The Anonymous Altruist
A mysterious cove in the Customs
The boss, so to speak, of the Ban
I have blamed a good deal;
But I wronged him, I feel,
Since I've come to imagine the man.
When he censored some book that I wanted
I sneered at him once, I'll allow;
But, since I've given heed
To the life he must lead,
He has all my sympathy now.
This mysterious cove at the Customs
Is clearly a martyr; that's sure.
On his shoulders he takes
Loads of sin for our sakes,
And he suffers to keep us all pure.
For he reads all the hot stuff imported
And never once threatens to strike,
Tho' he loathes it, no doubt.
Ah, my pity goes out
To him. Think what his mind must be like!
This anonymous cove at the Customs,
This storehouse for horrible stuff,
Is as venal, I'll bet,
As the rest of us, yet,
Does he whine that his job is too tough?
No. He keeps his identity secret,
His knowledge safe under his hat;
And he lurks all alone,
Unsuspected, unknown,
Such as the hangmen and heroes like that.
This incredible cove at the Customs,
His duties are drastic and grim;
For, if human he be,
What is poison to me
Must be equally poison to him.
Yet, undaunted he seizes and scoffs it,
And perhaps throws a fit on the floor,
Doped with all the impure
Of the world's literature.
But he manfully comes up for more.
This untouchable cove at the Customs,
He sneaks to his work in the dawn
And, in some secret lair
Reads the spicy bits there,
With his soul, as it were, all in pawn.
Pity, then, this official absorber
Of rank Rabelaisian lore
Who wallows in sin
To protect us, his kin.
Could an altruist ever do more?
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Are you the Cove?
“Are you the Cove?” he spoke the words
As swagmen only can;
The Squatter freezingly inquired,
“What do you mean, my man?”
“Are you the Cove?” his voice was stern,
His look was firm and keen;
Again the Squatter made reply,
"I don’t know what you mean."
“0! dash my rags! let’s have some sense –
You ain’t a fool, by Jove,
Gammon you dunno what I mean;
I mean – are you the Cove?’
‘Yes, I'm the Cove,” the Squatter said;
The Swagman answered, "Right,
I thought as much: show me some place
Where I can doss tonight."
poem by Joseph Furphy
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Down Along The Cove
Down along the cove,
I spied my true love comin my way.
Down along the cove,
I spied my true love comin my way.
I say, lord, have mercy, mama,
It sure is good to see you comin today.
Down along the cove,
I spied my little bundle of joy.
Down along the cove,
I spied my little bundle of joy.
She said, lord, have mercy, honey,
Im so glad youre my boy!
Down along the cove,
We walked together hand in hand.
Down along the cove,
We walked together hand in hand.
Evrybody watchin us go by
Knows were in love, yes, and they understand.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Comin Into Los Angeles
Coming in from london from over the pole
Flying in a big airliner
Chicken flying everywhere around the plane
Could we ever feel much finer
Coming into los angeles
Bringing in a couple of keys
Dont touch my bags if you please
Mister customs man, man
Theres a guy with a ticket to mexico
Could he ever look much stranger
Walking in the hall with his things and all
Smiling, said he was the lone ranger
Coming into los angeles,
Bringing in a couple of keys
Dont touch my bags if you please
Mister customs man, man
Hip woman walking on a moving floor
Tripping on the escalator
Theres a man in the line, and shes blowing his mind
Thinking that hes already made her
Coming into los angeles,
Bringing in a couple of keys
Dont touch my bags if you please
Mister customs man, man
Coming into los angeles,
Bringing in a couple of keys
Dont touch my bags if you please
Mister customs man, man
Coming into los angeles,
Bringing in a couple of keys
Dont touch my bags if you please
Mister customs man, man
song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Laws and customs may be creative of vice; and should be therefore perpetually under process of observation and correction: but laws and customs cannot be creative of virtue: they may encourage and help to preserve it; but they cannot originate it.
quote by Harriet Martineau
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shimshon
To have thirty sons and thirty daughters from your many wives,
Like the customs of a bride;
To have forty sons and thirty grandsons in your life,
Like the customs of a bridegroom;
But, out of love came something so sweet.
Yo are barren but now you will conceive and bear a son,
Like the dreadlocks of Shimshon!
But my best friend had taken my wife away.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Bomb Blast
BOMB BLAST
Man is a social animal,
But where remains the social customs,
Only he has become animal,
And much more than animal,
No animal kills another,
Man is blasting all customs and rituals,
By killing innocent weaponless persons,
Man has progressed so much,
That he is controlled by remote control,
There are only blasts and blasts
And no humanity
poem by Dr. Ram Sharma
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USS Zydecoldsmobile
You can feel the horses under the hood
Through thick and thin pull us out of the wood
She's the smoothest ride, yeah, you'll ever feel
She's the Delta slide of automobiles
Double clutchin' on the backseat
I hear you, yeah, with your main squeeze
Playing triple row accordian fills
In the USS ZydecOldsmobile
Port of Call Opelousas
Port of Call Lawtell
Port of Call Frilot Cove
In the USS ZydecOldsmobile
Mardi Gras run block the road
Park the car and join the show
Get up on the trunk and dance at will
Aboard the USS ZydecOldsmobile
Port of Call Opelousas
Port of Call Lawtell
Port of Call Frilot Cove
In the USS ZydecOldsmobile
Yeah, Spirit moves through everyone
We have faith and we have fun
God bless the turning wheel
Of my USS ZydecOldsmobile
Port of Call Opelousas
Port of Call Lawtell
Port of Call Frilot Cove
In the USS ZydecOldsmobile
Come ride with me in my ZydecOldsmobile
Double clutchin' with me in my ZydecOldsmobile
Hip shakin' with me in my ZydecOldsmobile
Come ride with me in my ZydecOldsmobile
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nose
No one cares for the nose
To go nose straight is the tao
If there were no eyes
You could see better with your nose
If there were no nose
you wouldnot distinguish the sweet from the bitter
And there would be no value judgements in the world
And it is the nose that keeps you hot in the cold
And that keeps you cold in Jakodabad
The nose is the vigilant customs officer
That does not allow any drug to your lungs
And the nose cannot be bribed
Oh Nose! the customs officer of the body
And the pivot of value judgement in the world
If that name thou love
Remain with us and teach the noseless world
That it must have a nose in this wartorn world
He who knows the greatness of nose
Surely goes to the realm of rose
In the life to come
Hurrah Let us compose hymns to nose
poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
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Molech
Our wonderful world,
Our wonderful homes,
Of the customs and traditions;
But, no one is stronger than Yahweh!
Bye-bye to summer and hello to winter,
And like Nimrod and his 'mother-wife' Semiramis!
Bye-bye to winter and hello to summer,
And like the resurrection of nature after winter!
To Constantine the Emperor,
But, Nimrod married his mother.
To the Pilgrims of Plymouth Colony,
With Easter Bunny and Easter Coloured Eggs!
And like the Aztecs of Mexico.
The goddess Ceres,
The German and the Celtic Yule rites;
And like a writer's ink!
But, Saturnalia became what is called Christmas today;
Yes, the very worship of the god Saturn!
Of the pagan customs,
Of the servants of Satan,
And to the Norse people of ancient Scandinavia;
Norse Ostara,
Norse Eostra,
And like a mysterious force!
And, of the worship of the ancestral spirits,
But marked by human sacrifice and lighted candles for Baal!
All in the name of hercules who was Molech.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Easter at Spanish Cove
As always when a holiday is here
Food miraculously arrives
For Spanish Cove they have
Cooks where perfection thrives
Fresh, delicious and tasty
Tables set up with such style
Folks lined up to fill their plates
Food that satisfies for awhile
Lovely flowers graced the tables
And put everyone in the mood
For Easter dinner is special
Nowhere can you find better food
The color and freshness of fruit
Adorned the enormous salad bar
Looking very festive as well
And wanted to be the star
I hope you had a special Easter
Like the folks who love to rove
A delicious dinner like the ones
Who had Easter at Spanish Cove!
poem by Marilyn Lott
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A Derry on a Cove
’Twas in the felon’s dock he stood, his eyes were black and blue;
His voice with grief was broken, and his nose was broken, too;
He muttered, as that broken nose he wiped upon his cap—
‘It’s orfal when the p’leece has got a derry on a chap.
‘I am a honest workin’ cove, as any bloke can see,
‘It’s just because the p’leece has got a derry, sir, on me;
‘Oh, yes, the legal gents can grin, I say it ain’t no joke—
‘It’s cruel when the p’leece has got a derry on a bloke.’
‘Why don’t you go to work?’ he said (he muttered, ‘Why don’t you?’).
‘Yer honer knows as well as me there ain’t no work to do.
‘And when I try to find a job I’m shaddered by a trap—
‘It’s awful when the p’leece has got a derry on a chap.’
I sigh’d and shed a tearlet for that noble nature marred,
But, ah! the Bench was rough on him, and gave him six months’ hard.
He only said, ‘Beyond the grave you’ll cop it hot, by Jove!
‘There ain’t no angel p’leece to get a derry on a cove.’
poem by Henry Lawson
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Customs Of The East
Fields of love and fields of peace,
Where are your lovers who left you last night? !
For they have now left you with the customs of the east,
But i am now ready to teach you people about the truth.
The customs of the east have blinded you people,
And your lovers could not stay because of an errand;
But i am now ready to teach you people about the truth.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Failed Love-war
When their steadfast love
Waged war against the world
They never asked their religion
He never asked her
To change her religion
To change her name
At the culmination
Of the love- war against all
The universe
The Gods
He asked her
To wipe out the vermilion dot
On her fore-head
To break her bangles
To suit to his religion!
She stood with him
To wage war against
Her religion
Her beliefs
Her village diktat
Yet for a sublime love
Untained with religion
The caste or beliefs!
He commanded her
To immerse
In his religion, belief
And caste customs
And customs of the clan
The love converted her
To his religion, belief
And clan to keep
The nuptial knot intact!
He lost nothing for the love
But she lost everything for it
It was he who emboldened
Her to accept the Christ,
The prophet and Jahoa
With no discrimination
As the fundamentals took sword!
As the black shadows
Of disbelief crept in
She as defeated warrior
As the failed crusader
Abandoned and hood -winked
Asked him on parting:
Can you not love me
With no identity
But with the identity as women
Whom you found at first sight!
poem by Vadakkumpurath Ramesan
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Babette's Love
BABETTE she was a fisher gal,
With jupon striped and cap in crimps.
She passed her days inside the Halle,
Or catching little nimble shrimps.
Yet she was sweet as flowers in May,
With no professional bouquet.
JACOT was, of the Customs bold,
An officer, at gay Boulogne,
He loved BABETTE - his love he told,
And sighed, "Oh, soyez vous my own!"
But "Non!" said she, "JACOT, my pet,
Vous etes trop scraggy pour BABETTE.
"Of one alone I nightly dream,
An able mariner is he,
And gaily serves the Gen'ral Steam-
Boat Navigation Companee.
I'll marry him, if he but will -
His name, I rather think, is BILL.
"I see him when he's not aware,
Upon our hospitable coast,
Reclining with an easy air
Upon the PORT against a post,
A-thinking of, I'll dare to say,
His native Chelsea far away!"
"Oh, mon!" exclaimed the Customs bold,
"Mes yeux!" he said (which means "my eye")
"Oh, chere!" he also cried, I'm told,
"Par Jove," he added, with a sigh.
"Oh, mon! oh, chere! mes yeux! par Jove!
Je n'aime pas cet enticing cove!"
The PANTHER'S captain stood hard by,
He was a man of morals strict
If e'er a sailor winked his eye,
Straightway he had that sailor licked,
Mast-headed all (such was his code)
Who dashed or jiggered, blessed or blowed.
He wept to think a tar of his
Should lean so gracefully on posts,
He sighed and sobbed to think of this,
On foreign, French, and friendly coasts.
"It's human natur', p'raps - if so,
Oh, isn't human natur' low!"
He called his BILL, who pulled his curl,
He said, "My BILL, I understand
You've captivated some young gurl
On this here French and foreign land.
Her tender heart your beauties jog -
They do, you know they do, you dog.
"You have a graceful way, I learn,
Of leaning airily on posts,
By which you've been and caused to burn
A tender flame on these here coasts.
A fisher gurl, I much regret, -
Her age, sixteen - her name, BABETTE.
"You'll marry her, you gentle tar -
Your union I myself will bless,
And when you matrimonied are,
I will appoint her stewardess."
But WILLIAM hitched himself and sighed,
And cleared his throat, and thus replied:
"Not so: unless you're fond of strife,
You'd better mind your own affairs,
I have an able-bodied wife
Awaiting me at Wapping Stairs;
If all this here to her I tell,
She'll larrup you and me as well.
"Skin-deep, and valued at a pin,
Is beauty such as VENUS owns -
HER beauty is beneath her skin,
And lies in layers on her bones.
The other sailors of the crew
They always calls her 'Whopping Sue!'"
"Oho!" the Captain said, "I see!
And is she then so very strong?"
"She'd take your honour's scruff," said he
"And pitch you over to Bolong!"
"I pardon you," the Captain said,
"The fair BABETTE you needn't wed."
Perhaps the Customs had his will,
And coaxed the scornful girl to wed,
Perhaps the Captain and his BILL,
And WILLIAM'S little wife are dead;
Or p'raps they're all alive and well:
I cannot, cannot, cannot tell.
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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A civilization is a heritage of beliefs, customs, and knowledge slowly accumulated in the course of centuries, elements difficult at times to justify by logic, but justifying themselves as paths when they lead somewhere, since they open up for man his inner distance.
quote by Antoine de Saint-Exupery
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Barriers and barricades!
Is it possible?
We all have forgotten our all identity,
The only identity stands is the human,
There is no land, no border,
No religious distance, no races,
What if we all were only man?
Is it possible?
We need no passport or visa,
We are traveling all around the world,
No immigration, no customs,
No cultural variation or discrimination,
What if we all were only man?
May be one day it will,
We would be able to stand as one,
We would dissolves all barriers,
But the barricades in the walk of life,
That create complexities among us,
How can we cross that barricade?
How can we change these hearts,
Those have known the variations,
Have been self centered inside us,
How can we overcome these barricades?
What if we all were only man?
poem by Kafil Uddin Raihan.
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I have never smuggled anything in my life. Why, then, do I feel an uneasy sense of guilt on approaching a customs barrier?
quote by John Steinbeck
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All Cove
The patient fog sounds and slowly surrounds
The cabins and lands by All Cove.
It travels with alarm-fresh smells
Of unravelled greens through courteous beams of moonlight.
Some Country cattle say, “stay” others glumly, “move.”
Wild, hunkered hounds on the long, rolling ground
Sleep with the lost, grey golf balls,
Dream ‘neath the paperless poplars,
Twitching paws in June’s infectious infancy.
Clumsy bats flip overhead, biting often on the tasteless few.
Should-be-slumbering children giggle and sweat,
The 3-2-a bed, beset by sand and burr.
Drowned in campfires, high on black scab drippings of sugar;
Marshmallowed. Warned by the Aunts, Told by the Uncles.
The sap-footed cousins are beat yet jubilant by All Cove.
poem by R.J. Bevans
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A Sweet Song Of Love
Listen to this sweet song of love,
a different love song of our strife.
The victory of truth in life,
listen to this sweet song of love....
Walking together in our dreams where have we reached,
just look how blue is the sky here.
Our song is even sung by the birds here,
where ever our eyes can see is pure light spread.
Listen to this sweet song of love,
a different love song of our strife.
The victory of truth in life,
listen to this sweet song of love....
Cool cool breezes blow here always,
beyond the stars is our little cottage.
The rainbow colours are here to manage,
they where they commence their journeyof joys.
Listen to this sweet song of love,
a different love song of our strife.
The victory of truth in life,
listen to this sweet song of love....
Forbidden to meet each other in this world,
encircled within our customs were we both.
imprisoned and guarded were we both,
we died in breaking away from the customs of this world.
Listen to this sweet song of love,
a different love song of our strife.
The victory of truth in life,
listen to this sweet song of love....
poem by Renu Kakkar
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It isn't pleasant to surrender to the hegemony of a nation which is still wild and primitive, and to concede the absolute superiority of its customs and institutions, science and technology, literature and art. Must one sacrifice so much in the name of the unity of mankind?
quote by Czeslaw Milosz
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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