Old Town Types No. 16 - Mr Tank
'Twice one are two; twice two are four.'
I can still hear it floating thro' the old school door:
Those childish voices falling, rising in rhythmic chant,
In a room where heat is prevalent and ventilation scant.
'Twice nine are eight-teen.' And, presiding o'er the scene,
Like a demon in a 'panto,' blackavised and racked with pain,
Urging on the chorus faster, towers Mr Tank, the master,
With his mutton-chop whiskers and his cane
His cruel, thrice-accursed rattan cane.
Some incurable affliction soured his spirit, it was said;
For, above his brow, an ever-present plaster decked his head.
'Twice one are two; twice two are four -'
And suddenly the master disappeared behind the door.
For 'twas said, too, his affection had instilled a predilection
For too-frequent nips of liquor on the sly now and again.
And they boded fell disaster for gaunt Mr Tank, our master,
With his mutton-chop whiskers and his cane
His ever-swinging, torture-bringing cane.
He 'kept us in' one afternoon till summer dusk came down,
While, as the elder scholars knew, he liquored in the town,
And a dozen big boys rushed him as he swayed in at the door,
And they poured ink on his whiskers as he grovelled on the floor.
And we small kiddies stood about, mouths agape, eyes popping out,
To see our dreaded teacher branded with this shameful stain.
For no idol could loom vaster than grim Mr Tank, the master,
With his mutton-chop whiskers and his cane.
But they broke to bits his terrifying cane.
'Twice one are two, twice two are four'
The chant arose next morning, while, across the ink-stained floor,
Mr Tank, ashamed but savage, glowered at the trembling class . . .
But my thoughts of him grow gentle as the mellowing seasons pass.
Now, when hard-won knowledge fails me, straight an olden dread assails me,
And, a phantom cane, descending sharply stirs my wits again,
And I bless stern Tank, the master, with his strip of sticking-plaster,
And his mutton-chop whiskers, and his cane
Most especially, his wisdom-waking cane.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
I have been sustained by cane field, the cane plantation I have.
quote by Kamisese Mara
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Relationship With A Candy Cane
a relationship with a candy cane
interseting. utter disaster.
my beloved candy cane
i love you so.
the love is an utter disater.
i you so much that i hate you,
paradox as twisted asyour stripes. no sound from your face.
a forcful touch
a relationship with a candy cane my beloved hated
utter disaster.
poem by Victoria Lee
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jackie Cane
Jackie cane was everybodys sugar
She gave it all wherever it took her
They used her up before the sell-by date
To be so sweet was her only mistake
The only flower in a concrete garden
Destined to be the rock that wouldnt harden
Jackie cane was everybodys sugar
Shed melt away if only she could of
Taken for granted
Abused and drained
They ran her dry and
Then it never rained
She was the queen
Of the 25th hour
They looked so sweet
But the after-taste was sour
Salty days for jackie cane
song performed by by Hooverphonic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Aint No More Cane
Aint no more cane on the brazos
Oh, oh, oh, oh...
Its all been ground down to molasses
Oh, oh- oh, oh- oh...
You shoulda been on the river in 1910
They were driving the women just like they drove the men.
Go down old hannah, doncha rise no more
Dont you rise up til judgment days for sure
Aint no more cane on the brazos
Its all been ground down to molasses
Captain, dont you do me like you done poor old shine
Well ya drove that bully til he went stone blind
Wake up on a lifetime, hold up your own head
Well you may get a pardon and then you might drop dead
Aint no more cane on the brazos
Its all been ground down to molasses.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My first day in school
More than half a century ago,
the Monsoon showers had just brought relief from the sweltering summer,
just when I was dreaming of playing soccer whole day outdoors,
My Dad decided that I have to attend an elementary school.
I was dragged a mile by my older brother to my new school,
It would be my favorite Durga Temple converted into a school,
My dreams of a class with benches and chairs just vanished,
As we were sitting on the floor in open partitioned classrooms of the school.
I thought I would get a nice colorful uniform to wear to school,
but it looked like that the dress code was a futuristic dream,
At least every class had a black board bigger than my slate,
the teacher had a duster whereas I had to wipe the chalk with my hand.
The fear of some burly kids and nostalgia of home made me sad and homesick,
I could not stop crying and asking my teacher to let me go home.
I still remember the teacher with big black cane,
every time I cried to go home, I got a whack on my palm with his cane,
I could not stop crying, he would not stop whacking,
till I was sent in a distant corner for breaking the class rule.
Kneeling down in the corner, I dreamt of Mom and home,
I found comfort in the memories of joyous Durga Puja days,
I wished the Goddess would come alive,
and pierce the hands of the teacher with her big spear.
Finally the Tiffin time heralded the temporary recess,
the teacher came down and helped me open my Tiffin can,
He asked me to eat while he wrote something on my slate,
He hoped that it would keep me interested in his school.
After I finished my food, he handed my slate,
He had drawn a picture of a big smiling cat with whiskers and big tail,
He asked me to draw the cat on the other side of the slate,
I was so happy drawing the circles and lines whole afternoon,
I forgot I had a rough first day in school.
poem by Jay P Narain
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The blind flower-seller
With the cane basket
and the white cane
She comes to the Sunday market
Sitting on the small bench
She sells different colors of flowers
Though she cannot see
By each fragrance of them
She knows the name and the pedigree too?
And I sniff a rare fragrance while passing
that comes from her hidden little-heart flower?
to my deceased poet friend Paddy Martin!
nimal dunuhinga
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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You decide my weapon.
Shout for shout, cane for cane,
Whip for whip and sword for sword
I take to contest you.
Foes decide my weapon
25.08.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who Takes Care of Him?
He is so often there
Corner of 44th and Lexington
At the breakfast hour
Tall and thin, matted hair
Roughly shaven
With his jeans and cane
Talking to the buildings and the air
Who dresses him, prepares him
For the day
Hands him the cane and combs his hair
To set him on his way
To pace the waking hours
Between 44 and 43
With words that issue endlessly?
And who looks out for him
His health care and income
Ensures the police will leave
His corner well alone
So he can swear, disclaim and eat
Not waste away entirely
Before he goes to sleep?
On mornings when he is not there
I think about him even more.
poem by Frank Bana
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Romeo and Juliet Nowdays May Keep Alive
Romeo and Juliet
Loved each other much
But for their family's sake,
Decided not to stay in touch.
Unfulfilled love
Day by day grows
Not one life lost in vain
Not one to have grief's big pain.
Quite a while after
Romeo and Juliet did meet again
Some tea with no sugar
Happily shared.
Over a hundred pictures, (familly stuff)
They talked cried and laughed.
It looked like
Were having the most happy time
Of their entire life!
But time's runing fast
Day almost fades
To drive her back home
Her granddaughter came.
With tears in eyes
A kiss on one cheek
Few hugs and good byes
Both try hard not to cry.
Last glance at his sparkling eyes
Gently touches his cheek
Then, mistakenly like,
Runs out with his walking stick.
Not much to pass
From this side ready to depart
With one of her last breath
Asks for the cane.
Her hand clenched on cane
Embraced it and asked
To be kept by her side
In the grave.
Then kisses good bye
All family: one by one
And last, with a smile,
..The Cane.
poem by Elena Sandu
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Harvest Time
O! beautiful black queen…
You are as sweet as sugar cane….
I can’t control my craving of you…
Sweetness!
Right from the harvest to me…
You, you sweet sugar cane…
My fever has reach an all time high…
Inside I cry and cry…
Why do I let you down?
My sweet, sweet brown sugar…
Are you to sweet for me?
Or am I to weak for you?
Ahhhhh! I’ve love on my mind…
I reach inside my soul…
And feel your sugar…
Stuck to my bones…
That says…
I am not alone…
O! beautiful black and sweet …
Sugar cane…
It’s harvest time…Wake up!
I’m coming for you…
My brown sugar…
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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Barbara Elaine
Lips that taste of candy cane.
So young to spun the bottle game
Summer hay rides with my flame.
On through school our love stayed the same.
Playing in the hay, moon lite window pane
A kiss in the dark was the aim.
Us sixteen and far from being tame
Our love was still strong; your images etch in my brain.
School now over to love and fame.
A ring for your finger; the telephone rang.
Your mother crying, my heart went still to hear your name.
She lies there so still; pneumonia was to blame.
Her eyes closed; her lips still taste of candy cane.
Two heart the same
Death did claim
Barbara Elaine
poem by Ronald Brissette
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Carey
The wind is in from africa
Last night I couldnt sleep
Oh, you know it sure is hard to leave here carey
But its really not my home
My fingernails are filthy, I got beach tar on my feet
And I miss my clean white linen and my fancy french cologne
Oh carey get out your cane
And Ill put on some silver
Oh youre a mean old daddy, but I like you fine
Come on down to the mermaid cafe and I will buy you a bottle of wine
And well laugh and toast to nothing and smash our empty glasses down
Lets have a round for these freaks and these soldiers
A round for these friends of mine
Lets have another round for the bright red devil
Who keeps me in this tourist town
Come on, carey, get out your cane
Ill put on some silver
Oh youre a mean old daddy, but I like you
Maybe Ill go to amsterdam
Or maybe Ill go to rome
And rent me a grand piano and put some flowers round my room
But lets not talk about fare-thee-welis now
The night is a starry dome.
And theyre playin that scratchy rock and roll
Beneath the matalla moon
Come on, carey, get out your cane
And Ill put on some silver
Youre a mean old daddy, but I like you
The wind is in from africa
Last night I couldnt sleep
Oh, you know it sure is hard to leave here
But, its really not my home
Maybe its been too long a time
Since I was scramblin down in the street
Now they got me used to that clean white linen
And that fancy french cologne
Oh carey, get out your cane
Ill put on my finest silver
Well go to the mermaid cafe
Have fun tonight
I said, oh, youre a mean old daddy, but youre out of sight
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Land Of Dispute
Throughout the years, this fertile ground of all time
produce an abundant rice harvest
but when Cane and Nila had to be planted
with the laws and promises
a bundle of money
measure of welfare change
everything is measured by the amount of money in the bag
in the bank, and the stock trading
Money in the hands of farmers flows like spring water
Their time out to plant sugar cane and Nila
Time to be a little rice,
rice plants were molt
abundant harvest changed complaints
Their well-being such as inhaled
West wind,
disappeared
poem by Prasetya Utama
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blow Your House Down
She did go
She got my jokes
Sit why we win
Go by the sin
Get high, get quick
Get bopping on a stick
Hollywood
Shake by go
Get barking in sin
Get high with the folks
Get down in the swim
Don't you walk away
I want you baby
How does it feel
When you're meet her in your home
How does it feel
When you feel her, let it go
Bono: "break."
Bono: "turn that guitar up there."
Sugar sugar sugar sugar sugar
Sugar sugar sugar sugar sugar
Sugar sugar sugar sugar sugar
Ah, it ain't over child
Your racing car
Raised by the boldness
You know you are
Your lips like cherries
And they call to me
I wasn't in the bottle
Next to me
I'm down by the call
Maybe the sun
Where nobody feels
They gotta give it and go
She's...gonna take her chances
Gonna take her chances
And you don't
Jump...you're gonna be the tele'
Is there anybody calling
Is anybody home
Anybody home
'body home
Anybody home
Bono: "just drums."
She likes it
Little bit of sky
Locked in the ocean
Bitty bitty sky
On a crutch rate
Country
Some scratch for it
Others snatch for it
Can't scrape for it
Can't escape for it
Check it out for it
Turn a sip for it
Some slip from it
Others strip for it
Any grip for it
What is it
What is it
What is it
Some preach for it
Even teach for it
Like a leash to it
Can't be teaching them
All crawl for it
Still stall for it
All fall for it
When you jump for it
Some slash for it
Others stash for it
Some cash into it
Others smash for it
Do lines for it
Break rhymes for it
Do crimes for it
Do time for it
Sugar cane, sugar cane
Sugar cane, sugar cane
Sugar cane, sugar cane
Sure...we're gonna take our chances
To turn and seek you
Couldn't go
Bono: "and again."
Sure...we're without a reason
I'm calling out for love
Is there anybody home
Bono: "nice."
Ray got caught
Her fingers in the till
Sent us home
Money came to will
Frank came home
With a black and blue
Working at the station
Where he can't break through
Was working on the coin
On the union stand
With a digital aid
And a union band
Saw a moving statue
Saw the bullet train
And a sheltered city
Where clowns scream
Our move ruined it
Saw the money god
Brothers say by a ring
Others sat by the brim
Tonight high-q site
Want these inocent
Bing-bang
And the big bang
Big bang, big bang
Die...like a butterfly
Die...like a butterfly
Die...like i'm gonna die
Die...like a moon in charge
Die...
Midnight...is where the day begins
Midnight...
Bono: "edge.
song performed by by U2
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pork Chops are Fun
chop chop chop the pork squeals over dinner
with it's fatty bits and tasty bites
it marinates on a stick over hot coal
who will taste it first who will finish the bowl
Wow Pork Chops with red wine
then dinner will be divine
chop chop chop the pork is done
with ginger, wine and lots of fun
it's time to have with a salty bun
chop chop chop see it go in the oven my friends
it's dinner time lets eat it all
then lets sit together and have a ball
chop chop chop the pork tastes good
with the meat so tender it bloody weel should
sometimes on the pan sometimes as a roast
call your freinds for dinner it's a dish one can boast
chop chop chop the pork is done
sprikle a little wine to make things bright
then the meat put it on light
watch it burn and tremble with delight
chop chop chop my pork chops are done
poem by Anuj Tikku
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In the decline of the day, near Kentucky river, as we ascended the brow of a small hill, a number of Indians rushed out of a thick cane-brake upon us, and made us prisoners.
quote by Daniel Boone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Cane & A High Starched Collar
(words & music by tepper - bennett)
Cowboy, cowboy marry me
Ill bake you a cherry pie
Well thank you very kindly mam
But Im too young to die
Hi-lo-do-si-dosy-do
Stay single and save a dollar
Come saturday night Ill court a pretty girl
With a cane and a high starched collar
Cowboy if youll marry me
Ill be your darling jenny
Now why should I drink from just one well
When I can drink from tweny
Hi-lo-do-si-dosy-do
Stay single and save a dollar
Come saturday night Ill court a pretty girl
With a cane and a high starched collar
Cowboy, cowboy name the day
July d be nice I reckon
Gladly meet you at the church
July the 32nd
Hi-lo-do-si-dosy-do
Stay single and save a dollar
Come saturday night Ill court a pretty girl
With a cane and a high starched collar
You sleep all day and spoon all night
And eat your favorite chow
Then why should I get married mam
Thats what Im doing now
Hi-lo-do-si-dosy-do
Stay single and save a dollar
Come saturday night Ill court a pretty girl
With a cane and a high starched collar
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Young At Heart And Foolish Free
Some people when they get older
just grow old and feel older,
but there are others who remain
young at heart and foolish free.
They feel they could run for miles,
and then their lumbago stirs
and leaves them reaching
for their old walking cane once more.
Other feel they are sixteen again,
forgetting age slows us up
and our feet cannot move as fast
and they keep tripping us up.
Oh, young at heart and foolish free
is what everyone wants to be.
Running the ten minute mile
without stopping every once in a while.
Feeling party smart and wrinkle free
until they look in the mirror.
Then gasping with horror
and saying is that really me?
Young at heart and foolish free,
no one cares if you are three or a hundred and three.
You’re as young as you feel
and foolish as you want to be.
So put up that walking cane,
forget who you are, come
join me on the swings
and be young at heart and foolish free.
poem by David Harris
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How Long....
How long will i cry for help?
How long must i cry to you?
It is like swimming things,
Who do have rulers upon them.
How long shall this take to get to you?
How long should i wait for your love?
I will stand my watch and will be,
More fierce than the evening wolves!
The pride of your hearts have deceived you,
Like a great wind over the sea;
Three days and three nights,
A cry from the great fish to teach us all.
How Long....? Oh how long.....? !
Consider your ways like,
A cry from the Fish-Gate;
This seed will grow successfully.
Red horses,
Of each man and his cane;
Black horses,
Of each woman and her cane;
White horses,
Of the seed that will grow successfully;
Dappled horses,
Of the art of a design in my mind;
Bay horses,
Of the great wind at sea;
How long will i cry for help?
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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