her hair and face,
And puts her bonnet by with care
And dons a cap of lace.
The table minds its p's and q's
Lest one perchance be hit
By some rare dart which is a part
Of her old-fashioned wit.
.....
Her son and son's wife are asleep,
She puts her apron on --
The quiet house is hers to keep,
With all the youngsters gone.
There's scarce a sound of dish on dish
Or cup slipped into cup,
When left alone, as is her wish,
Black Bonnet "washes up."
poem by Henry Lawson
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Madame la Fleurie
Weight him down, O side-stars, with the great weightings of
the end.
Seal him there. He looked in a glass of the earth and thought
he lived in it.
Now, he brings all that he saw into the earth, to the waiting
parent.
His crisp knowledge is devoured by her, beneath a dew.
Weight him, weight, weight him with the sleepiness of the
moon.
It was only a glass because he looked in it. It was nothing he
could be told.
It was a language he spoke, because he must, yet did not know.
It was a page he had found in the handbook of heartbreak.
The black fugatos are strumming the blackness of black...
The thick strings stutter the finial gutturals.
He does not lie there remembering the blue-jay, say the jay.
His grief is that his mother should feed on him, himself and
what he saw,
In that distant chamber, a bearded queen, wicked in her dead
light.
poem by Wallace Stevens
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Fitzsimmons Returns
The mirror never lies,
Your mother said.
You look in it now,
The mirror reflects
You in the midst
Of half way dressing.
You hold the green
Corset strings, waiting
For the maid Fitzsimmons.
You’ve rung for her twice.
No sight of her or sound.
Been busy, she’ll say,
Have other things to do
Other than run around
After you. And she’ll say it
In that Irish tongue of hers,
With her deep blue eyes
Peering into your eyes
As if she sought your soul.
You fidget. Pull the strings.
Stare in the large mirror.
She’s done your hair
Nice enough as she can
And does, then ran off
To the ring of some bell
From some other quarter.
You pull the strings tighter.
Breath in, pull even tighter.
She even laid out the clothes,
Neatly as she does; shoes
Polished to a bright shine.
You stiffen and listen.
A loud voice bellows
Down the passage;
The canaries in the cage,
Take flight in fright.
Fitzsimmons returns,
The passage vibrates.
Your thin fingers hold
The green corsets strings,
They visibly shake,
The maid is coming,
She sings, the swish
Of her stiff black dress,
You gaze in the mirror,
See eyes and hair
And a touch of fear
Burning there.
poem by Terry Collett
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Lay Down Your Weary Tune
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
Struck by the sounds before the sun,
I knew the night had gone.
The morning breeze like a bugle blew
Against the drums of dawn.
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
The ocean wild like an organ played,
The seaweeds wove its strands.
The crashin waves like cymbals clashed
Against the rocks and sands.
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
I stood unwound beneath the skies
And clouds unbound by laws.
The cryin rain like a trumpet sang
And asked for no applause.
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
The last of leaves fell from the trees
And clung to a new loves breast.
The branches bare like a banjo played
To the winds that listened best.
I gazed down in the rivers mirror
And watched its winding strum.
The water smooth ran like a hymn
And like a harp did hum.
Lay down your weary tune, lay down,
Lay down the song you strum,
And rest yourself neath the strength of strings
No voice can hope to hum.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sestina
I wandered o'er the vast green plains of youth,
And searched for Pleasure. On a distant height
Fame's silhouette stood sharp against the skies.
Beyond vast crowds that thronged a broad highway
I caught the glimmer of a golden goal,
While from a blooming bower smiled siren Love.
Straight gazing in her eyes, I laughed at Love,
With all the haughty insolence of youth,
As past her bower I strode to seek my goal.
'Now will I climb to glory's dizzy height, '
I said, ' for there above the common way
Doth pleasure dwell companioned by the skies.'
But when I reached that summit near the skies,
So far from man I seemed, so far from Love-
'Not here, ' I cried, 'doth Pleasure find her way, '
Seen from the distant borderland of youth.
Fame smiles upon us from her sun-kissed height,
But frowns in shadows when we reach the goal.
Then were mine eyes fixed on that glittering goal,
Dear to all sense-sunk souls beneath the skies.
Gold tempts the artist from the lofty height,
Gold lures the maiden from the arms of Love,
Gold buys the fresh ingenuous heart of youth,
'And gold, ' I said, 'will show me Pleasure's way.'
But ah! the soil and discord of that way,
Where savage hordes rushed headlong to the goal,
Dead to the best impulses of their youth,
Blind to the azure beauty of the skies;
Dulled to the voice of conscience and of love,
They wandered far from Truth's eternal height.
Then Truth spoke to me from that noble height,
Saying: 'Thou didst pass Pleasure on the way,
She with the yearning eyes so full of Love,
Whom thou disdained to seek for glory's goal.'
Two blending paths beneath God's arching skies
Lead straight to Pleasure. Ah, blind heart of youth,
Not up fame's height, not toward the base god's goal,
Doth Pleasure make her way, but 'neath calm skies
Where Duty walks with Love in endless youth.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Steps
Maybe one step ahead, maybe two
I could ease my day a little
Maybe two steps ahead, maybe twenty
I won’t be chased in doing my work
Maybe twenty steps ahead, maybe plenty
I could enjoy my day at peace
Maybe plenty steps ahead, maybe more
I won’t be surprised by any outcome
Maybe more steps ahead, maybe none
I let my life to be freely flow
Maybe no step ahead, maybe just one
I could focus on what I want to achieve
Maybe one step ahead, maybe two
I could take a little nap
Maybe two steps ahead, maybe twenty
I won’t be alerted every time
Maybe twenty steps ahead, maybe plenty
I could prepare the worst
Maybe plenty steps ahead, maybe more
I won’t be bothered by all strategy maneuvers
Maybe more steps ahead, maybe none
I don’t really care about that anymore
Maybe no step ahead, maybe just one
I won’t waste my energy to worry
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Tomorrow is another day
The last rays of the setting sun
cast dark shadows beneath the trees.
The long hot day is nearly done.
How welcome is the cooling breeze
which brings relief to everyone.
In answer to the fervent pleas
of those who suffer beneath the sun.
The night will grant them quick release
from their confinement to the shade.
Now they can move about freely
which hitherto the sun forbade.
Night has cast down his tyranny.
Enjoy the coolness of the night,
it may be just a brief respite.
31-Jul-07
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Web
Two old spinsters
Sitting in the barn,
One used candlewick
The other used yarn,
One wore a bonnet
With a white lace trim,
The other bobbed her hair
With a dragonfly pin.
They spun and they spun
‘Til the bobbins were full,
They'd squeeze out the knots
Put a twist in the wool,
They spun through the day
And on through the night
And glared at each other
If it didn't look right.
While up in the beams
Of the barn overhead
Two spinsters were spinning out
A gossamer thread,
They stared on down
With their little black eyes
And they spun round the bonnet
And the red dragonfly.
The webs floated down
Were glued to each face
With the spinsters spinning
At a frantic pace.
The wheels stopped spinning
With a sudden click-clack
As the spinsters stared
At those eyes, so black.
As the next day dawned
They came to the barn,
The men and the children
Of that little old farm,
The spinsters were spun
In a giant cobweb,
As they sat, eyes staring -
They were stone cold dead!
13 October 2012
poem by David Lewis Paget
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No rush
I waited on the subway platform
and listened to a young woman
play acoustic guitar and sing
her face was round and her eyes
were wide with hope, she delicately played
as her voice draped over the
passing trains, her song kept pouring
soon there was a small crowd around her
watching her thick black braided hair swing
with the melody of her sounds
she made me forget about my train
I smiled at her soft pale face
and gave her a buck
several other people followed
and she played harder
her voice grew louder
and more trains passed
nobody got on
nobody cared
and nobody looked at their watches
we had cornered an angel
and we didn't want to let go
she stopped and took a small bow
and put away her guitar
the crowd thinned out
and my train pulled up
I looked at her one last time
she smiled and counted her dollars
I boarded the train and hummed
her songs all the way home
poem by Charles Lara
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Spit It Out
Back then my life was empty
Most things around disturbed me
Messed-up and really restless
My head was filled with distless
Until the day you saved me
You made me see things clearly
Nothing is ever hopeless
Got to know how to love myself
You made me love you, me and life
(chorus:) Go ahead, spit it out, go ahead,
go ahead, spit it out
That I am stupid
Go ahead, spit it out, go ahead,
go ahead, spit it out
That I was mistaken
Go ahead, spit it out, go ahead,
go ahead, spit it out
That I missed my chances
Go ahead, spit it out, go ahead,
go ahead, spit it out
That I cannot fix it
Right now I grab my head and
Look back at what I have done
I've been a total fool
Can find no explanation
One day I could not take it
Guess things were just too perfect
So I took my stuff and left you
Though I will always love you
Thought you saved me I still left you
(chorus)
song performed by by Vanilla Ninja
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Chris- By: Mikhaela Collins
beautiful eyes,
blue eyes,
soft and charming hair,
brown hair with a tinge of blonde,
soft and comfy,
good and wise personality,
christian,
never gives up,
faithful,
speaks good words into people,
yes thats chris i speak of..
a good friend.
always a good friend.
poem by Mikhaela collins
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Sleep Of The Just
The soldier asked my name and did I come here very often
Well I thought that he was asking me to dance
In my holy coat and hat and him in his red bonnet
Wed have made a lovely couple but we never had the chance
[chorus]
And now you say that youve got to go
Well if you must you must
I suppose that you need the sleep of the just
Well it was a powerful day and there were black crows in the road
And I kept my strong opinions to my chest
I suppose I should have told them that I was on fire for you
When the bus burst into flames outside some place, the poets rest
[chorus]
A girl woke up in a naked light and said oh no not again
He even looked like her brother in the army but she never mentions him
Hell be tucked up in his bed tonight with his dirty-pictures girl
Saying, youre some mothers daughter you know or is it
Immaterial girl?
Now shes pinned up upon the barracks wall in her home town
All the soldiers taking turns with their attentions
And as they speculate what shed look like beneath that thin nightgown
His family pride was rising up as he cast his eyes down
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Puppet On A String
A puppet on a string is all that you are,
And all that you ever will be
Your told what to hear and what to say
And you're even told what you can believe.
You are not free as you were once before
As you gave that and your dignity away
Now you are told where to go and what to wear
And you were even told to change your name.
Your watched and not trusted wherever you go
And you must ask permission to leave
And that is the life that you chose for yourself
Now for you there is only shame and pity.
You're a puppet on the string as that is you
Your puppeteer tells you how to act
He tells you what to cook and when to sleep
And when to bed him and how to react,
But what can you do, as you have nowhere to go
Everyone knows of your lying and your ways
Your own daughters are confused because of you
Now they will be like you in their own adult days.
You changed your hair and you changed your name
Because your master commanded you to
To make him happy is what you want to do best
But sadly this situation for you isn't new.
You're a puppet on the string that's all that I hear
Wherever you might go or what you might say
You walk in the footsteps your master placed for you
And you will walk them until your dying days.
Your strings are pulled and then you will walk
Your strings are pulled and then you will obey
Your strings are pulled and then you will answer
And that's how you will be from day unto day.
No truth or loyally does your master have for you
Not even a vow to GOD or a wedding ring
But you never expect or accepted them anyway
As all that you are, is but a puppet on a string.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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