The Dictator
Avaunt! What news is this I hear
Of portent grim and sinister?
Is he, whose words insult mine ear,
A mere, upstart Prime Minister?
Odds fish! These fellows hitherto
Wore no demeanor critical;
But, cap in hand, have sought my view
On all affairs political.
'Sdeath! Has the caitiff not the sense
To be polite and affable
Like others, whose meek diffidence,
At times, was even laughable?
Aha! I made them sore afraid!
They gave my schemes the preference,
And murmured: 'Thank you, Mister Wade,'
With low and seemly deference.
Then, I had but to raise my hand,
And ev'ry Fed'ral min-i-on
Sprang hastily to my command,
And bowed to my opin-i-on.
'Twas I that granted them the site
To build their pesky capital;
For, if approached with mien polite.
I'm not a fearsome chap at all.
'Twasq I dictated all their laws
And made State Frights substantially
Their shibboleth; I marked the flaws,
What time they schemed financially.
I bade them to the Conference;
They came with meek humility;
And there I filled them with immense
Respect for my ability.
But now, this upstart Fisher man,
Intent on irritating me,
Has dared to moot a Fed'ral plan
Without conciliating me.
Zounds! I have spoken! And I speak
With ominous obscurity.
Let him beware, I say! . . . Next week:
'Tis pregnant with - futurity.
Next week! Be warned! Here, in my sleeve
Are certain things mysterious.
It they be loosened, by my leave. . . .
Aha! It will be serious!
0, I have words of weight and stress
To tickle your auriculars.
Enough! . . . Watch handbills and the press
For further grim particulars.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Related quotes
The Key Of The Street
"Miss Rosemary," I dourly said,
"Our balance verges on the red,
We must cut down our overhead.
One of the staff will have to go.
There's Mister Jones, he's mighty slow,
Although he does his best, I know.
"A deer old man; I like him well,
But age, alas! will always tell.
Miss Rosemary, please ring the bell
And tell old Jones to step this way . . .
Oh dear, oh dear, it isn't gay
To say the things I have to say.
"Come in and sit down, Mister Jones."
He thanks me in sepulchral tones.
Poor chap! I hear his creaking bones.
"Have a cigar? And how's your wife?
What's that! You're fearing for her life -
A cancer and the surgeon's knife. . . .
"Yes, operations are so dear,
But it's your comfort and your cheer
To know your job's so steady here."
These are his words; so meek and mild,
He looks just like a simple child . . .
Go! darn it! Suddenly I'm riled.
And so I say: "That's just too bad.
But Mister Jones. it's very sad,
You know what losses we have had.
We must cut down in times like these,
So here's a cheque, Oh take it please -
'Twill help to pay your doctor's fees.
"And just to show how I appraise
Your work - despite these doleful days
I'm giving you . . . a little raise."
Said Rosemary: "Old Jones is crying."
Thought I: "Yes, each week I'll be sighing,
When from my pocket I am prying
Ten bucks to keep his wife from dying."
poem by Robert William Service
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There Will Be No Political Solution
Breaking News
by JORDANA HORN
September 22nd 2010.
Oh dear the Palestinian Prime Minister
“angrily left a UN Ad-Hoc Liaison Committee
meeting and canceled a scheduled subsequent
press conference with Deputy Foreign Minister
Daniel Ayalon in New York on Tuesday, after
Ayalon refused to approve a summary
of the meeting which said 'two states' but did
not include the words 'two states for two peoples.'
'What I say is that if the Palestinians are not willing
to talk about two states for two peoples, let alone a
Jewish state for Israel, then there's nothing to talk
about, ' Ayalon told the Post in a telephone interview. '
“And also, I said if the Palestinians mean, at the end
of the process, to have one Palestinian state and one
bi-national state, this will not happen.' [Deadlock! ]
'I also said that I don't need the Palestinians to say Israel
is a Jewish state in Hebrew. I need them to say it in Arabic
to their own people.''If the Palestinians think that they can
create one Palestinian state and one dual-nationality state,
this will not happen, ' [Irreconcilable Political Differences! ]
'But Israel will not accept an all or nothing approach,
or any ultimatums or any preconditions.' [Intractable! ]
And there you have it folks, the importance of three words
“for two peoples'! Thus suffering continues in stalemate!
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Bitter words
Sun’s direct rays and heat in hot season
Nothing to complain about for any reason
I might have allowed it as casual feeling
Everybody knows and doesn’t expect dazzling
It may not penetrate or cause any harm
Of course it may be hot but not little warm
It is natural and may be expected more
Man will find refuge and feel it was not before
Words spoken with bitterness burn us completely
It will create impact on mind sudden and immediately
You are caught unaware with no defense to offer
Generally what is considered wise is to keep mum and suffer
It may take more time to adjust and recoup
Self assessment for sore relation and slight let up
Insult may cause breakdown with no other way
You may have set back and nothing to offer or say
We may not know what to speak in distress
Mind not at rest and seized with stress
Common sense on run and unable to assess
Hasty action may lead for immediate action to press
Bitter words may bite you slowly
May not allow you to regain immediately
You may find it hard to forget and forgive
You may offer no reaction and remain passive
It is state of mind that only speaks
Not sure of result but inviting future bleak
Damage is done with no possible gain
It is difficult to face insult and pain
Once spoken words with hatred can’t be taken back
Will spoil the relation completely with visible crack
Should not be uttered at all without any sense?
We should have room not to feel tense
Words spoken in friendly way also create tension
Relation will be at stake and in question
It may cause damage and turn it sour
Retrieve the position …………….
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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First Week/last Week... Carefree
Can we run that again
Is that a womans voice I hear?
I said, lets wait and see. Ill see for myself
Thats a phrase I repeat
To myself
Made a reference to me and
Thats myself too
What progress I have made the first week
First week
First week
First week
Every sentence I use
Refer to women and their names
I heard the voice first last week
I heard it myself
Made a reference to me
Thats myself
This reports incomplete
I see for myself
Every appointment has been moved to last week
Last week
Last week
Last week
Oh...
Ah...
Oh...
I heard the voice first last week
I heard it myself
Made a reference to me
And thats myself
This reports incomplete
I see for myself
Every appointment has been been moved to last week
Last week
Last week
Last week
Oh...
Ah...
Oh...
song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The elusion of words
The elusion of words
~
I wish to say
Those words which elude me
Those I sometimes forget to say
Or I find to frightening to speak
I may misuse those words
Allow them to betray my tongue
And live with that regret
~
I do not wish to cheapen them
In saying you are beautiful
That I love you deeply
I fear they may become clichés
That you discount them
As mere polite conversations
~
How may I express myself
To reveal the truth of my soul
Frightened by the idea of loss
That I may watch you slip away
That how happy you have made me
Is a way I’d almost forgotten
That I never thought I’d feel again
~
I may not be the wisest of men
I am humble enough to admit
That as much as I play with words
Those which still elude my tongue
Talk of this love I feel for you
poem by Matthew Holloway
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The Equalizer
In a small hut on the hill
Lived a poor man named Bill
He could not spell it made life hell
At times there was no wood in the shed
The family went many times hungry to bed
But when he sat under the old Linden Tree
He had this feeling of being free
His gaze would wander over mountains and dales
Feeling tired but forgot what ails
Then came the knock on the door
He ask who they were calling for
It's me the Grim Reaper said
There is no sense going to bed
Come with me and the other one
And my calling for the day is done…
There comes a time when all is fair
But the lord of the manor was stroking his hair
His hand cradled a delicate crystal glass
A dozen red roses stood in a vase
On a table filled with food to delight
The view from the window a beautiful sight
His coat was pure silk the shirt out of lace
His mind from the wine in a haze
He lived in splendor every day of his life
Not caring for others strife
Then came the knock on the door
He ask who they were calling for
It's me the Grim Reaper said
There is no sense going to bed
Come with me and the other one
And my calling for the day is done…
poem by Ingeborg von Finsterwalde
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Last Week
Oh, the new-chum went to the backblock run,
But he should have gone there last week.
He tramped ten miles with a loaded gun,
But of turkey of duck saw never a one,
For he should have been there last week,
They said,
There were flocks of 'em there last week.
He wended his way to a waterfall,
And he should have gone there last week.
He carried a camera, legs and all,
But the day was hot and the stream was small,
For he should have gone there last week,
They said,
They drowned a man there last week.
He went for a drive, and he made a start,
Which should have been made last week,
For the old horse died of a broken heart;
So he footed it home and he dragged the cart --
But the horse was all right last week,
They said,
He trotted a match last week.
So he asked all the bushies who came from afar
To visit the town last week
If the'd dine with him, and they said "Hurrah!"
But there wasn't a drop in the whisky jar --
You should have been here last week,
He said,
I drank it all up last week!
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Thank You In Advance
Excuse me, I know we just met
But may I have this dance?
Sitting here with a drink in my hand
Your presence I can't ignore
I must admit I like watching you dance
But it seems like I've seen this before
Girl, you look like my first wife
Though I've never been married before
So I kiss your hand and tell you "Thank you"
You turn and ask me what for
For our first kiss, oh, next week
For when we make love, it seems sweet (?)
For the ring you wore probably three months from now
For when you said "I do" next March
And for those beautiful children of ours
Yes, I know it might sound strange cuz we just met
But I thank you in advance
(Shawn, help me sing it)
Hi, my name is Shawn
Tell me your name
Although I know the last one
It's funny that we're shaking hands
[Wait a minute, I know this hand]
It's the same hand (I'll hold in front of a minister)
Same hand (when you're havin' my son and his sister)
I don't mean to sound so bold and forward
But I thank you in advance
For our first kiss, oh, next week
For when we make love, it seems sweet (?)
For the ring you wore probably three months from now
For when you said "I do" next March
And for those beautiful children of ours
Yes, I know it might sound strange cuz we just met
But I thank you in advance
It's like I came back in time to tell you thank you
You were as beautiful then as you are now
Look in the mirror, there is a picture
Of you and the man you love
For our first kiss, oh, next week
For when we make love, it seems sweet (?)
For the ring you wore probably three months from now
For when you said "I do" next March
And for those beautiful children of ours
Yes, I know it might sound strange cuz we just met
But I thank you in advance
For our first kiss, oh, next week
For when we make love, it seems sweet (?)
For the ring you wore probably three months from now
For when you said "I do" next March
And for those beautiful children of ours
Yes, I know it might sound strange cuz we just met
But I thank you in advance
I, I, I, I, I
I thank you in advance, ooh
Ooh ooh ooh
song performed by by Boyz II Men
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Playtime
The lion cubs approached with guile,
Each facing off with glee,
Behind their growls each had a smile
That only friends could see...
To strangers, they looked mighty mad
And ready for a fight,
Yet both their parents seemed quite glad,
Restrained and quite polite...
So neither parents intervened
As these two cubs began.
They circled round and schemed and schemed
As if each had a plan...
The clueless cubs, if truth be told,
Were practicing at best...
Pretending they were strong and bold,
Yet neither was impressed!
They knew their place, as young cubs do,
So fighting turned to play!
So growling switched to 'I like you,
No matter what I say...'
The lion cubs had found a truce
And war had turned to peace...
Three cheers for that! At last, good news!
Will wonders never cease! ?
poem by Denis Martindale
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Please Don't Leave
I hate thinking about it.
I wish there was something I could hit.
Sometimes I get so mad,
Other times I just get so incredibly sad.
I know this is your choice
And although my opinion I have voiced
I will always support you
With everything you want to do.
Simply put: it just sucks.
I wonder if it's just my luck.
Things are going so good
But will everything continue to go as it should?
You are the thing I love the most
But will the memories just start to linger like a ghost?
We have gone through so much
And in my times of of need you act like my crutch.
What will I do without you here?
Sit and stare at the wall in fear?
I need to know you are safe
And that they won't push you until you've had enough.
Wearing your clothes is great
But your smell is fading at quite a quick rate.
It won't be the same
To not hear you say my name.
How can I go for for weeks
Without getting to hear you speak?
It's not possible for me to not be upset
But I made a promise to you that I will never forget.
I will count the days until you come home.
Until then i will continue to roam.
I will wait for you until you come back
And we can make up for the time that we have lacked.
I won't see your smile
For quite awhile.
I won't get to stare into those eyes
In which time seems to fly by.
I won't feel your hand in mine
But I'll pretend I'm fine.
I won't feel your kiss
And that I will certainly miss.
I don't want you to go.
I will feel so low
Because you won't be near
And you are all I want, my dear.
You will be gone for so long
And some are hoping it will make me strong.
I don't want to find out,
But I don't want to act like a child and pout.
I think of all the things you will miss out on
In all the time you will be gone.
What can we possibly gain?
I don't want to go through all that pain.
You always say the military has their rules,
But sometimes I wonder if they're all just a bunch of fools.
I want you to be here with me,
Not there doing whatever they please.
You are my entire world
And I would do for you whatever I could.
Baby, you are my everything.
Without you I have nothing.
I have tried to take your hand
And make you understand.
Sometimes I wonder if you even hear my words
Or if I'm better off talking to the birds.
One thing that will never diminsh is our love,
Even when we are up above.
You can't just walk away,
Because I need you to stay.
So as I squeeze my sleeve
I'm going to ask you, 'please don't leave.'
poem by Ashley Reese
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You Bowed Down
I expect youre entitled to know why Im making contact
With acquaintances scattered all over the land
Id promise you now and again that Id honour the contract
If it hadnt crumbled away in my hand
So we broke that vow independently now
But I dont know why you absolutely deny
You bowed down (you bowed down, you bowed down)
You bowed down (you bowed down, you bowed down)
When you first looked away I might say it was really a kindness
It must have hurt you to see how dreams sour
Now they say that justice and love are the next things to blindness
Well youre getting plenty of both of them now
And so you parade where appointments are made
And never meant to be kept
Unless you accept
You bowed down (you bowed down, you bowed down)
You bowed down (you bowed down, you bowed down)
You value the burnt amber of falling leaves
And you long to delay
As you feel their breath as they whisper
It wont hurt you now to betray
If you just bow down
And now every time that we meet on the edge of hysteria
Youre helping them sell off some new party line
I remember a time when you would have seemed so superior
Now you say will you please meet this good friend of mine?
So youre in demand as long as you kiss their hand
But all the applause is for their name not yours
You bowed down (you bowed down, you bowed down)
You bowed down (you bowed down, you bowed down)
You bowed down (you bowed down, you bowed down)
You bowed down (you bowed down, you bowed down)
You bowed down
You bowed down
You bowed down
You bowed down
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Upstart
I can't think of any way to free you
I won't think of a way to persuade you
I don't think I've found the answer to this
I can thank god for what you've shown me
[Chorus:]
All I can think of are ways to wast my time with you
All I can dream of is space that should be filled by you
Somehow you seem so untouchable
Open up your soul let me see you
Isn't it great how we all end up the same
I hope that you can get some love today
[Chorus]
So take yourself into that zone
Into a place no one knows
Where you can put away your trust
And no one sees your lust
To control it isn't hard
When her touch is an upstart
[Chorus]
song performed by by Justincase from Upstart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Words between words
Words between words
~
I try and say most things subtle
To slip words between words
In the hope you will read and hear
Sometimes I speak with blunt honesty
Sometimes wish I just didn’t speak
Sketching in secret characters
Telling stories built on fantasy
When a subtle look reveals
The obvious biography
Those words between words
What I write, what I speak
I understand words more than people
Words always seem easy
We all have things we wish to say
Some are said, others kept
All that is written then spoken
Are words between words
poem by Matthew Holloway
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The last visit and conversion…
Here lays my grandmother
A week from: Death.
The gentle archetypal, type of grandmother
Who nursed my cries; made all things better.
Here lays, my grandmother…
In that; week before their heinous lies….
“Spoken in hellos but not goodbyes”
In that week before her untimely: Death.
Before; her cloak of life fell silently away bereft.
In isolating surrendered breaths…
In hopes and prayers…
In hopes; never-ending…
In words that were formed:
Like crusts of bread.
Floated in the mouths of the living…
Where once it was lovingly said.
That our own increments will rise conversely…
And speak from; our own deathbeds.
Shall we not all of us…
Then one day, converse, with the dead.
Here lays, my grandmother…
And to date—she is dead.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Old Town Types No.17- Mr Bodge the Banker
Mr Bodge, the banker, was a power in the land;
His city bank had granted him an autocratic hand;
For our town was most remote from commerce centres then,
And only Mr Bodge could know who were our solid men.
So Mr Bodge within his bank reigned with a pride immense,
And rich men and poor men, they paid him deference;
For who could know when droughts would come to jeopardise some plan?
And one word from Mr Bodge might save or sink a man.
He shone among the 'silvertails,' a leading social light,
Well dressed, well groomed and painfully polite.
He entertained the Governor, when he was in our town,
Magistrates and M.P.'s and others of renown.
In full beards and top hats, with such a fancy spread
That the fat cook at Flynn's pub went nearly off her head
Cold collations, caviare, foods till then unknown,
And all were sure that Mr Bodge had money of his own.
He beamed on Peter Connor when he came into the bank,
For Connor was our squatter and a man of social rank.
He beamed on all the 'silvertails' of his exclusive set;
He frowned on cocky farmers who were over-long in debt.
'My bank considers character,' he'd sternly say to those.
'If you can't pay the fifty pounds, I fear we must foreclose.'
And, tho' small men called him a snob, most of the town agreed
That Mr Bodge, tho' hard at times, was very just indeed.
He once went on extended leave, and all the town's elect
Gave him a champagne send-off. 'Twas the least one might expect.
But when he overstayed his leave there was a mighty din,
The bank sent its inspectors up and called its money in
Or tried to. But old Connor failed, and Collins at the store,
The chemist and the auctioneer and half a dozen more.
And men long talked with bated breath of that depression dire
When Mr Bodge, the banker, left the old town in the mire.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Paradox
In the dark, the deep, the gray
I will lose the fight today
For in the end I am weak
A pawn in the greater play of things
For in the end the words I speak
Are not the words I want to hear
The words I speak cut my heart
Through and through a driven spear
I try to seem so indifferent
But all I do is care
So when you leave the words I say
Should be my words of despair
I can't stand to watch you leave
But all I do is stand and stare
My eyes glass, my heart my fear
So easy to break despite my walls
The cage I built to protect myself
There is no floor, and I will fall
My walls will crumble in on me
For I build them to quickly
poem by John Dillenger II
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Affable Alf
Have you heard the inscrutable mutable Alf,
The mannerly man with the silvery tongue?
Ever loquacious,
Smiling and gracious.
Loud in the land have his praises been sung.
He has magnetised all with his eloquent speakin'
The Great oratorical oracle, Deakin.
His somewhat sporadical radical speeches
Have over-persuaded us all, and his style
His easy urbanity
Tickles our vanity;
And we are won by his affable smile.
He captivates all with his eloquence sinister,
Does the persuasive, evasive Prime Minister.
His fine pyrotechnical technical phrases,
His grand perorations, exordiums, too,
'Spite their obscurity,
Are of a purity
And of a quality equalled by few,
And he knows all the tricks of portfol-i-o seekin',
That clever illusionist, fusionist Deakin.
But, beware of mysterious serious Alf.
His weird cabalistical, mystical call
His impetuosity,
Plus his verbosity,
Acts like a strange anaesthetic on all.
But, when you get over the charm of his speakin',
You'll come to a frangible, tangible Deakin.
You'll find an accessible cessible man,
With political frailties many as most o' them.
'Spite his euphonical
Gifts histrionical,
Critics political point, to a host o' them.
He is but a man after all and a weak 'un
A most, inexcusable fusible Deakin.
His most omnifarious various views
He'll alter to suit the occasion that pays him,
Though lacking in clarity.
Any disparity
In his fused following's powerless to daze him.
Regarded apart from his eloquent speakin',
O, what a lamentable, rentable Deakin!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Face To Face With An Unknown Cat
miao
face to face with an unknown cat
where did it learn this manner?
the next door neighbour has been around for ages
and we hardly know each other
polite cat
polite, polite, polite
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Rational Shortcomings
(An intertexual marriage poem of an excerpt from a teacher’s letter to parents, a letter from a mother to the child she gave away for adoption and a letter that I should not have seen)
Dear Parents or Guardians,
First I want to say that I didn’t hand you over because I hated you
The photography man is coming
Hello, I just wanted to remind everybody about spelling
I didn’t hate you you might not believe me but I truly love you
Between 6: 30AM and 6: 45AM to set up
The last test scores were horrible and I threw them out
I want you to know that I am hoping you are reading this letter
I warned him that the klubs are here in the morning
I will not do so again
And hope you do not have any hate in your heart for me
Until 8: 30AM
Your child should practice spelling their words
Because if my life was different I would have kept you
He still wanted to come
And do their spelling homework every night
So close to my heart because you are so special
That’s his problem…
Spelling homework for the week is:
I know you are saying
Monday: Write the first five words three times
“Why she gave me away.”
Tuesday: Write the last five words three times
My life was so hard at the time…
poem by Christopher J. Grasso
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This Flu That Slows Me So
This horrid flu that for a week
or more I silently bore
waiting for symptoms to abate
strength to return anew
I rested often but disease
persists returns not any vitality
head eyes ache nose runs
throat hurts dizzy I am meek
yet grateful I am for this flu
that slows me so lets me sleep
for oft throughout slow day
in spaces slow to my God I speak.
Blessed therefore may be the meek
who in fever worship speak.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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