Tinker Dick
Good Parson Dickson preached, I'm told,
A sermon-ah, 'twas very old
And very, very, bald!
'Twas all about-I know not what
It was about, nor what 'twas not.
'A Screw Loose' it was called.
Whatever, Parson Dick, you say,
The world will get each blessed day
Still more and more askew,
And fall apart at last. Great snakes!
What skillful tinker ever takes
His tongue to turn a screw?
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Related quotes
Screw It All
Screw the World
Screw my friends
Screw the lies that never end
Screw my mom
Screw my dad
Screw the way I feel sad
Screw my teachers
Screw my school
Screw the life of one man's rule
Screw my clothes
Screw my nose
All it is is a fake pose
Screw my body
Screw my face
Screw all the parts below my waist
Screw your life
And Screw mine
Screw the rich who drink and dine
Screw the poor
Screw the sick
All it is is a load of gick
Screw my money
Screw my car
Oh my God, I'm so sick of it all!
poem by Artemis Zeus
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Turn Of The Screw
Do you feel the turn of the screw?
Pushing harder, breaking through
It's better than you ever knew
Now it gets to take care of you
I won't go and tell it
Don't bet you're due
It swings enough to know the truth
It even left you black and blue
Never stop when there's nothing left to do
The turn of the screw, the turn of the screw
The thing you said you'd never do
The turn of the screw, the turn of the screw
There's no backing out once you've turned the screw
You never thought what they say could be
One night alone and you would see
I think you'll take back all those doubts
Now you know what the talk was all about
The turn of the screw, the turn of the screw
The thing you said you'd never do
The turn of the screw, the turn of the screw
There's no backing out once you've turned the screw
Turn, Turn, Turn it around
Turn, Turn, Turn it here on the ground
Turn, Turn, Turn it around
Turn, Turn, Turn it here on the ground
The turn of the screw, the turn of the screw
The thing you said you'd never do
The turn of the screw, the turn of the screw
There's no backing out once you've turned the screw
The Turn of the Screw
The Turn of the Screw
The Turn of the Screw
The Turn of the Screw1
song performed by by 1208
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To G. C. And R. L.
'TWAS you, or I, or he, or all together,
'Twas one, both, three of them, they know not whether;
This, I believe, between us great or small,
You, I, he, wrote it not--'twas Churchill's all.
poem by Oliver Goldsmith
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Where's My Billy Goat Gone To?
'Twas a birthday gift Miss Posie had
When she was nine, and twenty:
Not of gold -- Oh, no! -- nor gem, nor pearl,
Tho' he who gave had plenty.
'Twas a gift she took so much to heart,
Her neighbors thought her silly;
'Twas a B-A-B-Y (Baby) Goat,
A snow-white Baby Billy!
Pretty little Billy, Billy -- Oh!
Where's my Billy Goat gone to?
Take my home! Take my farm!
Yes, me too (if you want to);
But tell me! tell me!
Where's my Billy Goat gone to?
Pretty little Billy, Billy -- Oh!
Where's my Billy Goat gone to?
When she tried to teach him how to read,
Twas only "baa" he'd utter;
As she coaxed him then with cake and cream,
He'd slyly turn to butt her.
Yet he taught himself a thousand tricks,
And many a curious caper;
He would clamber to her chimney top,
And dine there on brown paper.
When the winter came she bought him shoes,
And flannel red she ordered
For a Sunday suit, with trousers cut
Four-legged and embroidered
On the steeple soon in tatters hung,
They set the parson snarling;
And he called that goat Be-el-ze-bub --
The one that she called Darling.
Pretty little Billy, Billy -- Oh!
Where's my Billy Goat gone to?
He was fond of roaming on the rocks,
With workmen in the quarry;
And if there he found their luncheon pails,
Not he but they were sorry.
For he raised aloft his iron brow,
Despite the foreman's clamor;
And the pails, he crushed them one by one,
As with a blacksmith's hammer.
Pretty little Billy, Billy -- Oh!
Where's my Billy Goat gone to?
Then for pails replaced and pails concealed
Each morning he went searching,
Till at last he found a shining prize,
Upon a boulder perching.
Had he read its label, "Dynamite!"
He might have known his blunder;
But he gave it one tremendous blow,
And then came peals of thunder!
Pretty little Billy, Billy -- Oh!
Where's my Billy Goat gone to?
poem by Henry Clay Work
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'Twas but my tongue, 'twas not my soul that swore.
No, Not More Welcome
No, not more welcome the fairy numbers
Of music fall on the sleeper's ear,
When half awaking from fearful slumbers,
He thinks the full quire of heaven is near --
Than came that voice, when, all forsaken,
This heart long had sleeping lain,
Nor thought its cold pulse would ever waken
To such benign blessed sounds again.
Sweet voice of comfort! 'twas like the stealing
Of summer wind through some wreathed shell --
Each secret winding, each inmost feeling
Of all my soul echoed to its spell.
'Twas whisper'd balm -- 'twas sunshine spoken! --
I'd live years of grief and pain
To have my long sleep of sorrow broken
By such benign blessed sounds again.
poem by Thomas Moore
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I Had No Need
I had no need to be awake.
'Twas better in my bed.
The thought of facing life without him
was a thought better dead.
I had no need to open my eyes.
'Twas better not to see.
The thought of seeing the sun without him
was devastating to me.
I had no need to know the time.
'Twas better that time slip away.
The thought of time lingering now
is endless time each day.
There are no needs that now are mine.
'Twas a time I had them all.
We woke, we saw and knew the time,
now too hurtful to recall.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Screw
When you screw up your eyes
When you screw up your face
When you throw out your arms
And keep changing your shape
Taste the taste in your mouth
Taste the taste on your tongue
On the film on your eyes of what i've become
What do i do when you screw up your eyes?
What do i do when you screw up your face?
What do i do
When you throw out your arms
Fall on the floor
And keep changing your shape?
Jump right into your mouth?
Jump around on your tongue?
And the film on your eyes of the way i've become
Makes me sick at the way that i try
Anything in the world
To impress that i'm doing this
Only for you
song performed by by Cure
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Body Of God!
forgive me, i erred,
i thought God contained
in the wind.... but twas
only one breath of infinity!
i thought i saw God
in the starving child's eyes,
but twas only one heartbeat
of compassion!
i thought i heard God
in the cries of the dying
on the battlefields of greed...
but twas human despair!
i thought i found God
down in the homeless shelter,
but twas only the faces
of my brothers and sisters!
so i walked away,
thinking God didnt care....
then a voice startled me...
'but you're my body! '
poem by Eric Cockrell
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My Dream About You
My grief 'twas unendurable
Suffocating each instant in my breaths sigh
Ne'er to forget the reality that 'twas you
Forever as the Benediction of light in the sky;
Oh, that final moment still tarrys too long
All the flowers burned in a pyre of despair
I looked for a book of answers or an anthem
Suffering 'twas almost too much to bear;
I chose to praise your inner beauty and balance
Loosing myself in the immortal life stream
Recalling your face in a fragment of sweet memory
Oh, how blessed, are those who can still dream;
poem by Theodora Onken
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History
What wrecked the Roman power? One says vice,
Another indolence, another dice.
Emascle says polygamy. 'Not so,'
Says Impycu-''twas luxury and show.'
The parson, lifting up a brow of brass,
Swears superstition gave the _coup de grace_,
Great Allison, the statesman-chap affirms
'Twas lack of coins (croaks Medico: ''T was worms')
And John P. Jones the swift suggestion collars,
Averring the no coins were silver dollars.
Thus, through the ages, each presuming quack
Turns the poor corpse upon its rotten back,
Holds a new 'autopsy' and finds that death
Resulted partly from the want of breath,
But chiefly from some visitation sad
That points his argument or serves his fad.
They're all in error-never human mind
The cause of the disaster has divined.
What slew the Roman power? Well, provided
You'll keep the secret, I will tell you. I did.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Intermix
Intermix the polishing of a forgotten summer,
The parson cools me after the furthest colour.
Furtive numerals are held in the mind when furthest,
Novelties of an oaf nurse on nothing.
Numerous designs matter on the shelf,
Gory oaths are honourable and gouging strength.
Let colours intermix and let the parson mix with us,
The length of numbers are called equations for us.
Gormandize the food once you steal,
The parson refuses to renovate your reality.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Twas such a little—little boat
107
'Twas such a little—little boat
That toddled down the bay!
'Twas such a gallant—gallant sea
That beckoned it away!
'Twas such a greedy, greedy wave
That licked it from the Coast—
Nor ever guessed the stately sails
My little craft was lost!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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November's Chill
For 'twas in November's month
the change of guards took place
the month my heart fell to sleep
For 'twas in that darken time
our Love slowly faded away
and in passing, our words were few.
And I am left lonely an' oh so cold.....
For 'twas in November's month
we became two ships in passing
entering port's harbour at separate times
For 'twas in that lonely state
two hearts screamed of Love
and the sheets never warmed again.
And I am left lonely an' oh so cold.......
For 'twas in Novembers month
we tasted Love once again
and like the first time I know home
For 'twas in that lonely bed
separately we lay our heads
yet in dream, you are near as am I
No longer left lonely an' oh so cold...........
poem by Geoff Warden
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Repentance And Reconciliation
JANE.
Mamma is displeased and looks very grave,
And I own, brother, I was to blame
Just now when I told her I wanted to have,
Like Miss Lydia, a very fine name.
'Twas foolish, for, Robert, Jane sounds very well,
When mamma says, 'I love my good Jane.'
I've been lately so naughty, I hardly can tell
If she ever will say so again.
ROBERT.
We are each of us foolish, and each of us young,
And often in fault and to blame.
Jane, yesterday I was too free with my tongue,
I acknowledge it now to my shame.
For a speech in my good mother's hearing I made,
Which reflected upon her whole sex;
And now like you, Jenny, I am much afraid
That this might my dear mother vex.
JANE.
But yet, brother Robert, 'twas not quite so bad
As that naughty reflection of mine,
When I grumbled because Liddy Bellenger had
Dolls and dresses expensive and fine.
For then 'twas of her, her own self, I complained;
Since mamma does provide all I have.
MOTHER.
Your repentance, my children, I see is unfeigned,
You are now my good Robert, and now my good Jane;
And if you will never be naughty again,
Your fond mother will never look grave.
poem by Charles Lamb
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Stiff Competition
Stiff competition
If i go up-you take me higher
Stiff competition
And when i'm down- you take me higher
There's stiff competition all over the world
I screw you-you screw me-they screw us
Here we go again
Oh- but we have so much fun, so much fun
When we're together
When we're together
When we're together-now
I looked hard in your eyes
It was love at first sight
It took me minutes-you're still waiting
Waiting for your turn, you turn
It won't be long
Stiff competition
I work hard-every day of my life
Stiff competition
Get it up-you take me higher
Stiff competition
All over the world
The more i get- the more i like it
The bigger they are- the harder they fall
Again
Stiff competition
Stiff competition
Stiff competition
Stiff competition
song performed by by Cheap Trick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Twas Love—not me
394
'Twas Love—not me—
Oh punish—pray—
The Real one died for Thee—
Just Him—not me—
Such Guilt—to love Thee—most!
Doom it beyond the Rest—
Forgive it—last—
'Twas base as Jesus—most!
Let Justice not mistake—
We Two—looked so alike—
Which was the Guilty Sake—
'Twas Love's—Now Strike!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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To my small Hearth His fire came
638
To my small Hearth His fire came—
And all my House aglow
Did fan and rock, with sudden light—
'Twas Sunrise—'twas the Sky—
Impanelled from no Summer brief—
With limit of Decay—
'Twas Noon—without the News of Night—
Nay, Nature, it was Day—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Who Made Who
The video game says play me
Face it on a level but it takes you every time on a one on one
Feeling running down your spine
Nothing gonna save your one last dime cause it owns you
Through and through
The databank knows my number
Says I gotta pay cause I made the grade last year
Feel it when I turn the screw
Kicks you round the world, there aint a thing that it cant do
Do to you
Chorus:
Who made who, who made you?
Who made who, aint nobody told you?
Who made who, who made you?
If you made them and they made you
Who picked up the bill, and who made who? (or who picked up the glue,...)(? )
Who made who, who turned the screw?
Satellites send me picture
Get it in the eye,
Take it to the world (take it to the wire)
Spinning like a dynamo
Feel it going round and round
Running out of chips, you got no line in an 8-bit town
So dont look down, no
Chorus
Aint nobody told you, who made who?
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Parcae; Or, Three Dainty Destinies:the Armilet
Three lovely sisters working were,
As they were closely set,
Of soft and dainty maiden-hair,
A curious Armilet.
I, smiling, ask'd them what they did,
Fair Destinies all three?
Who told me they had drawn a thread
Of life, and 'twas for me.
They shew'd me then how fine 'twas spun
And I replied thereto;
'I care not now how soon 'tis done,
Or cut, if cut by you.'
poem by Robert Herrick
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