Old Town Types No. 21 - Mr Woolin-Wister
Mr Woolin-Wister was assistant at the store,
He had an air of breeding, and the kind of clothes he wore
Were very, very natty and exceedingly correct;
For every single day he was habitually decked
In the very latest fashion; and he had a roving eye
That wakened many a smile demure and many a gentle sigh.
For, whenever he sought to 'twit' them, then the ladies straight began:
'Now, Mr Woolin-Wister! Oo, you are a naughty man!'
He wore a wide straw-decker with a pretty colored band;
His pants - the shepherd plaid ones - were the tightest in the land,
He wore a braided coat, with vest - in summer-time a sash -
And a set of heavy sideboards and a very large moustache;
His hair combed on his forehead in a very genteel 'slick,'
He made just the perfect masher with his silver-headed stick,
And thro' the street, when he walked out, the female titters ran:
'There is Mr Woolin-Wister. Oo, he is a saucy man!'
His linen is immaculate. His broad stiff-bosomed shirt
Upheld a three-inch collar; and he was a fearful flirt.
For he flirted with the matrons and he flirted with the maids;
At conversation lollies he was boldest of the blades;
For the things he used to pass them at a soiree or a dance
Caused many a maiden blush to glow and many a downward glance;
Yet many a maiden giggled, as she peeped behind her fan:
'Fie, Mr Woolin-Wister! Oo, you are a forward man!'
When last I saw the old town I went into the store,
And there was Mr Woolin-Wister - still a bachelor.
His pate was bald, his eye was dull, his grey moustache was clipped,
And his general demeanour seemed considerably hipped.
Then a lady (rather elderly) came tripping in the shop,
And Mr Woolin-Wister let all other matters drop.
Then she gushed and then she giggled as the persiflage began:
'Now, Mr Woolin-Wister! Oo, you are an awful man!'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When yu’ can’t have what you choose, yu’ just choose what you have.
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When yu' can't have what you choose, yu' just choose what you have.
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When you can't have what you choose, you just choose what you have.
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Old Town Types No. 28 - Lah-Di-Dah Lane
In the old town traditions - as greybeards will explain
One epic tale immortalises Lah-di-dah Lane,
Clerk to a local wheat-buyer in the railway yard.
Some deemed him just a 'masher,' but a few said 'knowing card'
With his waxed moustache, his monocle, his grey 'hard-hitter' hat,
His braided coat of black 'Berlin,' his lavender cravat,
His buttoned boots and finger-ring and thin Malacca cane
Oh, a sight on pleasant Sundays was our Lah-di-dah Lane.
His manners were meticulous, his smile so softly sweet
That he soon became the butt of every urchin in our street.
But he took their banter calmly, and his brow wore ne'er a frown
Till the bully, Turk Trevanion, caused a scandal in the town.
A loud-mouthed blusterer was Turk, a crude, sardonic lout
Who made a set at Lah-di-dah, but failed to draw him out
Till he used, in ladies' hearing, words both blasphemous and vain:
Then, 'I'll meet you on the wiver flat,' said Lah-di-dah Lane.
Discreetly on that Sabbath day the word was passed about,
Till half the town came to the flat to see poor Lane pass out;
And a few expressed their pity; but the most of them were there
To watch in masculine contempt as, with most tender care
He laid aside his monocle, his grey 'hard-hitter' hat,
His braided coat, his collar and his lavender cravat;
And on the pile he neatly laid his thin Malacca cane.
'Now then, I'll thottle you, you thwine!' lisped Lah-di-dah lane.
Of that Homeric battle townsmen talk with bated breath;
For Lah-di-dah in action proved a streak of sudden death.
His straight lefts and upper-cuts revealed amazing form,
Till Turk, a battered, bleeding wreck, went down before the storm.
Then Lane resumed his monocle, his grey 'hard-hitter' hat,
His collar and his braided coat, his lavender cravat,
And under Turk's incarmined nose wagged his Malacca cane:
'Take that, you bwutal bwawler!' murmured Lah-di-dah Lane.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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They Just Don't Make 'em Like You Anymore
Ive looked every where there is a love affair
I must replace racing through the people chase
But still surrounded by memories of your face.
They just dont make em like you anymore
Not up in the mountains or down by the shore
Something shine in the fashion
In the smile that you wore.
They just dont make em like you anymore
In the eyes of someone new
I wait for a glance of you.
But its never there
Among the precious few
Your kind of person is becoming so rare.
They just dont make em like you anymore
Not up in the mountains or down by the shore
Something shine in the fashion
In the smile that you wore.
Like those whiteless dresses
At the second hand store
Or sweet old songs filtering out through the floor.
The fashion comes and the fashion goes
And the gossip magazines and the videos
A bran new actress on a screen
In a brand new style of clothes
But by any other name.
A rose is still a rose
And it grows in my memories
Wonder if you still are the same
While I look for a remedy
Someone with a tender heart
To clean your name.
They just dont make em like you anymore
Not up in the mountains or down by the shore
Something shine in the fashion
In the smile that you wore.
Its an easy thing to learn, but so hard to ignore
Now I know exactly what Im looking for
They just dont make em like they made em before.
They just dont make em like you anymore
Not up in the mountains or down by the shore
Something shine in the fashion
In the smile that you wore...
song performed by by Kenny Rogers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Hat
In city shop a hat I saw
That to my fancy seemed to strike,
I gave my wage to buy the straw,
And make myself a one the like.
I wore it to the village fair;
Oh proud I was, though poor was I.
The maids looked at me with a stare,
The lads looked at me with a sigh.
I wore it Sunday to the Mass.
The other girls wore handkerchiefs.
I saw them darkly watch and pass,
With sullen smiles, with hidden griefs.
And then with sobbing fear I fled,
But they waylayed me on the street,
And tore the hat from off my head,
And trampled it beneath their feet.
I sought the Church; my grief was wild,
And by my mother's grave I sat:
. . . I've never cried for clay-cold child,
As I wept for that ruined hat.
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Old Town Types No. 4 - Our Mr. Trim
Mr Trim, commercial traveller, is in town again,
'Our Mr Trim,' you know, debonair and neat;
Landed here this morning on the ten-thirty train;
Can't you hear him laughing there, half down the street?
A bland man, a breezy man, a man to take the eye;
With his trolly load of sample tins, his big leather bags.
Men say he's popular; ladies say, 'Oo, my!'
John George Augustus Trim, traveller in bags.
Mr Trim, the traveller, oh, very well-dressed,
Very much the lah-de-dah; handsome, too, at that;
Flowing, braided frock-coat (material the best)
Pantaloons of shepherd's plaid, tall shiny hat;
Curly set of 'sideboards,' big silk moustache,
Diamond on finger and a rolling eye of brown.
'Oo, such a one!' the ladies say. 'Such a shameless mash,'
And hearts are all a-flutter when our Mr Trim's in town.
Mr Trim, the traveller, drinking with the boys,
'Heard the latest yarn, lads? Got it at the club.'
'He's such a card, that Mr trim! Listen to that noise!
Such a fav-rite with the fellers,' says the lady at the pub.
Mr Trim, with customers, 'putting out a line,'
Feeding them with flattery, indulging every whim.
'Oh, better say two dozen. Shall I book it for you? Fine . . .'
A useful fellow,' says The Firm - 'Our Mr Trim.'
Mr Trim, the traveller, married rather well
Squatter's daughter, up the north - heaps and heaps of cash.
Put it in a wholesale house, so the gossips tell;
Stuck it for a dozen years, and then went smash.
Mr Trim is knocking round somewhere still they say,
Frock coat and shepherd's plaids drooping, like his hope;
Slightly down-at-heel and bald, cuffs inclined to fray
John George Augustus Trim, traveller in soap.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Chaplet
A little girl through field and wood
Went plucking flowerets here and there,
When suddenly beside her stood
A lady wondrous fair!
The lovely lady smiled, and laid
A wreath upon the maiden's brow;
'Wear it, 'twill blossom soon,' she said,
'Although 'tis leafless now.'
The little maiden older grew
And wandered forth of moonlight eves,
And sighed and loved as maids will do;
When, lo! her wreath bore leaves.
Then was our maid a wife, and hung
Upon a joyful bridegroom's bosom;
When from the garland's leaves there sprung
Fair store of blossom.
And presently a baby fair
Upon her gentle breast she reared;
When midst the wreath that bound her hair
Rich golden fruit appeared.
But when her love lay cold in death,
Sunk in the black and silent tomb,
All sere and withered was the wreath
That wont so bright to bloom.
Yet still the withered wreath she wore;
She wore it at her dying hour;
When, to the wondrous garland bore
Both leaf, and fruit, and flower!
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Art is Long - Hair is Shorter
When artists wore a flowing mane,
Then, in a sentimental vein,
With pastorals they lured the eye,
Or sad, sweet scenes of sea and sky.
But now that hair sprouts from the face
They chuck their paint about the place
And, in the modern manner, seek
To baffle one with the unique.
I've often wondered if this surge
Of hirsute foam denotes some urge
Artistic that controls and sways
The hand and brain to newer ways.
For instance, might we not expect
An artist in dundrearies decked
In other manner to behave
From him who wore a monkey shave?
I've known but one of this quaint throng
Who wore both hair and whiskers long,
But he, poor bloke, was short of cash,
And wore a full beard and moustache
That he might draw on this supply
When price of brushes soared to high ...
But there are ways, it seems to me.
To test my novel theory.
If some brave man would range the land
And catch a few of this quaint band
And hold them captive for a while
Who knows what tricks of school and style
One might evolve if, to each man,
We gave a different hirsute plan?
You doubt, perhaps? But all the same,
There might be money in the game.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Two Brothers
Two brothers on their way
Two brothers on their way
Two brothers on their way
One wore blue
And one wore grey
One wore blue and one wore grey
As they marched along the way
A fife and drum began to play
All on a beautiful morning
One was gentle, one was kind
One was gentle, one was kind
One came home, one stayed behind
A cannonball don't pay no mind
A cannonball don't pay no mind
Though you're gentle or you're kind
It don't think of the folks behind
All on a beautiful morning
Two girls waiting by the railroad track
Two girls waiting by the railroad track
For their darlings to come back
One wore blue, and one wore black
One wore blue, and one wore black
Waiting by the railroad track
For their darlings to come back
All on a beautiful morning
One wore blue, and one wore black
Waiting by the railroad track
For their darlings to come back
All on a beautiful morning
All on a beautiful morning
song performed by by Tom Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Lady Wore Black
On a lonely walk this morning
A light mist in the air
Dark clouds laughing at me in silence
Casting shadows through my hair
In the distance I saw a woman
Dressed in black with eyes of grey
She wore her pain like a shackled spirit
Eternal life was her debt to pay
The lady wore black
Its the sign of the prisoners lives
The lady wore black
See the years through the tears in her eyes
The lady wore black
Her mystic power calls to me
The lady wore black
Her love can set me free
The wind song whispered a warning
Telling me to beware
Of the quiet shadowed woman
And of the sadness I would share
We sat together for sometime together in silence
Never speaking in words
Of all her thoughts she spoke with her eyes
And I listened remembering all I heard
The lady wore black
Its the sign of the prisoners lives
The lady wore black
See the years through the tears in her eyes
The lady wore black
Her mystic power calls to me
The lady wore black
Her love can set me free
The words she spoke were of forgotten lives
And of all knowledge gained
Memries I had and didnt know why
With a smile she explained
I should have listened to the winds cold warning
And walked the other way
I touched her soul and now I bear her sentence
But for her love Ill gladly pay
The lady wore black
Its the sign of the prisoners lives
The lady wore black
See the years through the tears in her eyes
The lady wore black
Her mystic power calls to me
The lady wore black
Her love can set me free
song performed by by Queensryche
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Pressed Flower
She looked like a pressed flower, well preserved
with a little too much powder on her nose.
She had a sweet face, blue, doe like eyes
and wore a row of pearls at her throat.
In her heart I saw a ghost of love,
but I knew she didn't want the world to see.
She wore white gloves and a summer hat,
like ladies from the past, you've seen in photographs.
She walked a little slow and breathed a heavy sigh
leaning on a nobly stick as she passed me by.
There was a gust of wind and leaves flew all about
and as they did her petals fell so gently to the ground.
There she slipped away, like flotsam on a shore,
a once so vibrant rose, whose buds would bloom, no more.
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jealousy
She wore braids in her hair
every single day.
Not because she wanted to.
It was her mother's way.
She braided them so tightly.
She thought her head would break.
Sometimes just the thought of them
would make her poor head ache.
'Why can't I have my hair
flowing down my back?
Her mother's frown would let her know
to try some other tact..
'Mother can we cut it
just above my shoulder? '
the answer that was given was
'Not until you're older.'
And so she wore her hair like this.
She never wore it down.
When at night she unbraided it
she looked just like a clown.
She knew she would cut it
the very next day
right in front of her mother
to see what she would say.
Her mother watched and sat down
and had a cup of tea.
Her mother simply said
'Now you're more beautiful than me.'
poem by Edwina Reizer
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Never Wore A Gun Before
Never wore a gun before
A plane in the fog, oh wait those are clouds Im talking about
The suitcase in my hand and the way I have to walk
Those are empty smiles, empty eyes Im looking in
Times are over when it was difficult to say
It took some time but I know its just right now
So just a little word about whats really going on
If you want to take that as my way
To say goodbye to you as these red nights must go on
I was rich and I was poor
Didnt do the things I had to do
I was strong and I was weak
Was not the girl I tried to be
I was lost and I was found
He earned money you couldnt count
But I never wore a gun before
I never wore a gun before
He left the chamber but these times are over
Shes got
Shes got more than four weeks to be herself
Hes playin with fire and looks around on this world
Oh I love them and the plane in the fog
I was brave and I had fear
I did things...oh my dar
I was strong and I was weak
Was not the girl I tried to be
I was up and I was down
He thought the things to the ground
But I never wore a gun before
I never wore a gun before
I never wore a gun before
Never wore a gun before
I was brave and I had fear
I did things...oh my dear
I never wore a gun before
I was brave and I had fear
I did things...oh my dear
I was strong and I was weak
Was not the girl I tried to be
But I never wore a gun before
I never wore a gun before
I never wore a gun before
Never wore a gun before
song performed by by Wonderwall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Never Wore A Gun Before
Never wore a gun before
A plane in the fog, oh wait those are clouds Im talking about
The suitcase in my hand and the way I have to walk
Those are empty smiles, empty eyes Im looking in
Times are over when it was difficult to say
It took some time but I know its just right now
So just a little word about whats really going on
If you want to take that as my way
To say goodbye to you as these red nights must go on
I was rich and I was poor
Didnt do the things I had to do
I was strong and I was weak
Was not the girl I tried to be
I was lost and I was found
He earned money you couldnt count
But I never wore a gun before
I never wore a gun before
He left the chamber but these times are over
Shes got
Shes got more than four weeks to be herself
Hes playin with fire and looks around on this world
Oh I love them and the plane in the fog
I was brave and I had fear
I did things...oh my dar
I was strong and I was weak
Was not the girl I tried to be
I was up and I was down
He thought the things to the ground
But I never wore a gun before
I never wore a gun before
I never wore a gun before
Never wore a gun before
I was brave and I had fear
I did things...oh my dear
I never wore a gun before
I was brave and I had fear
I did things...oh my dear
I was strong and I was weak
Was not the girl I tried to be
But I never wore a gun before
I never wore a gun before
I never wore a gun before
Never wore a gun before
song performed by by Wonderwall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Incident
’Twas on a sunny summer day
I trod a mighty city’s street,
And when I started on my way
My heart was full of fancies sweet;
But soon, as nothing could be seen,
But countenances sharp and keen,
Nought heard or seen around but told
Of something bought or something sold,
And none that seemed to think or care
That any save himself was there,
Full soon my heart began to sink
With a strange shame and inward pain,
For I was sad within to think
Of this absorbing love of gain,
And various thoughts my bosom tost;
When suddenly my path there crossed,
Locked hand in hand with one another,
A little maiden and her brother
A little maiden, and she wore
Around her waist a pinafore.
And hand in hand along the street
This pretty pair did softly go,
And as they went, their little feet
Moved in short even steps and slow
It was a sight to see and bless,
That little sister’s tenderness;
One hand a tidy basket bore
Of flowers and fruit a chosen store,
Such as kind friends oft send to others
And one was fastened in her brother’s.
It was a voice of meaning sweet,
And spake amid that scene of strife
Of home and homely duties meet,
And charities of daily life;
And often, should my spirit fail,
And under cold strange glances quail,
’Mid busy shops and busier throng,
That speed upon their ways along
The thick and crowded thoroughfare,
I’ll call to mind that little pair.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough (1836)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Raindrops Falling On His Hair
The people standing all around
That slight limp body on the ground.
It shouldn’t be allowed you know
Said one old lady, even though
I think they bring it on themselves
They start on drugs when they're just twelve
They never have a chance it seems
Of having childlike childhood dreams.
I blame the parents, said her friend
They were not with her at the end
Nor were they there much in her life
If only someone else had tried
To bring her up a decent way
That’s really all I have to say.
The crowd dispersed and standing there
Raindrops falling on his hair
Stood one sad man sad man indeed
Seeming that he couldn’t leave
He wore the clothes of lonely men
Eyes heavy with abandonment
He wore the weight of someone frail
He wore the look of someone failed.
Then he knelt down and kissed the air
It was his daughter lying there.
19 September 2004
poem by David Keig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sally's Goodbye
Sally got up early to find what she could wear,
Then brushed her teeth and combed her hair.
She wasn’t going outside to play,
For today was a very special day.
Sally put on her favourite dress and matching headband,
In her favourite colour she looked so beautiful, just as planned.
‘Are you ready? ’ her daddy said
‘Yes Daddy I am, I’m just making my bed.’
She held her Daddy’s hand as they walked to the car
For she knew someone was watching from afar
They got in the car and drove away
Looking at the white clouds, with a touch of grey.
Everyone was there to give her a hug and kiss
She knew it was a day that no one would miss
In her matching headband and blue dress
As she walked through the doors she said god bless.
The place was decorated just like she thought
There was just enough room for the flowers she brought
Sally went up to the front of the room
And she knew that she would see her Mummy soon.
‘Here you are Mummy, I got these for you’
She was wearing her favourite colour, which was blue.
Sally placed the flowers she carried in her basket
With all the others right on top of her Mum’s casket.
Sally was 7 years old and didn’t understand
That her mummy couldn’t see her pretty blue headband
Daddy came up and placed on some flowers
He smiled, looking at Sally, ‘she’ll know they’re ours’.
They took their seat and began to wait
Most guests were seated, some were late.
The minister talked of a woman so beautiful
A wife, a mother and all things wonderful.
Sally asked Daddy if she could say a word
It was the sweetest thing her Daddy had heard.
‘Of course you can, Mummy would be proud,
Just go up there and remember to speak loud.
Sally walked up the front and stood at the pew
She knew everyone could see her in her dress of blue.
With memories in her head and love in her heart
She cleared her throat and began to start.
‘Mummy was so beautiful and so kind,
When I did things wrong, she would never really mind.
Mummy was very sick, and now she’s in heaven
She missed my birthday, because today I’m seven.
I wore our favourite colour today, I hope she can see
I wore a matching headband, it’s nice, I think she’d agree.
Mummy, I will make sure that Daddy will smile
Because I know that we won’t be seeing you for a while
We miss you more each and every day
But I still see you in my own special way.
I close my eyes, and you are there
Smiling back at me with your long blonde hair.
I love you mummy, you’re the best mum to me
I know that this is the way it has to be
Every time I think of you I will smile
And I will see you in heaven, in just a little while.’
Sally sat down with a smile on her face
Daddy held her in a warm embrace.
‘I’m so proud of you’ Said Daddy with a tear in his eye
It’s not forever Daddy, it’s just a short goodbye.
Sally watched her mummy be carried away,
Her head held high she began to pray,
‘Dear god please take care of my mummy,
she will be the most beautiful angel there will ever be’
poem by Kayla Neil
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Fair Silver Maiden
Oh my fair silver maiden
I see your eyes in the stars that light the dark,
Your hair in the swaying summer grass,
Your smile in the majestic sunrise
Oh my fair silver maiden
Your scent is always on the next wind
Your sweet, intoxicating scent.
Oh my fair silver maiden
Tell me where you are
So that I might find you
And my heart be complete.
Oh my fair silver maiden
How I long for you
How I cry for you
How I search for you.
Oh my fair silver maiden
Always beyond the next wind.
Tell me where you are
So that I might find you
And my heart be complete.
Oh my fair silver maiden.
poem by Cameron Bird
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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