The Builders
Behold, I built a fowlhouse in my yard!
Two months agone the great work was begun,
And ev'ry eventide I labored hard,
What time my daily office grind was done.
'Tis to my industry a monument,
The fowls, my wife and I are well content.
Indeed, I built a fowlhouse. Gods forbid
Although I made it, floor and roof and wall
That I should boast about this thing I did.
I mention it most modestly withal.
Just these two hands, this brain were all I had.
I built it on my own, and I am glad.
And, as I toiled at eve, my wife would come,
The candle, nails and divers tools to hold;
And when I swore because I hit my thumb
She did not hang the contract up to scold,
Nor move a vote of censure, and maintain
The thing should be pulled down and built again.
She is my helpmate, both in name and deed;
Nor does she deem it policy to nag.
And when she saw my wounded finger bleed
She bound it up, most tenderly, with rag.
Thus, for one end, did both of us conspire
To have a fowlhouse was our joint desire.
And, when I went about my work in town,
No secret vision filled my day with dread
That she would pull the whole contraption down
And start a building of her own instead.
I knew, indeed, she would take care to leave
Unharmed my handiwork of yester-eve.
You'll note - if you're at all intelligent
Our system was simplicity itself:
We wanted something, that was evident,
To wit, a fowlhouse, perches, and a shelf
For nests. I got some timber, tools and nails,
And set to work. This method seldom fails.
And when I'd done, and saw it stand complete,
With triumph was I most absurdly filled.
A tiny thing, enclosing ten square feet,
That any deft suburbanite might build
Yet was my soul with satisfaction seized;
And, on the whole, I think the fowls were pleased.
Now that my hens are well and snugly housed,
And given cosy nests in which to lay,
It seems, their gratitude has been aroused:
Our egg supply increases ev'ry day.
And yet, I vow, when I their house designed
No sordid thought of eggs was in my mind.
Maybe I seem a trifle too inclined
To brag about a very simple feat.
Yet strange ideas crowd into my mind
When I sit down to scan my morning sheet,
And read of other builders who should be
GOLIATHS in comparison with me.
These mighty undertakings, I've no doubt
Vast railway lines that span a continent,
And other matters that I read about
Are apt to cause much wordy argument.
Yet I, who calmly built a house for fowls,
Can feel contempt for these unseemly howls.
For, when they move to build, unholy shouts
Go up to Heaven from opponent throats;
The Ins are ever brawling with the Outs;
And both are scheming sordidly for votes.
They build not as true builders, such as I,
Who build for love, and scorn the trade they ply.
Thank God, my wife and I are well content
In doing things to win a modest name
Without the aid of Party Government
And all the meanness of that paltry Game.
Honest endeavor, and some boards and nails,
Pride in our work - this method seldom fails.
I am so diffident, I hardly care
To give advice to statesmen evident,
And yet, on this occasion, shall I dare
To offer them some small encouragement:
Let them forego their wrangles, curses, howls,
And strive to build a little place for fowls.
'Tis sheer presumption, surely, to compare
Myself with statesmen in high honor decked;
Yet do I feel emboldened to declare
That I am more deserving of respect.
They, by their brawls, a mighty work have marred;
I built an honest fowlhouse in my yard.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Related quotes
The Barn
They should never have built a barn there, at all -
Drip, drip, drip! - under that elm tree,
Though when it was young. Now it is old
But good, not like the barn and me.
To-morrow they cut it down. They will leave
The barn, as I shall be left, maybe.
What holds it up? 'Twould not pay to pull down.
Well, this place has no other antiquity.
No abbey or castle looks so old
As this that Job Knight built in '54,
Built to keep corn for rats and men.
Now there's fowls in the roof, pigs on the floor.
What thatch survives is dung for the grass,
The best grass on the farm. A pity the roof
Will not bear a mower to mow it. But
Only fowls have foothold enough.
Starlings used to sit there with bubbling throats
Making a spiky beard as they chattered
And whistled and kissed, with heads in air,
Till they thought of something else that mattered.
But now they cannot find a place,
Among all those holes, for a nest any more.
It's the turn of lesser things, I suppose.
Once I fancied 'twas starlings they built it for.
poem by Edward Thomas
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Build
Clambering men in big bad boots
Dug up my den, dug up my roots
Treated us like plasticine town
They built us up and knocked us down
From meccano to legoland
Here they come with a brick in their hand
Men with heads filled up with sand
Its build
Its build a house where we can stay
Add a new bit everyday
Its build a road for us to cross
Build us lots and lots and lots and lots and lots
Whistling men in yellow vans
They can and drew us diagrams
Showed us how it all worked it out
And wrote it down in case of doubt
Slow, slow, quick, quick, quick
Its wall to wall and brick to brick
They work so fast it makes you sick
Its build
Its build a house where we can stay
Add a new bit everyday
Its build a road for us to cross
Build us lots and lots and lots and lots and lots
Its build
Down with sticks and up with bricks
In with boots and up with roots
Its in with suits and new recruits
Its build
song performed by by Housemartins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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His True Church
I know many religious people, and one Church with no steeple,
A church that’s built with no walls, built on only believing souls,
Built upon an Eternal Foundation, that being our very Salvation,
Built upon The One Cornerstone, and that is Jesus Christ alone.
Many, who worship in a building, to Truth alone, are unyielding,
Building a church on tradition, God’s Truth, with man’s addition,
Added to the work finished by, Jesus Christ who reigns on high,
Ignoring His words “it is finished”, Grace by many is diminished.
Men making a way to Heaven, not by grace but religious leaven,
Building church in a human way, as they lead many souls astray,
As many souls weekly perch, in the pews of a manmade church,
Relying on their religious activity, to help them work into eternity.
“I will build my Church” He said, that was Christ, who is the Head,
Head of His True Church on earth, filled with souls, by New Birth,
All members being Born Again, into His Church, not one of men,
You’ll find, you no longer search, as a member of God’s Church.
Jesus is the Way, Truth and Life, as Head of the Church of Christ,
And each of us is a living stone, built through faith in Christ alone,
His Church He proceeds to build, to complete as His Father willed,
Leading the only True Church friend, as others shall see in the end.
From Fame to Fowls
Mr Blenkinsop and I
Are much concerned to learn
That, somewhere in the further sky,
A frightful heat-belt lurks on high,
Where torrid ethers burn.
And I and Mr Blenkinsop
We take it rather hard,
Because all work will have to stop
Henceforth within the small work-shop
In Blenkinsop's back-yard.
For many years we labored there,
In Blenkinsop's back-yard.
And, in our town, plain folk would stare
And mutter: 'That's the learned pair
Who'll win the world's regard.'
We planned a gadget in that shop
To journey to the moon;
And deferential friends would stop
To speak to me and Blenkinsop
And ask of our balloon.
We'd built the thing of bits and scraps,
And loomed amongst our peers
As very scientific chaps;
Tho' privily we meant, perhaps,
To dodge the trip for years,
If not for e'er. But, while remained
The possibility,
Vast oodles of renown we gained,
And fulsome praise our townspeople rained
On Blenkinsop and me.
Alas for me and Blenkinsop!
Our name is mud in town;
For we have come an awful flop.
Gone is the kudos of our shop
And gone our vast renown.
Now I and Blenkinsop, my pard,
Walk 'mid derisive howls;
Although his lot is not so hard,
For in the Blenkinsop back-yard
Our ship now shields his fowls.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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I built this house just for you!
I built this house just for you
We built it together, but now its coming unglued.
I am your frame because I built you up
But you’re hammering me down, I have to watch out and duck.
Do you want this house and my frame work?
You are showing it and acting like a jerk.
Why listen to your friends because they are just jealous,
I am trying to have a house and your being rebellious.
You must want a new house or a big mansion,
But I am all you’ll need! Are you focused or maybe trancin?
I am all you need or maybe more,
Before me you were considered a whore.
I have your back, but my doesn’t seem good enough,
What more could you want, what other stuff?
I admire your goals and that’s a fact,
But the way you have been acting is totally whack!
I still love you and you know that’s true,
Because when I close my eyes all I see is you!
Please don’t hammer down our house,
On your own, your house would only be suited for a mouse.
So forgive me if this is a little harsh or if it hurts your feelings,
But the truth is the truth and its out and revealing.
So let’s work on our house and build it back up,
Since the truth is out, we will have good luck.
Together our house will be stronger, beautiful, and even a mess.
But if we are honest with one another, the relationship won’t be a guess.
Now it’s all up to you to lay the hammer down and be my shoulder,
But if you don’t stop messing with me, it certainly will be over.
poem by Melanie Weeks
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This House
(nile rodgers)
This house is built
On a foundation of love
This house is built
On a foundation of love
Our toys are in the attic baby
Pictures on the wall
We can see our memories
From the days past in the mirror
Down the hall, oh yeah
Our love will survive in our own little paradise
So inspired, so inspired
Palatial it may not be
But its a home and a castle to me
A dream from a magazine
And well never give it up cause
This house is built
On a foundation of love
This house is built
On a foundation of love
Ill try to comfort you baby
You try to comfort me yeah
I know you love me
With all your heart, oh yeah
cause you say you do
You know that when you are sad
Ill be there in a flash
At the drop of a hat, oh yeah
cause I want you to feel love
And you dont have to say a thing
You dont have to ask, cause baby
This house is built
On a foundation of love
This house is built
On a foundation of love
Maybe well strike it rich
One day really make it big
And I know because our love is so strong
Well always have a home
This house is built
On a foundation of love
This house is built
On a foundation of love
This house is built
On a foundation of love
This house is built
On a foundation of love
This house is built
On a foundation of love
This house is built
On a foundation of love
song performed by by Diana Ross
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The House That Built Jack
Scorched white by the lowly hung sun,
Crouched underneath the low ceiling sky.
Could burn his fingerprints right off,
Could be his last underground loft.
There's trick draws and the walls are too dry,
The stairs don't go up, the roof doesn't tilt,
In the house that Jack built.
An architect of soil and ash,
He buried and burned what wouldn't build.
The house strong with mortar and bricks,
The home strong, strong as straw and sticks.
Warm if he's willing, weak as he's willed,
The bell can't ring and the flowers won't wilt,
In the house that Jack built.
There's phantoms in the furniture,
In the company of his own ghost.
Trade family for plastic house plants,
Trade your heart if the clock enchants.
Never the neighbour, nobody's host,
Watch your head, mind your step, beware the guilt,
In the house that Jack built.
The labyrinth, he burnt it down,
There's a well but he can't choose a wish.
Etched the blueprints onto his skin,
From his own flaws; thereof; therein.
Unsmash the mirrors, face the blemish,
All work and no play, Jack can't find the hilt,
In the house that Jack built.
The house speaks to Jack and moves him.
Along the floorboards beneath the dust.
He's the shadow the bulbs can't touch.
He's the loft filled with far too much.
His house a temple; In jack we trust.
Home is where the heart, like cement, is spilt,
In the house that Jack built.
Home is where your soul must fill in each crack;
Home is what makes up for what you lack;
Home is what's bringing this flashback;
The house that built Jack.
poem by Ella Veyes
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I Was A Bustlemaker Once, Girls
When I was a lad of twenty and was working in High Street, Ken.,
I made quite a pile in a very little while - I was a bustle maker then.
Then there was work in plenty, and I was a thriving man
But things have decayed in the bustle making trade, since the bustle making trade began.
I built bustles with a will then, I made bustles with a wit,
I made bustles as a Yankee hustles, simply for the love of it.
I built bustles with a skill then, surpassed, they say, by none,
But those were the days when bustles were the craze, and now those days are done.
I was a bustle maker once, girls, many many years ago,
I put my heart in the bustle maker's art and I don't mind saying so.
I may have had the brains of a dunce, girls, I may have had the mind of a muff,
I may have been plain and deficient in the brain but I did know a bustle maker's stuff.
I built bustles for the slender, I built bustles for the stout,
I built bustles for the girls with muscles, and bustles for the girls without.
I built bustles by the thousands, in the good old days of yore,
But things have decayed in the bustle making trade and I don't build bustles any more.
Many were the models worn once; but mine were unique, tis said,
No rival design was so elegant as mine; I was a bustle maker bred.
I was a bustle maker born once, an artist through and through,
But things have decayed in the bustle making trade
And what can a bustle maker do?
I built bustles to enchant, girls, I built bustles to amaze,
I built bustles for the skirt that rustles, and bustles for the skirt that sways.
I built bustles for my aunt, girls, when other business fled,
But a bustle maker can't make bustles for his aunt when a bustle maker's aunt is dead.
I was a bustle maker once, girls, once in the days gone by,
I lost my heart to the bustle maker's art, and that I don't deny.
I may have had the brains of a dunce, girls, as many men appear to suppose,
I may have been obtuse and of little other use
But I could make a bustle when I chose.
I built bustles for the bulging, I built bustles for the lithe,
I built bustles for the girls in Brussels and bustles for the girls in Hythe.
I built bustles for all Europe once, but I've been badly hit,
Things have decayed in the bustle making trade
And that it the truth of it.
poem by Patrick Barrington
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Let not him who is houseless pull down the house of another, but let him work diligently and build one for himself, thus by example assuring that his own shall be safe from violence when built.
quote by Abraham Lincoln
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Joys of Flat Packing (Fun Poem 33)
For those who built models
when we were a kid.
Remember all the enjoyment we had
putting all the pieces together.
Then we grew up to build bigger models,
wardrobes, cabinets and things.
Fun they look until
you take out the instructions,
only to find they are in a foreign language.
Something that you cannot understand.
Now if you get over that hurdle,
there is still more to come.
Before too long you are scratching your head again.
The possibilities are endless here.
You have a piece that is missing
or something that will not fit.
If your one of the lucky ones,
someone has put in some extras,
or have you missed something out somewhere?
It is back to the instruction,
the ones that you cannot read.
No definitely, you have some bits over,
but what do you do with them?
A couple of nails or screws you do not mind,
but when it is enough to build
whole thing all over again.
It is then you want to find a corner to sit in
and have a darn good cry.
Oh, the joys of flat packing,
it will get you every time.
(22 July 2007)
poem by David Harris
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It's Alright
They want your mind and your body
But they don't understand
And don't care much about it
Gotta work for your country
Society's built on concrete and money
If this room was to vanish
And the toys of man turned to civilized dust
There'd still be you and me, honey
With our history gone
But the spirit lives on
Build those highways, build those cars
On a planet full of scrap metal
There'd better be life on mars
Chorus:
It's alright, it's alright
If you don't think about it
It's alright
If you don't look at it, it's alright
How time slips away
Live by the good book
That's what the wise men say
But where does it leave us
Were they right or were they wrong
Gotta have hope, gotta carry on
It's alright, it's alright
It's alright, it's alright
They want your soul and your spirit
Make them understand
These things they never can have
Gotta work for your family
A community built on trust, not money
If this town was to vanish
And the office blocks were just turned into ashes
They'd be you and me, honey
With the will to survive
And the spirit lives on
Build those factories
Plants and cars
On a planet so desecrated
There'd better be life on mars
Chorus
How time slips away
Live by the good book
That's what the wise men say
But where does it leave us
Were they right or were they wrong
Gotta have hope
Gotta carry on
It's alright, it's alright
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The House
They are building a house
half a block down
and I sit up here
with the shades down
listening to the sounds,
the hammers pounding in nails,
thack thack thack thack,
and then I hear birds,
and thack thack thack,
and I go to bed,
I pull the covers to my throat;
they have been building this house
for a month, and soon it will have
its people...sleeping, eating,
loving, moving around,
but somehow
now
it is not right,
there seems a madness,
men walk on top with nails
in their mouths
and I read about Castro and Cuba,
and at night I walk by
and the ribs of the house show
and inside I can see cats walking
the way cats walk,
and then a boy rides by on a bicycle
and still the house is not done
and in the morning the men
will be back
walking around on the house
with their hammers,
and it seems people should not build houses
anymore,
it seems people should not get married
anymore,
it seems people should stop working
and sit in small rooms
on 2nd floors
under electric lights without shades;
it seems there is a lot to forget
and a lot not to do,
and in drugstores, markets, bars,
the people are tired, they do not want
to move, and I stand there at night
and look through this house and the
house does not want to be built;
through its sides I can see the purple hills
and the first lights of evening,
and it is cold
and I button my coat
and I stand there looking through the house
and the cats stop and look at me
until I am embarrased
and move North up the sidewalk
where I will buy
cigarettes and beer
and return to my room.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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Workers Of America
Workers of America shout long and loud
As we work together hard and proud
We are the ones that built this great country of ours
From the strain on our backs and our blisters and scars
We were the ones to clear the fields and lay the tracks
We are the ones to build the cities and break our backs
And we are the ones to sweat and bleed and die
As we built this great country, which no one can deny
We work the factories, and the stores and the mills
We dig the ditches and collect the garbage to pay our bills
We are the ones to work in the snow and in the heat of the sun
If it wasn't for us the workers, no work would ever be done
It wasn't the politicians or the judges who built this great land
But it was the workers of America as destiny had planned
Also we are the ones to fight the fires and all the wars
When our elected officials send us away to foreign shores
And we are the ones to feed the deprived and the needy
While the rich man cares for no one, but himself and the greedy
Without us the workers this land or any land would certainly fall
As we are the one that mixes the mortar and builds the wall
We pay the taxes to keep America's heart beating
And we are the ones to keep America always competing
Workers of America look up, as GOD gives us a nod
And listen to the past, as our forefathers do applaud.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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Guilt
Onerous guilt
From the residue of sin
Guilt's foundation is built.
It fills my mind
and tarries in my thoughts
and all my sin
all my ignorance whim
it wroughts.
The terrible things said,
the acts performed
the blood I shed
the souls I deformed
Guilt, formed the residue of sin, and built
A kingdom of pain in me...
Guilt, the barren of caprice
Where mine heart cease
To be the lord over me…
Guilt thou build sin
And sin build thee
Thou work together
Simultaneously!
Guilt I accept thee, but do not follow thee
From Guilt's monarchy, my soul is free
Never more I will I kneel to thee or sin!
Guilty! ! !
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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By The Fireside : The Builders
All are architects of Fate,
Working in these walls of Time;
Some with massive deeds and great,
Some with ornaments of rhyme.
Nothing useless is, or low;
Each thing in its place is best;
And what seems but idle show
Strengthens and supports the rest.
For the structure that we raise,
Time is with materials filled;
Our to-days and yesterdays
Are the blocks with which we build.
Truly shape and fashion these;
Leave no yawning gaps between;
Think not, because no man sees,
Such things will remain unseen.
In the elder days of Art,
Builders wrought with greatest care
Each minute and unseen part;
For the Gods see everywhere.
Let us do our work as well,
Both the unseen and the seen;
Make the house, where Gods may dwell,
Beautiful, entire, and clean.
Else our lives are incomplete,
Standing in these walls of Time,
Broken stairways, where the feet
Stumble as they seek to climb.
Build to-day, then, strong and sure,
With a firm and ample base;
And ascending and secure
Shall to-morrow find its place.
Thus alone can we attain
To those turrets, where the eye
Sees the world as one vast plain,
And one boundless reach of sky.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Cities Of White Men
Those men build many houses:
They dig the earth, and they build;
They cut down the trees, and they build;
They work always - building.
From the elevation of the mountainside
I behold the clouds:
The clouds build many beautiful houses in the sky:
They build, and they tear down;
They build, and they dissolve. . . .
The cities of white men,
They are not beautiful like the cloud cities;
They are not vast, like the cloud cities. . . .
A wind-swept teepee
Is all the house I own. . .
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Love Song: I And Thou
Nothing is plumb, level, or square:
the studs are bowed, the joists
are shaky by nature, no piece fits
any other piece without a gap
or pinch, and bent nails
dance all over the surfacing
like maggots. By Christ
I am no carpenter. I built
the roof for myself, the walls
for myself, the floors
for myself, and got
hung up in it myself. I
danced with a purple thumb
at this house-warming, drunk
with my prime whiskey: rage.
Oh I spat rage’s nails
into the frame-up of my work:
it held. It settled plumb,
level, solid, square and true
for that great moment. Then
it screamed and went on through,
skewing as wrong the other way.
God damned it. This is hell,
but I planned it, I sawed it,
I nailed it, and I
will live in it until it kills me.
I can nail my left palm
to the left-hand crosspiece but
I can’t do everything myself.
1 need a hand to nail the right,
a help, a love, a you, a wife.
poem by Alan Dugan
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Houses
(For Aline)
When you shall die and to the sky
Serenely, delicately go,
Saint Peter, when he sees you there,
Will clash his keys and say:
"Now talk to her, Sir Christopher!
And hurry, Michelangelo!
She wants to play at building,
And you've got to help her play!"
Every architect will help erect
A palace on a lawn of cloud,
With rainbow beams and a sunset roof,
And a level star-tiled floor;
And at your will you may use the skill
Of this gay angelic crowd,
When a house is made you will throw it down,
And they'll build you twenty more.
For Christopher Wren and these other men
Who used to build on earth
Will love to go to work again
If they may work for you.
"This porch," you'll say, "should go this way!"
And they'll work for all they're worth,
And they'll come to your palace every morning,
And ask you what to do.
And when night comes down on Heaven-town
(If there should be night up there)
You will choose the house you like the best
Of all that you can see:
And its walls will glow as you drowsily go
To the bed up the golden stair,
And I hope you'll be gentle enough to keep
A room in your house for me.
poem by Joyce Kilmer
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Rob And Paul The Builders
It's been said you'll find a builder on almost every street
I know of two from Upwey Rob Leerveld and Paul Monteith
They often work together though sometimes on their own
And through the mountain suburbs as builders they are known.
Ask Denise Housiaux about them she says how great they are
That to find their very equals one would have to travel far
They built her house in Kallista she heaps upon them praise
A good job earns you more work and in the long run pays.
Rob Leerveld and Paul Monteith proud of the work they do
The job that is hard on one man is made easier by two
Throughout the mountain suburbs good reports of them abound
Of Rob and Paul the builders the word has gone around.
Rob Leerveld and Paul Monteith different as chalk and cheese
Yet in each others company they seem so much at ease
There must be truth in the saying that opposites agree
For they go well together and work in harmony.
The Dutchman and the Aussie quite different it would seem
But when they work together they make a mighty team
And it's true you'll find a builder on almost every street
But you won't find any better than Leerveld and Monteith.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Stop Breaking Your Heart
Rick astley
Times are hard, thats for sure
Lovers need to love a little more
Everybodys got to do their best
You cant complain
If you settle for less
And I know its hard for you
To do the things that you want to do
But every day can get a little better
If you rise up, stand up
And stick together
* stop breaking your heart
Dont fall apart
Were gonna build this thing together
Stop breaking your heart
This is the start
Were gonna make it last forever
Were gonna build this thing together
Now
I believe in you for sure
People need to learn
To trust a little more
Everybodys got a chip on their shoulder
Just because they feel a little older
I know its got to be
So much better, wait and see
Hold on for a little longer
Gonna rise up, stand up
And well be stronger
( * repeat 2 times )
Come on
Were gonna build this thing together
Now
Build it up, build it up
Build it up, build it up
Every night people fight
Im askin you do you think thats right
I believe that the feelings there
But the people are unaware, yeah
And I know its hard for you
To do the things that you want to do
But everything can get a little better
If you rise up, stand up
And stick together now
( * repeat 2 times )
Now (stop breaking your heart)
Oh now, yeah
Were gonna build it up
Were gonna build it up
Were gonna build this thing together
Build it up
Were gonna build it up
Were gonna build this thing together
Now ...
song performed by by Rick Astley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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