Song of Snobs
When Leonardo was a lad there was a certain set
Who snubbed him most outrageously - in fact, they snub him yet
He wasn't in the fashion, so he wasn't in the fold;
Before his death he was too new, and now he grows too old.
Because his art was new to them the snobs of Florence laughed;
And now, because he isn't new, the moderns scorn his craft.
'Da Vinci? Don't be crude, my dear! Call him an artist? Pshaw!
Why that old anachronism, so they say, knew how to draw!'
They have wandered thro' the ages, mouthing cliches as they go.
At first nights, and private views, 'mid the people 'one should know.'
But the artist goes on laughing as thro' every age he's laughed
At snobs who patronise the 'Arts,' but boggle at the craft.
When Shakespeare sought draw the crowds and please the taste of town
And watched box office takings with a worn and worried frown,
Kit Marlowe knew, Ben Jonson knew what stuff was in the lad;
But the dilettanti voted him quite definitely bad.
The fellow simply stole his plots, they said with lofty sneers,
And served them up most vulgarly to tickle groundling's ears.
'Will Shakespeare? That cheap showman!
Why the man's quite gauche, my dear!
I prefer them cultivated like dear Bacon and de Vere. '
So reputations surge and sink as lifts and ebbs the tide,
Now wallowing within the trough, now on the crest they ride.
But the snobs are ever with us, snobs of art, of place, of pelf.
And reading this, I rather think I might be one myself.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Journey Discovered
He sat back watched and laughed
As the “Son of God” was persecuted
he sat back watched and laughed
As the “Son of God” quietly disputed
he sat back watched and laughed
As the “Son of God” was beat and spit on
He still did not budge, (Jesus)
he sat back watched and laughed
As the “Son of God” was nailed, torn, and stripped of His clothes
to end with a body full of holes
if only he knew
that it wasn’t through
the “Son of God” came to do what God had Him to do
save me and you
from the end
He bared our sins
sitting on His throne
Satan lost his grin
his world will soon come to an end
Orlando,8/2/09
poem by Priscilla Brown
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Snobs are people who talk proudly about prices, because they have no idea about values!
quote by Octav Bibere
Submitted by Kitsy Bush
Vote! | Copy!
What Grandfather Said
(_An epistle from a narrow-minded old gentleman to a young artist of
superior intellect and intense realism._)
Your thoughts are for the poor and weak?
Ah, no, the picturesque's your passion!
Your tongue is always in your cheek
At poverty that's not in fashion.
You like a ploughman's rugged face,
Or painted eyes in Piccadilly;
But bowler hats are commonplace,
And thread-bare tradesmen simply silly.
The clerk that sings 'God save the King,'
And still believes his Tory paper,--
You hate the anæmic fool? I thought
You loved the weak! Was that all vapour?
Ah, when you sneer, dear democrat,
At such a shiny-trousered Tory
Because he doffs his poor old hat
To what he thinks his country's glory,
To you it's just a coloured rag.
You hate the 'patriots' that bawl so.
Well, my Ulysses, there's a flag
That lifts men in Republics also.
No doubt his thoughts are cruder far;
And, where those linen folds are shaking,
Perhaps he sees a kind of star
Because his eyes are tired and aching.
Banal enough! Banal as truth!
But I'm not thinking of his banners.
I'm thinking of his pinched white youth
And your disgusting 'new art' manners.
His meek submission stirs your hate?
Better, my lad, if you're so fervent,
Turn your cold steel against the State
Instead of sneering at the servant.
He does his job. He draws his pay.
You sneer, and dine with those that pay him;
And then you write a snobbish play
For democrats, in which you play him.
Ah, yes, you like simplicity
That sucks its cheeks to make the dimple.
But this domestic bourgeoisie
You hate,--because it's all too simple.
You hate the hearth, the wife, the child,
You hate the heavens that bend above them.
Your simple folk must all run wild
Like jungle-beasts before you love them.
You own a house in Cheyne Walk,
(You say it costs three thousand fully)
Where subtle snobs can talk and talk
And play the intellectual bully.
Yes. I say 'snobs.' Are names alone
Free from all change? Your word 'Victorian'
Could bite and sting in ninety one
But now--it's deader than the saurian.
You think I live in yesterday,
Because I think your way the wrong one;
But I have hewed and ploughed my way,
And--unlike yours--it's been a long one.
I let Victoria toll her bell,
And went with Strindberg for a ride, sir.
I've fought through your own day as well,
And come out on the other side, sir,--
The further side, the morning side,
I read free verse (the Psalms) on Sunday.
But I've decided (you'll decide)
That there is room for song on Monday.
I've seen the new snob on his way,
The intellectual snob I mean, sir,
The artist snob, in book and play,
Kicking his mother round the scene, sir.
I've heard the Tories talk like fools;
And the rich fool that apes the Tory.
I've seen the shopmen break your rules
And die like Christ, in Christ's own glory.
But, as for you, that liberal sneer
Reminds me of the poor old Kaiser.
He was a 'socialist,' my dear.
Well, I'm your grandson. You'll grow wiser.
poem by Alfred Noyes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Call To Arms
Don't be disheartened
by critics
and poets
the knockers
literary snobs
who know all
and know
nothing.
poem by Vince Gullaci
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My friends that are snobs think its cool I did a movie with Albert Brooks.
quote by Robin Tunney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The tears that you spill, the sorrowful, are sweeter than the laughter of snobs and the guffaws of scoffers.
quote by Kahlil Gibran
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Yvette
what we like in her
is her naivete
she snobs you
when you are not needed
yet all smiles when
she has a request
brought in the strictest
principle of utilitarianism
sometimes you feel
that you are nothing but
a used
or second-hand thing,
after she
drops you like that hot potato
her fingers
fold
today i meet
and i am ready for once
to slay this monster
with all my own fire.
i will burn
and vanish her forever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
If you knew
If you knew how much I love you!
If you knew how much I need you!
If you knew how dear you are to me!
If you knew how much I miss you!
If you knew how many times I think of you!
If you knew how painful it is to live without you!
If you knew when I feel hell lot of jealous for you!
If you knew why so many words for you!
If you knew why so many music for you!
If you knew how much I wish your best!
poem by Asif Andalib
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Legs And The Man
Alas, my dear, be you high-born,
Or just a Sydney cutie,
I fear you've earned a he-man's scorn
Thro' failing in your duty.
A lady would avert her eyes,
Taught by her caste to realise
That the male leg without disguise
Is not a thing of beauty.
Even when used to underpin
A dress-reforming dandy,
‘Tis still a prop of reddened skin,
Mostly knock-kneed, or bandy.
And, oh, my dear, you must have known
How sensitive are those who own
These knobby knuckles thickly sown
With ebon hairs, or sandy.
And oh, my dear, be you de Vere,
Or just some saucy Sadie,
To goggle when male shanks appear
Is positively shady.
But should you giggle - Oh, dear! Oh!
No matter how grotesque the show,
All proper gentlemen must know
You're low. You ain't no lady.
But oh, my dear, and ah, my dear,
Learn etiquette. For when, dear,
You in those fetching shorts appear
At tennis now and then, dear;
Men may stare hard, they may stare long,
Their heads a-whirl, their hearts a song;
Yet, save your scorn. There's nothing wrong.
They still are gentlemen, dear.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Song of Wrong [ You Laughed and Laughed and Laughed ]
In your eyes
My song is one of wrong
Intruding into your heart
And you laughed and
Laughed and laughed.
.
In your heart, you knew
I could be there,
Cause you brought me here.
And you laughed and
Laughed and laughed.
.
In your soul,
You knew I want you
In my home.
'cause you brought me hope.
And you laughed and
Laughed and laughed.
.
You laughed at my wrong
You laughed at my right.
You laughed over
Everything I do.
.
And now, my love I give to you
But you shut your eyes and
Laughed and laughed
And laughed.
.
You laughed at my walk
You laughed at my song.
.
You walked your walk
Into my life of wrong
Knowing all along
You could change me in all.
.
But you shot your heart
To my love
And you walked away from
My heart, and you laughed
And laughed and laughed.
poem by Efe Benjamin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The 'Poem A Day' Project ~ Day 135
I was at my art class studying shading
When a stranger caught my eye
They seemed to be doing their best evading
Glances from passers by
Sat at the back in dark glasses
And large coat and big floppy hat
I’d noticed them there in most of my classes
Looking quite rounded and fat
I wandered over to take a look
When something became very clear
And by great surprise I was took
It was an elephant shaking with fear
‘Don’t tell what I really am please
I want to learn this craft
But when I told the men on the trapeze
They just choked and laughed
The same was true for the whole circus
They didn’t think I was real
They do their best to deter us
Not caring just how we feel
I’ve always been the nervous sort
The big top never suited me
When the crowds gathered my only thought
Was to just turn and flee
But I was filled with a strong desire
A need to paint and create
It burned in me just like a fire
I knew that I could be great’
So I didn’t tell, though it was kind of funny
And he studied harder and moved himself on
And finally decided to make some money
And followed his fortune up to London
So if you are in London town
And getting your portrait done there
And the artist seems very grey and round
He’s nervous so please don’t stare
poem by Flying Lemming
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fred The Clown
Orange, blue, red, white and brown
The favorite colors of Fred the Clown
A happy and jolly clown he is
But some people he likes to tease
Everyone hates to be with Fred the Clown
But Fred never showed the people a frown
He never felt bad for what he did
The hatred inside the people had hid
The people thought of what to do with Fred the Clown
They decided to talk to the mayor of town
He laughed at what the people said
He laughed until his face gone red
The mayor didn't believe the people
For Fred the Clown gives him a tickle
They always the mayor smiled that way
Ever since Fred came each day
He already knew what Fred was doing
So he decided to call Fred for a meeting
The mayor told him what the people had said
And so left poor little Fred
The people decided to give Fred a chance
So Fred the Clown gave them a dance
The dance was so funny that they laughed all day
Fred the Clown will forever stay
poem by Geneen Meyers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Little Juvenile Snobs
Little juvenile snobs
Are such terrible things,
They get uppish and don't give two hoots;
So you cut them hard back
Like you do in the spring
To a shrub that's too big for it's roots.
Written Feb 1995
poem by John Carter Brown
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me Too
Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too,
Went for a ride in a flying shoe,
'Hooray!'
'What fun!'
'It's time we flew!'
Said Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too.
Ickle was captain, Pickle was crew,
And Tickle served coffee and mulligan stew
As higher
And higher
And higher they flew,
Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too.
Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too,
Over the sun and beyond the blue. '
Hold on!'
'Stay in!'
'I hope we do!'
Cried Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too.
Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too
Never returned to the world they knew,
And nobody
knows what's
happened to
Dear Ickle Me, Pickle Me, Tickle Me too.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Fred the Clown
Orange, blue, red, white and brown
The favorite colors of Fred the Clown
A happy and jolly clown he is
But some people he likes to tease
Everyone hates to be with Fred the Clown
But Fred never showed the people a frown
He never felt bad for what he did
The hatred inside the people had hid
The people thought of what to do with Fred the Clown
They decided to talk to the mayor of town
He laughed at what the people said
He laughed until his face gone red
The mayor didn't believe the people
For Fred the Clown gives him a tickle
They always saw the mayor smiled that way
Ever since Fred came each day
He already knew what Fred was doing
So he decided to call Fred for a meeting
The mayor told him what the people had said
And so left poor little Fred
The people decided to give Fred a chance
So Fred the Clown gave them a dance
The dance was so funny that they laughed all day
Fred the Clown will forever stay
poem by Geneen Alyssa Meyers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Jim
Never knew Jim, did you? Our boy Jim?
Bless you, there was the likely lad;
Supple and straight and long of limb,
Clean as a whistle, and just as glad.
Always laughing, wasn't he, dad?
Joy, pure joy to the heart of him,
And, oh, but the soothering ways he had,
Jim, our Jim!
But I see him best as a tiny tot,
A bonny babe, though it's me that speaks;
Laughing there in his little cot,
With his sunny hair and his apple cheeks.
And my! but the blue, blue eyes he'd got,
And just where his wee mouth dimpled dim
Such a fairy mark like a beauty spot --
That was Jim.
Oh, the war, the war! How my eyes were wet!
But he says: "Don't be sorrowing, mother dear;
You never knew me to fail you yet,
And I'll be back in a year, a year."
'Twas at Mons he fell, in the first attack;
For so they said, and their eyes were dim;
But I laughed in their faces: "He'll come back,
Will my Jim."
Now, we'd been wedded for twenty year,
And Jim was the only one we'd had;
So when I whispered in father's ear,
He wouldn't believe me -- would you, dad?
There! I must hurry . . . hear him cry?
My new little baby. . . . See! that's him.
What are we going to call him? Why,
Jim, just Jim.
Jim! For look at him laughing there
In the same old way in his tiny cot,
With his rosy cheeks and his sunny hair,
And look, just look . . . his beauty spot
In the selfsame place. . . . Oh, I can't explain,
And of course you think it's a mother's whim,
But I know, I know it's my boy again,
Same wee Jim.
Just come back as he said he would;
Come with his love and his heart of glee.
Oh, I cried and I cried, but the Lord was good;
From the shadow of Death he set Jim free.
So I'll have him all over again, you see.
Can you wonder my mother-heart's a-brim?
Oh, how happy we're going to be!
Aren't we, Jim?
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Old Town Types No.1 - The Old Town
Fierce on the wheat-sown Mallee plain
The ruthless summer suns burned down,
And dust-storms, heralding the rain,
Swept thro' the street and on again
While tradesfolk cursed in the old white town.
Of sand and line-stone stoutly built,
She'd lived to prosper and to wilt,
Because, as all wiseacres knew,
'They went and brought the railway thro'.'
Deep-voiced, bewhiskered townsfolk these,
Remnant of pioneering days,
Full of high tales and memories
Of wild, rough work and wilder sprees,
When coach and teamster went their ways;
When men pushed out to newer land
And cash came easy to the hand
And went: The golden days men knew
'Before that put that railway thro'.'
Yet even in those days of stress -
Or seeming stress - the old town knew
Nothing of wnat or wretchedness;
For wealth was there and work to bless
All men who sought them work to do.
To me, a child in those far years,
Now as a time-dimmed dream appears
The olden life that once I knew
After the railway wandered thro'.
Like myths in some long-fabled tale -
Figures and scenes to conjure with
They seem. Yet 'spite the deepening veil,
Their memories grow never stales;
Big George, the lumper; Toll, the smith;
Long John, the snob - long have they slept
While suns burned down and dustorm swept
Across the Mallee plains they knew
Before men brought the railway thro'.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Beatnik Rant
Three cheers for Allen Ginsberg
Who wasn't afraid to have a w*nk!
I love him much more than T.S.Eliot
That clean-shaven man who worked in a bank!
I also like Jack Kerouac
And others of the Beat revolution -
No doubt they'd all have gotten the sack
If they'd worked in a respectable institution!
I've got no time for Robert Graves either
And the priests of Ultimate Inspiration,
Save us from these intellectual snobs
And their endless moralistic constipation!
It all depends if you want your verse
To be taught in schools for the improvement of fools -
Personally I can't think of anything worse,
So start writing NOW and breaking the rules! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Father's Legacy...
father left a fortune
for the five of us, the mountains,
the three sisters are snobs
and a brother likes it there in
Tunisia,
i am left with skills perhaps
to convince you to stop
stealing from us.
Father is right.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Beauty Hint
Sweet, think how much the better it would be
If you thro' life should thus preserve your beauty.
It really doesn't matter much to me;
But don't you think you owe the world a duty,
And don't you think that thro' some kindly thought -
Of me, for instance - beauty were well bought?
Those wrinkles on your face, dear,
Those bags beneath your eyes
Are but the evil trace, dear,
Of temper, spite and lies.
Why can't you be a saint, dear,
Like dear old Joan of Arc;
Be pleasant - which you ain't, dear,
And do not be a nark.
Consider, sweetheart, if you smiled always
How much, thro' weeks, your face might be improving;
In place of which, in these unhappy days,
You go to beauty shops for the removing
Of wrinkles, blemishes and ugly warts.
Why, when a smile will serve, seek these resorts?
Why can't you raise a grin, sweet,
And be a little beauty?
For ugliness is sin, sweet,
And loveliness a duty.
So, for my sake, why can't you make
An effort to he glad.
Just think of me and joyful be;
For I am not too bad.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!