Mr Fitzmickle Has A Test Match Fright
Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet,
Stern lord of his house and kin,
Is a small, bald man, and a cricket fan
Since the night he listened in
On his young son's set one winter morn.
Now his Test complex grows tireless;
But his small, meek wife tends a lonely life,
And the small son mourns his wireless.
Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet,
Was met at his door last night
By the low-voiced maid whose eye betrayed
A state of chronic fright,
And Mary stammered in nervous tones
'Mum-Madam's took a chill, sir.'
Fitzmickle gasped, 'What's that?' he asked,
Said Mary, 'Madam's ill, sir.'
Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet,
Clutched at his brow and groaned,
His face grew white in the evening light,
'Oh, this is the end!' he moaned.
'All hope has gone!' But Mary said,
'Please, sir; don't look so sad, sir.
A 'eadache's wot the missus got.
Don't fret. She ain't that bad, sir.'
Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet,
Glared, as his voice came back
Glared at the maid, 'You mumbling jade!
Wretch! You deserve the sack!'
'But, sir -' 'Enough! Can't you speak plain?
'Madam?'' He raved like a madman,
'Out of my sight! . . . Lord! What a fright!
I thought that you said 'Bradman'!'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Fitzmickle Unbends
Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet,
Still with an iron hand
Rules house and home. Like a peevish gnome
He barks each curt command.
And he packs the family off to bed
Since a wireless 'fan' he's grown
And each obeys, while Papa stays
And harks to the Test alone.
Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet,
Sat, last Saturday night,
Glowing with pride as Australia's side
Rose to the loftiest height.
Then, just as the fun grew furious
And the batsmen forged ahead,
Came a horrible shriek, a click and a squeak;
And the speaker went stone dead!
Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet,
Fiddled, with urgent thumb,
At many a screw, in a terrible stew;
But ever the set stayed dumb.
So up the stairs in his stocking feet,
He stole to his small son there,
Whose expert hand now took command;
And the Test was again on the air.
Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet,
Frowned at his small, meek heir.
'You'll wait,' said he, 'lest the thing won't gee.
Quiet, sir! Sit over there!'
And his small son; hugging himself in glee
As the game went merrily on
Sat listening in with a rapturous grin
To the triumphs of 'Billy' and 'Don.'
Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet,
Seized with a strange wild joy,
As the centuries came, with his eye aflame,
Clutched at the startled boy . . . .
And Mrs Fitzmickle, roused from sleep,
Saw a sight to wonder at;
Fitzmickle and son, at half-past one,
Dancing a jig on the mat.
Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet,
Said with a sheepish grin,
'Why, Mother's here! Sit down, my dear,
Sit down and listen in!' . . .
And the small son whispered - when all was o'er,
And the winter dawn began
In his mother's ear: 'Ma, ain't it queer.
Pappas's just like a man!'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Fall of Fitzmickle
Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet,
Rules with an iron rod
His house and home; 'neath its red-tiled dome
He struts like a little tin god.
When Popper says stay, the family stay;
When Popper says go, they go;
And early and late, like the trumpet of Fate,
Sounds the fierce Fitzmicklean 'No!'
Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet,
Came on his small son when
There, listening in to the cricketing din,
He sat as the clock struck ten.
'What? Sporting rubbish? At this hour, too!'
Said he: and his brow grew black.
'Things that I wouldn't do my son musn't do.
Bed, sir! And don't answer me back!'
Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet,
His hand on the wireless switch,
Listened a wile, and a ghost of a smile
His stern face seemed to twitch.
'Another man out!' He paused in doubt,
As he noted the latest score.
'Well, I might as well sit and listen a bit;
But a bare half hour, no more.'
Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet,
Just as the clock struck four,
Weary and worn in the cold, bleak morn
Crept by his small son's door.
And out of the stygian darkness there,
Swift to discover his sin,
A small voice cried from the gloom inside:
'Please Popper. Did our side win?'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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A Matter Of Privacy
Ben Bowyang spluttered with rage suppressed, 'Hi, there!' And his brow was black,
As two by two and three by three the tourists left the track,
Climbing the fence to his 'tater' patch, and down thro' his orchard land,
Flannelled or fashioned in strides and shorts - a saucy suburban band -
Giggling gambolling into his yard calling inane 'Cooees'
While Bowyang frothed at the mouth and fumed. But his voice was a futile wheeze,
And, heading the horde, in a blazer bright, monarch of all he surveyed,
Strode little Fitzmickle, the martinet, a Don in the drapery trade.
'You've trampled me taters,' Bowyang roared. 'Pinched bloom from me orchard bough!
You've pelted me poddies an' dished me fence! Look at that nettin' now!
Ain't you no respeck for a privit home, you towerist coots from town?'
But Mr Fitzmickle, he turned on his heel with a very superior frown.
'Come, ladies,' he said, 'come, gentlemen. Unmannerly rustic brute!
My card, with name and address, my man, if you wish to prosecute.'
Then back they trampled thro' the 'tater' patch, back o'er the orchard land,
While Bowyang gaped like a stranded fish, with the pasteboard cluthed in his hand.
Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet, sat in his smug retreat -
A very respectable villa set in a very respectable street.
For Mr Fitzmickle found harbor here when the contry boors came down
To dawdle about for their Show-week spree and clutter the streets in town.
Then in to him rushed his terrified wife, eyes wide, and breathing hard.
'Come quick!' she gasped. 'There's a mob of roughs gone crazy in our back yard!
They've trampled herbaceous borders down, they've kicked the canary's cage -'
'Enough!' cried Fitzmickle, all pink with wrath; and his rage was a ratepayer's rage.
Poker in hand, he rushed without; but paused by the scullery door
For there, on his seedlings, trodden and tossed, stood one whom he'd seen before.
And, gathered about in the burgeoning beds, were strangely silent men;
Till one with a beard spoke up and said, 'Explain to the gentleman, Ben.'
Ben Bowyang smiled, and his voice was bland as he said, 'Aw, well; we're 'ere
Jist sorta returnin' yer social call as you made on us last year.
My card!' And he bounced a clod from the face of the proud Fitzmicklian cat
But Mr Fitzmickle oblivious lay. He was having a fit on the mat.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Thy Will Be Done!
I always thought that Jean La Mare was strange,
Gave me the creeps,
With lank, uncared for russet hair
And eyes with depths and deeps,
She hung her head when walking by
Wore dresses to her shins,
She had no friends at school, at lunch
Sat by the rubbish bins.
Her father was the picture of a
Martinet of old,
Bolt upright, at attention he
Would rant at her, and scold.
An Army Colonel, long retired
His wife dead in the ground,
His thoughts for bringing daughters up
Were ancient, and profound.
She dared not answer back, nor baulk
At anything he said,
He kept her close, so close we thought
That she slept in his bed.
We never saw her out of school
She cooked and cleaned and swept,
When asked if she'd be at the Ball,
She turned away, and wept.
Time passed, and we had left the school,
Got on with living life,
I met someone, and pretty soon
Had caught myself a wife,
But my old friend from schooldays
Richard Carson, lived alone,
He said he'd not met anyone
Who thrilled him to the bone.
We'd all turned just on thirty when
He dropped the big surprise,
He said that he'd asked Jean La Mare!
I answered, 'Is that wise? '
It seems the Martinet had died,
Was safely in his box,
So Jean was free, and so was he
To tie the wedding knots.
I saw her at the wedding there,
The first time then for years,
I saw her laugh for once, she laughed
So much, it came to tears.
They seemed so happy in that church,
Her burden dead and gone,
But Richard told me later of
Her curse - 'Thy Will Be Done! '
For every evening of her life
She'd get down on her knees,
Before a varnished wooden box
And pray that she had pleased!
The box stood on the mantelpiece
And Richard dared not ask
Just what was in that box; he thought
It was her father's ash!
She'd pray and ask for guidance, then
She'd listen in the gloom,
He never heard a murmur but, she did,
Before that tomb!
She'd answer statements no-one made,
Would wail, then plead, implore,
While Richard stayed away and hid,
Stood listening by the door!
He asked her what her father said
When he'd approached him once,
The old man turned and marched away,
He'd felt quite like a dunce!
He'd asked if he could take her out,
The Colonel stood and glared:
'If you should even speak to her, young man,
I'll see you dead! '
But Jean had blushed and looked away,
And wouldn't answer then,
She muttered: 'He just didn't want me
Mixing with young men! '
But then she started acting strange,
Would slyly look away,
Whenever he came in the room
As she was going to pray.
He came to see me, looking ill,
He said he was unwell,
That Jean was getting stranger by the day
His life was hell!
She'd served him up a meal that made
Him sick, perspire and weak,
I told him he should get away...
He found it hard to speak!
I didn't want to interfere
But things were looking grim,
I went around to see them, well, not her,
I cared for him.
She flashed a look of hate at me,
Unbridled, undisguised,
She looked like some fanatic with
Grey analytic eyes.
She left us then to talk, and I
Saw on the mantelpiece,
The box that he'd described to me,
I said, 'Just call the Police! '
I'd flipped the clasp, the front swung down
It opened up to dread,
For staring at us both, we saw
His eyeless, staring head!
Then Jean came back, let out a scream,
Attacked me with a knife,
I caught her wrist, said: 'Richard,
Just restrain your crazy wife! '
She fell down on her knees and cried:
'I tried to be a son! '
Then listened, as if hearing it,
Then said, 'Thy will be done! '
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Mary Jane
Now when I go to work, I work all day,
Always turns out the same.
When I bring home my hard-earned pay
I spend my money all on mary jane.
Mary jane, mary jane, lord, my mary jane.
Oh if a man should look tame now, mean and mature,
They all turn out the same.
cause they cant do nothing to make a man feel good
Like my old mary jane.
Mary jane, mary jane, lord, my mary jane.
Now I walk in the street now lookin for a friend
One that can lend me some change.
And he never questions my reason why,
cause he too loves mary jane.
Mary jane, mary jane, lord, my mary jane.
Well, I have known women that wanted no man,
Some that wanted to stay.
But I never knew what happened in this world
Till I met up with mary jane,
Mary jane, mary jane, lord my mary jane.
Oh, when Im feelin lonesome and Im feelin blue,
Theres only one way to change.
Now I walk down the street now lookin for a man,
One that knows my mary jane,
Mary jane, mary jane, lord my mary jane.
song performed by by Janis Joplin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mary, Mary
Words and music by michael nesmith
Mary, mary, where you goin to?
Mary, mary, can I go too.
This one thing I will vow ya,
Id rather die than to live without ya.
Mary, mary, where you goin to?
Mary, mary, tell me truly
What did I do to make you leave me.
Whatever it was I didnt mean to,
You know I never would try and hurt ya.
Mary, mary, where you goin to?
What more, mary, can I do
To prove my love is truly yours?
Ive done more now than a clear-thinkin man would do.
Mary, mary, its not over.
Where you go, I will follow.
til I win your love again
And walk beside you,
But until then.
Mary, mary, where you goin to?
Mary, mary, where you goin to?
Mary, where you goin to?
Mary, mary, mary, mary, mary, where you goin to?
[repeat adlib]
song performed by by Monkees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mary Mary Magdalene
Mary Mary Magdalene,
what do all those stories mean?
Mary, Mary, is it true,
Jesus had a thing for you?
Mary, Mary – He lay with you?
Mary, Mary, tell me true
Mary, Mary, red hair wild,
did He leave you great with child?
Mary, was your love so steady,
that you had had His kids already?
Mary, Mary, at the Cross,
did it feel a gain or loss?
Mary, Mary – on that third day,
what was it like with the stone rolled away?
Mary, Mary, running there with love,
what did you think when He rose above?
Mary, Mary – what was it like, after?
Were there tears or joyful laughter?
Mary, Mary – the kids you had –
did they turn out like their Dad?
Mary, Mary, whore redeemed,
did it work out like you dreamed?
Mary, Mary – your afterlife –
was it mostly love, or mostly strife?
Mary, Mary, were you worshipped or despised
As Mary’s daughter-in-law, Mrs. Christ?
Mary, Mary, did you stay,
or feel you had to take the kids away?
Mary, Mary, with so much love,
did you, too, rise to heaven above?
Mary, Mary, in the sky,
all we ask are the reasons why…
Mary, Mary Magdalene,
What is really true? What does it really mean?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Woman In Politics
What, madam, run for School Director? You?
And want my vote and influence? Well, well,
That beats me! Gad! where _are_ we drifting to?
In all my life I never have heard tell
Of such sublime presumption, and I smell
A nigger in the fence! Excuse me, madam;
We statesmen sometimes speak like the old Adam.
But now you mention it-well, well, who knows?
We might, that's certain, give the sex a show.
I have a cousin-teacher. I suppose
If I stand in and you 're elected-no?
You'll make no bargains? That's a pretty go!
But understand that school administration
Belongs to Politics, not Education.
We'll pass the teacher deal; but it were wise
To understand each other at the start.
You know my business-books and school supplies;
You'd hardly, if elected, have the heart
Some small advantage to deny me-part
Of all my profits to be yours. What? Stealing?
Please don't express yourself with so much feeling.
You pain me, truly. Now one question more.
Suppose a fair young man should ask a place
As teacher-would you (pardon) shut the door
Of the Department in his handsome face
Until-I know not how to put the case
Would you extort a kiss to pay your favor?
Good Lord! you laugh? I thought the matter graver.
Well, well, we can't do business, I suspect:
A woman has no head for useful tricks.
My profitable offers you reject
And will not promise anything to fix
The opposition. That's not politics.
Good morning. Stay-I'm chaffing you, conceitedly.
Madam, I mean to vote for you-repeatedly.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Mary, the Maid o' the Tay
Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Tay,
Whaur me and my Mary oft did stray;
But noo she is dead and gone far away,
Sae I maun mourn for lovely Mary, the Maid o' the Tay,
The first time I met her 'twas in the month of May,
And the sun was shining bricht on the Silvery Tay;
I asked her name and she modestly did say,
"Some fouks ca's me lovely Mary, the Maid o' the Tay."
Oh, charming Mary o' the Tay,
Queen o' my soul by nicht and day;
But noo thou'rt gane and left me here
To weep for you, sweet Mary dear.
Oh, bonnie Mary o' the Tay,
Joy o' my heart and Queen o' May;
With thee I aye felt happy and gay
While rambling with thee on the banks o' the Tay.
Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Tay,
With my Mary ye seemed ever gay;
But noo ye seem baith dark and drear,
For my puir heart ye canna cheer.
My Mary was handsome and fair to be seen,
She bad bonnie fair hair and twa blue een;
And she was, aye happy while we carelessly did stray
Alang the banks o' the Silvery Tay.
Oh, Mary dear, I mourn thy loss,
To me the world seems nought but dross;
Sae I maun mourn baith nicht and day
For my lovely Mary, the Maid o' the Tay.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Hello Mary Lou
Hello mary lou, goodbye heart,
Sweet mary lou, Im so in love with you
I knew mary lou, wed never part
So hello mary lou, goodbye heart.
Passed me by one sunny day, flashed those big brown eyes my way
And oo I wanted you forever more
Im not one that gets around, swear my feet stuck to the ground
And though I never did meet you before
I said hello mary lou, goodbye heart,
Sweet mary lou, Im so in love with you
I knew mary lou, wed never part
So hello mary lou, goodbye heart.
Saw your lips I heard your voice, believe me I just had no choice,
Wild horses couldnt make me stay away.
Thought about a moonlit night, my arms around you good an tight,
Thats all I had to see for me to say.
Hey, hey, hello mary lou, goodbye heart,
Sweet mary lou, Im so in love with you
I knew mary lou, wed never part
So hello mary lou, goodbye heart.
So hello mary lou, goodbye heart.
Yes, hello mary lou, goodbye heart.
song performed by by Creedence Clearwater Revival
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mrs Frances Haris's Petition
To their Excellencies the Lords Justices of Ireland,
The humble petition of Frances Harris,
Who must starve and die a maid if it miscarries;
Humble sheweth, that I went to warm myself in Lady Betty's chamber, because I
was cold;
And I had in a purse seven pounds, four shillings, and sixpence, (besides
farthings) in money and gold;
So because I had been buying things for my lady last night,
I was resolved to tell my money, to see if it was right.
Now, you must know, because my trunk has a very bad lock,
Therefore all the money I have, which, God knows, is a very small stock,
I keep in my pocket, tied about my middle, next my smock.
So when I went to put up my purse, as God would have it, my smock was unripped,
And instead of putting it into my pocket, down it slipped;
Then the bell rung, and I went down to put my lady to bed;
And, God knows, I thought my money was as safe as my maidenhead.
So, when I came up again, I found my pocket feel very light;
But when I searched, and missed my purse, Lord! I thought I should have sunk
outright.
'Lord! madam,' says Mary, 'how d'ye do?' -'Indeed,' says I, 'never worse:
But pray, Mary, can you tell what I have done with my purse?'
'Lord help me!' says Mary, 'I never stirred out of this place!'
'Nay,' said I, 'I had it in Lady Betty's chamber, that's a plain case.'
So Mary got me to bed, and covered me up warm:
However, she stole away my garters, that I might do myself no harm.
So I tumbled and tossed all night, as you may very well think,
But hardly ever set my eyes together, or slept a wink.
So I was a-dreamed, methought, that I went and searched the folks round,
And in a corner of Mrs Duke's box, tied in a rag, the money was found.
So next morning we told Whittle, and he fell a swearing:
Then my dame Wadgar came, and she, you know, is thick of hearing.
'Dame,' says I, as loud as I could bawl, 'do you know what a loss I have had?'
'Nay,' says she, 'my Lord Colway's folks are all very sad:
For my Lord Dromedary comes a Tuesday without fail.'
'Pugh!' said I, 'but that's not the business that I ail.'
Says Cary, says he, 'I have been a servant this five and twenty years come
spring,
And in all the places I lived I never heard of such a thing.'
'Yes,' says the steward, 'I remember when I was at my Lord Shrewsbury's,
Such a thing as this happened, just about the time of gooseberries.'
So I went to the party suspected, and I found her full of grief:
(Now, you must know, of all things in the world I hate a thief:)
However, I was resolved to bring the discourse slily about:
'Mrs Duke,' said I, 'here's an ugly accident has happened out:
'Tis not that I value the money three skips of a louse:
But the thing I stand upon is the credit of the house.
'Tis true, seven pounds, four shillings, and sixpence makes a great hole in my
wages:
Besides, as they say, service is no inheritance in these ages.
Now, Mrs Duke, you know, and everybody understands,
That though 'tis hard to judge, yet money can't go without hands.'
'The devil take me!' said she, (blessing herself,) 'if ever I saw't!'
So she roared like a bedlam, as though I had called her all to naught.
So, you know, what could I say to her any more?
I e'en left her, and came away as wise as I was before.
Well; but then they would have had me gone to the cunning man:
'No,' said I, ''tis the same thing, the CHAPLAIN will be here anon.'
So the Chaplain came in. Now the servants say he is my sweetheart,
Because he's always in my chamber, and I always take his part.
So, as the devil would have it, before I was aware, out I blundered,
'Parson,' said I, 'can you cast a nativity, when a body's plundered?'
(Now you must know, he hates to be called Parson, like the devil!)
'Truly,' says he, 'Mrs Nab, it might become you to be more civil;
If your money be gone, as a learned Divine says, d'ye see,
You are no text for my handling; so take that from me:
I was never taken for a Conjurer before, I'd have you to know.'
'Lord!' said I, 'don't be angry, I am sure I never thought you so;
You know I honour the cloth; I design to be a Parson's wife;
I never took one in your coat for a conjurer in all my life.'
With that he twisted his girdle at me like a rope, as who should say,
`Now you may go hang yourself for me!' and so went away.
Well: I thought I should have swooned. 'Lord!' said I, 'what shall I do?
I have lost my money, and shall lose my true love too!'
Then my lord called me: 'Harry,' said my lord, 'don't cry;
I'll give you something toward thy loss: 'And,' says my lady, 'so will I.'
Oh! but, said I, what if, after all, the Chaplain won't come to?
For that, he said (an't please your Excellencies), I must petition you.
The premisses tenderly considered, I desire your Excellencies' protection,
And that I may have a share in next Sunday's collection;
And, over and above, that I may have your Excellencies' letter,
With an order for the Chaplain aforesaid, or, instead of him, a better:
And then your poor petitioner, both night and day,
Or the Chaplain (for 'tis his trade,) as in duty bound, shall ever pray.
poem by Jonathan Swift
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Mary Had A Little Lamb
Mary had a little lamb
One holy morning
'Neath the star of Bethlehem
A brand new day was forming
Guided by the shining light
And the angel's voice
Wise men traveled through the night
To see the baby boy
'Cause Mary had a little lamb
King of kings and son of man
Mary had a little lamb of God
They gathered 'round to see the lamb
In the manger sleeping
Such a humble throne for Him
The promise God was keeping
There the shepards bowed their heads
Among the cattle lowing
The first ever Christmas gift
Was wrapped in swaddling clothes
Mary had a little lamb
King of kings and son of man
Mary had a little lamb of God
For the world a sacrifice
Mary did give birth
The way she held him in her arms
Is how He holds the earth
Mary had a little lamb
King of kings and son of man
Mary had a little lamb of God
Mary had a little lamb
King of kings and son of man
Mary had a little lamb of God
Oh, Mary had a little lamb
King of kings and son of man
Mary had a little lamb of God
song performed by by Garth Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Mary in Heaven
I.
I met thee first in May, Mary!
The flower-crowned month of May;
But now thou art away, Mary!
Away from me—away!
Thou wert that all to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
II.
Ah! then thine eyes were mild, Mary!
Thy deep blue eyes were mild;
For thou wert then a child, Mary!
And I another child.
Thou wert that all to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
III.
Thy face was then so meek, Mary!
So saintly mild, so meek,
Thy lily-form seemed weak, Mary!
And mine for thine grew weak
For thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
IV.
You led me through the meads, Mary!
The flower-enameled meads,
By brooks of rustling reeds, Mary!
By brooks of rustling reeds—
Where thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
V.
Wherever you then went, Mary!
No matter where you went—
I followed with content, Mary!
Because you were content.
For thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
VI.
I recollect the morn, Mary!
The beautiful May-Morn,
Beside the Field of Corn, Mary!
The rustling reeds of Corn—
That thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
VII.
Ah! then I took thy hand, Mary!
Thy lily snow-white hand;
And walked along the sand, Mary!
The milk-white road of sand.
For thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
VIII.
I caught thee round the waist, Mary!
The slender Sylph-like waist,
And felt my heart beat fast, Mary!
Because thine own beat fast.
For thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
IX.
Such words fell from thy tongue, Mary!
Such sweet words from thy tongue,
That when you talked you sung, Mary!
You never talked but sung.
Then thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
X.
Thus through the month of May, Mary!
The flower-crowned month of May,
We, courting, went to play, Mary!
And courted in our play.
The years were then to me, Mary!
As hours are now to me;
As time is now to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
XI.
For Love knows nought of years, Mary!
Love nothing knows of years;
And sheds no bitter tears, Mary!
Time measured is by tears.
Thus thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
XII.
What thou art now above, Mary!
I was, as if above;
For Heaven is made of love, Mary!
And I was full of love.
For thou wert that to me, Mary!
That all on earth to me,
That I will be to thee, Mary!
In Heaven above to thee.
XIII.
But now these days are gone, Mary!
These halcyon days are gone!
And I am left alone, Mary!
Alone on earth-- alone!
What would I give to see, Mary!
Thy precious form to see?
All thou wouldst give to be, Mary!
In this dark world with me.
poem by Thomas Holley Chivers from Eonchs of Ruby (1851)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Fright
I scream your name at night. My eyes full of tears and fright. From the sight of the lonely night. I’m losing sight. Cause I’m so full of fright. I cry at the sight of the ever lonely night. Cause she is in sight when I look at the night. I'll cry all night with that sight. Because without the light to my night. I’m full of terror and fright. Like a baby born without sight. I will always scream your name in fright. Because she is the light to my darkest of nights. Because I’m full of fight on that night. My heart is losing the fight.
poem by Dennis F. Rigdon Jr.
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mary
Mary, Ill love her all my life
But shell never be my wife
She broke my heart - broke my trust
Now I cant believe that shes seriuos
I love her, but I will never marry mary
Never marry mary...
Restless and wild - she runs away
Comes back and tells me shes here to stay
Tried to give her time but she wanted more
Now I just dont feel like I did before
I love her, but I will never marry mary
Never mary mary...
Mary, I tried to understand
But I cant stay here at your command
Got to break away - its been too long
Still I cant say all the feelings gone
I love her, but I will never marry mary
Never mary mary...
song performed by by Jefferson Starship
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Miss Otis Regrets
(cole porter)
Miss otis regrets
She's unable to lunch today.
Madam...
Miss otis regrets
She's unable to lunch today.
She is sorry to be delayed,
But last evening down at lover's lane, she strayed.
Madam...
Miss otis regrets
She's unable to lunch today.
~interlude~
When she woke from her dream
And found that her love had gone,
Madam...
She ran to the man
Who had led her so far astray.
And from under her velvet gown,
She drew a gun and shot her lover down.
Madam...
Miss otis regrets
She's unable to lunch today.
Then the mob came and got her
And dragged her from the jail.
Madam...
They strung her upon
A willow across the way.
And the moment before she died,
She lifted up her lovely head and cried.
Madam...
Miss otis regrets
She's unable to lunch today.
song performed by by Nat King Cole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Watching Her Walk
Her presence moves
frail bent, head down
with a bow-strung gait
eyes fixed to pavement
Stopping, darting eyes
see something bothersome
a crack; a cautious step
moves her forward again
At first, heads turned
eyebrows cocked, curiously
watching her walk
watching that walk
A respectful 'hello Mary'
is usually heard
aging fast each year
less attentive
forgetful, slow
its a small town
people know.
Occasionally, a ride is offered
turned down... fearfully so
for dim eyes see strangers
if a familiar voice is heard
still, rides are waved off
with a polite, 'no thanks'
Now its just a kick of a can
to fourth Street and Beaver Avenue
where the once alluring presence
of the shapely young Slovak
with enchanting eyes
once played and walked
Back then, heads turned
captured eyes stared...
appraisingly
watching her walk
watching that walk
A relishing 'Hello-Mary'
was frequently heard
prettier each Year
un-assuming
un-forgetful
its a small town
young men know
Since then
much water has flowed
now she prays... always
praying and walking
especially...since Pete's gone
now up there...waiting
for her, she knows
Mary without Pete
This small town knows
She prays for us all
fervently
she prays for herself
un-knowingly
For the air, even
thanks are greatly given
by breathing deeply
Thank you Lord
for your air
that I breath
without knowing
each breath in
moves the right foot
each breath out
moves the left
A rhythmic cadence
a Prayer walking
is what is odd
This peculiar
gritty gait
is what
people
see.
Pete watches
from up there
looking down
watching her walk
watching that walk
His 'Hello My Mary'
is nearer each year,
Her presence is a bit
closer each year
Her tireless gait
takes that narrow way
up that well trod path
walk, un-forgetful
in a small mill town
its a small town
a town God knows
poem by George Vuyakovich
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mother Mary
Like no other
from the time
I saw first light,
mother Mary sacrificed
her life for me.
In times of desolation
when all others doubt me,
mother Mary still believes
in my integrity.
In times of darkness
when no other is near,
mother Mary talks to me
and tries to set my eyes
back on the light
and her voice
is the only one that I hear.
Every morning before the day begins
mother Mary’s prayers
goes to the King of kings,
telling Him of all the things
that living brings to me.
When all hope is gone
and all things are done,
mother Mary takes my hand
and reminds me to trust
and that the new morning
is very near.
Beyond reason
when there’s no indication
that any answer
or victory is possible,
mother Mary still believes
and the Almighty One
touches me through her.
Age is making mother Mary frail
and time is rushing by
and I am afraid
that the end is coming near
and although life has taken
its toll from her
mother Mary is like no other
and will always be
my dearest mother.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mary Danced With Soldiers
She'd slip away each day with the dimming light
And with the sweetest smile she'd kiss the child goodnight
At the mill she'd work her fingers till they were raw
For the sake of her son and the daddy he never saw
Mary danced with soldiers
She stepped a light quadrille
Shawl across her shoulders
To keep away the chill, to keep away the chill
It was a rebel boy who brought her joy they say
Though the years had passed the memories stood fast each day
Before a bullet crushed the life of their romance
He gave her a shawl and a parasol from France
Mary danced with soldiers
She stepped a light quadrille
Shawl across her shoulders
To keep away the chill, to keep away the chill
They came around to the tavern in town that night
And with silent cries Mary never tried to fight
They cut her hair and left her body torn
Her spirit slipped away before the dawn
Mary danced with soldiers
But now her body's still
Shawl across her shoulders
To keep away the chill
Mary danced with soldiers
She stepped a light quadrille
Shawl across her shoulders
To keep away the chill, to keep away the chill
song performed by by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Miss Otis Regrets
Miss otis regrets, she's unable to lunch today, madam,
Miss otis regrets, she's unable to lunch today.
She is sorry to be delayed,
But last evening down in lover's lane she strayed, madam,
Miss otis regrets, she's unable to lunch today.
When she woke up and found that her dream of love was gone, madam,
She ran to the man who had led her so far astray,
And from under her velvet gown,
She drew a gun and shot her love down, madam,
Miss otis regrets, she's unable to lunch today.
When the mob came and got her and dragged her from the jail, madam,
They strung her upon the old willow across the way,
And the moment before she died,
She lifted up her lovely head and cried, madam......
Miss otis regrets, she's unable to lunch today.
Miss otis regrets, she's unable to lunch today
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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