The Eternal Circle
Now, a visitor from somewhere right outside this Mundane Ball
Do not ask me where he came from, for that point's not clear at all;
For he might have been an angel, or he might have come from Mars,
Or from any of the other of the fixed or unfixed stars.
As regards his mental make-up he was much like you or me;
And he toured about the country, just to see what he could see.
Well, this superhuman person was of most inquiring mind,
And 'twas noted, from his questions, he was very far from blind,
And the striking thing about him was his stern, compelling eye,
That demanded Truth ungarbled when he paused for a reply.
And, despite the mental wriggles of the folk he interviewed,
When they placed the Truth before him she was ab-so-lutely nude.
At our Civilised Society he stared in some amaze,
As he muttered his equivalent for 'Gosh!' or 'Spare me days!'
For our cherished modes and customs knocked him sideways, so to speak.
'To solve,' said he, 'this mystery, now whither shall I seek?
For a sane and sound solution I must question those on high,'
Said this extra-mundane being with the stern, compelling eye.
Now, his methods were intelligent - I confess,
For he started with our Politics, religion and the Press.
Thus, he read a morning paper through, intently, ev'ry leaf,
Then hied him out to interview the editor-in-chief:
'They say that Truth lives in a well,' he muttered as he went;
'But her well is not an inkwell, I will lay my last lone cent.'
It chanced he found the editor unguarded and alone
At the office of the paper - 'twas the MORNING MEGAPHONE.
'Now, I take it,' said the visitor, 'you represent the Press,
That great Public Educator?' And the pressman murmured, 'Yes.'
'Yet in yesterday's edition I perceived a glaring lie!
How's this?' He fixed the pressman with his stern, compelling eye.
Then the editor he stammered, and the editor he 'hemmed'
And muttered things like 'Gracious me!' and likewise, 'Well, I'm demned!'
But the lady Truth came tripping, all undressed and unashamed;
'Oh, I own it!' cried the editor. 'But how can I be blamed?
There's our blighted advertisers and our readers - Spare my grief!
But we've got to please the public!' moaned the editor-in-chief.
'Now to interview a statesman and consider his reply,'
Said this strange Select Committee with the stern, compelling eye.
And the Honorable Member for Mud Flat he chanced to find
In a noble Spring-street building of a most palatial kind.
And the Honorable Member viewed his visitor with awe,
For he surely had the most compelling eye you ever saw.
'Now, then, tell me,' said the visitor; 'you are a man of State,
And you blither on the platform of this Nation grand and great;
Of this noble Land's great destiny I've heard you talking hard,
But, whene'er it comes to voting, it's the 'claims' of your back yard.
Do you represent the Nation, as you often say you do,
Or a hen-roost or a cow-yard, or a parish-pump or two?'
Then the politician stuttered, and the politician stared,
But to voice his patriotic platitudes he felt too scared;
For the lady Truth insisted, and he blurted, 'It's the Votes!
You must blame the dashed electors when you see us turn our coats!
Our constituents control us. You must please remember that.
And we've got to please the public!' whined the Member for Mud Flat.
'Now to look into religion,' said the visitor, 'I'm told
I may get much information from a Wowser-of-the-Fold.'
And he sought him out a Wowser of the very sternest breed:
'Sweet Charity, they tell me, is the keynote of your creed.
And of mercy for the sinner, and of succor for the weak
>From the pulpit, on a Sunday, I have often heard you speak;
Yet Charity is turned to Spite, and Scorn becomes your creed
When they speak of giving bounty to weak Magadalene in need.'
Then the Wowser hesitated, and the Wowser rolled his eyes,
And sought in vain to call to mind some Wowserish replies.
But the lady truth came peeping, and the Wowser cried, 'O, Lor!'
And he hastily drew the blind and softly closed the door.
'She is naked!' gasped the Wowser. 'Oh, where are the hussy's clothes?
If my dear brethren saw me now! Oh, what do you suppose!'
'The Truth!' exclaimed the querist with the stern, compelling eye.
''Tis my flock!' exclaimed the Wowser. 'Oh, I cannot tell a lie!
My flock of virgins sour and chaste, and matrons undeceived,
They would hound me from the pulpit if I said what I believed!
I dot on notoriety! The Truth it must be told.
Oh, I've got to please my public!' moaned the Wowser-of-the-Fold.
'Now, this Public; I must nail it,' said the queer Inquisitor.
''Tis the favor of this mighty god they all seem eager for;
And they always strive to please him, and his sentiments express
In their Parliaments and Pulpits and their organs of the Press.
And I'll get a sure solution if I hvae the luck to meet -
What is this he's called? - the Man, or Bloque, or Fellow-in-the-Street.'
A Fellow-in-the-Street was found, and typical was he,
An eager hunter of the thing that men call £. s. d.
He wore a strained expression on his features, dull and flat,
Also bifurcated coat-tails, and a little hard round hat.
His talk was mainly platitutdes, when it wasn't shop or horse,
And he had some fixed opinions and a bank account, of course.
'Now, then, tell me,' said the visitant, 'What are you private views
On you Politics, Religion and the Sheet that gives you news?
I have heard a lot about you, and a deal I'd like to know
Of why you work, and what you think, and where you hope to go.
I feel assured that I shall find the Truth in your reply.'
And he fixed the foolish Fellow with his stern, compelling eye.
The Fellow hemmed and hawed a bit, the Fellow looked about,
And the lady Truth smiled sweetly while he murmured, as in doubt.
'Well, re-al-ly, my views upon those things I can't express.
You must ask our Politicians and the Parsons and the Press.
But as for me - well, candidly, you've got me off my beat;
For I don't know much about it!' said the Fellow-in-the-Street.
''Tis the Circle!' cried the visitor. ''Tis the same old crazy game
Right through the trackless Milky Way to there from whence I came.
The Earth is round, the Moon is round, and Jupitre and Mars,
Their orbit's all, and Saturn's rings, and countless million stars.
All throughout the constellations I have journeyed, to and fro,
But ev'rything goes round and round no matter where I go.
All the Universe is circles! All one tantalising twirl!
Oh, is there nothing straight or square in all this cosmic whirl?
And with these strange and cryptic words the Being fled afar,
Back to his native hiding-place - his fixed or unfixed star.
Some say his name was 'Reason,' other hold 'twas 'Intellect':
But as for me I have no views to voice in that respect.
His motives seemed mysterious; I know not how nor why;
I only know he had a stern and most compelling eye.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
(V - 2009) The Truth of the Truth
The Sages and Seers
That be and have been
Cannot have seen
The truth of the Truth!
What they see as Truth
Is Truth merely
It’s not really
The truth of the Truth!
The Ultimate Truth
Cannot be known
We aren’t that grown –
The truth of the Truth!
We’re part of the Truth
We’re trying to see
We’re yet so tiny –
The truth of the Truth!
Though hard and great
The pains we give
We cannot outlive
The truth of the Truth!
What’s Truth to you once
Remains not the same
So changing the game –
The truth of the Truth!
What’s Truth to a man
Is not Truth to all
That’s what we call
The truth of the Truth!
These thoughts as I pen
It’s Truth to me
It’s to me only
The truth of the Truth!
A compelling story, even if factually inaccurate, can be more emotionally compelling than a dry recitation of the truth.
quote by Frank Luntz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Candid Candidate
Alfred Ebenezer Jackson was a very earnest man,
Who aspired to be a statesman, and he consequently ran
At a general election as the Candid Candidate,
Sworn to tell the truth ungarbled, leaving all the rest to Fate.
Jackson had a firm conviction that the average M.P.
Was not prefectly straightforward as a member ought to be.
'They disguise their actual motives,' Jackson said, 'and so they fail.
I shall leave no false suspicion that I'm sitting on a rail.'
'Fellow men,' quoth Ebenezer, in his first campaign address.
'My desire to gain election is most eager, I confess:
True, some patriotic ardor fills me with its holy fire;
But to get a safe and steady billet is my main desire.
'Now, to put the matter plainly, I've no wish to twist or hedge,
And I'm quite prepared to stand to all the things that I allege.
I aspire to serve Australia in the Big Affairs of State:
To that aim all local interests gladly I'll subordinate.
'I shall give no hasty promise for the sake of votes from you.
Roads and bridges you shall have them when they are your right and due;
But wre this whole country's interest clashes with your local lot,
Then my vote is for Australia and the rest can go to pot!
'I'll not stoop to curry favor for the sake of your back yard,
While the Big Things of the nation call for labor long and hard;
For I'm not of those hard grafters whose chief work is turning coats,
With their thoughts on next election, and their eyes upon your votes.
'Party ties shall never hold me when I hear Australia call,
Through my service to the nation do I seek to stand or fall.
And to talk election piffle in the House, if I be sent
There to work, I'll deem an insult to the folk I represent.
'I shall scheme to drag no railway through the back yard of this State;
Nor on any handy dust-heap in this dashed electorate
Shall I vote to plant a city, while the fact is evident
That abtter site is waiting elsewhere on the continent.
'I am solid for Protection: but my creed I won't abuse
By mean tricks to shift the duty from commodities you use:
Nor shall I denounce with loathing Socialists' experiments
While I howl for State assistance for my own constituents.
'Now, my worthy friends, you know me, and just what I mean to do.
As plain people of Australia I am ev'ry time for you,
With my eyes upon the future and this great land's destiny,
I shall not to 'local interests' sacrifice prosterity.'
Alfred Ebenezer Jackson raised a wild, derisive shout
From 'intelligent electors.' 'Mad!' they said, 'without a doubt.'
And because they knew he meant it - ev'ry work he spoke or wrote
Alfred Ebenezer Jackson did not get a single vote!
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Happy Thoughts
Going to thoughts that reside in happiness
Collects for you a compulsion to act divinely;
And so a loop emerges for the betterment of the soul,
The soul has learned the religion of truth.
For truth shall demand a thought, compelling
And mysterious to own, just like a philosophy
Or reality of the pen, the paper or the mind;
Seek this thought by visiting someplace faraway.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Subdued Editor
Pope-choker Pixley sat in his den
A-chewin' upon his quid.
He thought it was Leo Thirteen, and then
He bit it intenser, he did.
The amber which overflew from the cud
Like rivers which burst out of bounds
'Twas peculiar grateful to think it blood
A-gushin' from Papal wounds.
A knockin' was heard uponto the door
Where some one a-waitin' was.
'Come in,' said the shedder of priestly gore,
Arrestin' to once his jaws.
The person which entered was curly of hair
And smilin' as ever you see;
His eyes was blue, and uncommon fair
Was his physiognomee.
And yet there was some'at remarkable grand
And the editor says as he looks:
'Your Height' (it was Highness, you understand,
That he meant, but he spoke like books)
'Your Height, I am in. I'm the editor man
Of this paper-which is to say,
I'm the owner, too, and it's alway ran
In the independentest way!
'Not a damgaloot can interfere,
A-shapin' my course for me:
This paper's (and nothing can make it veer)
Pixleian in policee!'
'It's little to me,' said the sunny youth,
'If journals is better or worse
Where I am to home they won't keep, in truth,
The climate is that perverse.
'I've come, howsomever, your mind to light
With a more superior fire:
You'll have naught hencefor'ard to do but write,
While I sets by and inspire.
'We'll make it hot all round, bedad!'
And his laughture was loud and free.
'The devil!' cried Pixley, surpassin' mad.
'Exactly, my friend-that's me.'
So he took a chair and a feather fan,
And he sets and sets and sets,
Inspirin' that humbled editor man,
Which sweats and sweats and sweats!
All unavailin' his struggles be,
And it's, O, a weepin' sight
To see a great editor bold and free
Reducted to sech a plight!
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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The Honest Truth
the truth is i love you
the truth is i always dream of you at night
the truth is i do my best to hide it from you
the truth is the future is blank without you
the truth is i am hurting
the truth is i am scared
i am scared how i pretend in front of everyone
the truth is a cannot tell anyone of this
the truth is i cannot even tell you
then it starts to hurt even more
the truth is i'm scared to tell you
the truth is you might be scared to break her heart
the truth is i'm scared you might love me too
the truth is i am not happy
the truth is i don't feel the love i want
the truth is i want to be loved by you only
the truth is you're too blind to see
the truth is you might not believe me if i told you
the truth is you might be scared of it
the truth is the emotional distance kills me
the truth is being close to you makes it worse
should i tell you this truth?
would you believe this truth?
the truth....the truth....the truth...
i'm the only one who knows the
and this truth hurts
because the truth is i love you
the truth is i love you
the truth is i still love you....
03 August 2010
poem by Neo Patricia Monamodi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gospel Truth
truth is not a closed
door or a fixed pillar
it is a seed growing
inside our heart and
looks for the light of
the sun until it wilts
because of too much
glare, ...truth is the sun
that keeps on shining
to the earth and sea..
truth is the earth that
keeps its orbit...truth
is the sea, it is wide
and deep, it is always
beyond and mysterious...
truth is word, slipping
from my grasp....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Truth Through Repetition
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Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetiion
Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition
ruth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition T
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th through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Tru
h through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Trut
through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth
through repetition Truth through repetition Truth through repetition Truth
poem by David Keig
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The truth in you
I seek the truth in you
The weak lie is not you
So speak up, yes you
The truth hurts but it works
The truth simplifies and dignifies
The truth sooths preserving your youth
I ask the truth of you
Cry now, take a tissue
So speak up, yes you
The truth signifies and modifies
The truth is within and the best way to begin
The truth is a good start especially for sweethearts
I need the truth of you
Simply choose your venue
So speak up, yes you
The truth to any degree
Is a starting point to be free
Just like one and two make three
So speak up, yes you
If you agree
Copyright 2006 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When a man fails to see the truth of certain generally accepted views, there is no law compelling him to provoke animosity by announcing his dissent.
quote by George Henry Lewes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Why I Dont Believe In God
I heard the truth about you
And it really doesnt read at all
Like the whipping stick you raised me with
A scared woman in a private hell
Hushed voice like electric bells
Strange talk about edgar casey
And the long lame walk of the dark 70s
Strange talk about edgar casey
And the long lame walk of the dark 70s
I heard the truth about you, yeah you
Mama they woke me up
I was deep in an idiot sleep
I was just eight years old
Heard big words with a horrible sound
Whyd they have to call my school
Tell me my mother had a nervous breakdown
I wish I believed like you do, yeah you
In the myth of a merciful god
In the myth of a heaven and hell
I hear the voices you hear sometimes
Sometimes it gets so much
I feel like letting go
Sometimes it gets so hard
I feel like letting it go
Sometimes it gets so goddamn hard
I feel like letting it all go
Letting it all go, letting it all go
Letting it all go, letting it all go
I ran away and went looking for you
Back to culver city and the old neighborhood
Need to know if you were really gone
Need to know if you were gone for good
I ran through the projects at night
Hide in the dark from my friends in the light
Hide from my brother-in-law
Hide from the things hed say
Said you werent losing your mind
He said you just needed a rest
He said youd be coming home soon
He said the doctors there would know whats best
Said that maybe I could go live with dad for a while
I know the truth about you, I know the truth about you
I know the truth about you, I know the truth about you
I know the truth, I know the truth, I know the truth
I know the truth about you
Mama they woke me up, I was just eight years old
Sometimes it gets so hard, I feel like letting it go
Sometimes it gets so hard, I feel like letting it all go
Letting it all go, letting it all go
Yeah, letting it all go
song performed by by Everclear
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Truth It Can Be Hurtful
I may not like what you say of me but if of me you speak the truth
Though the truth it can be hurtful if it is not spoken without ruth
The truth cannot defame me if of me the truth you say
And if the truth taints my character well that too is okay.
But if you tell lies about someone and know them to be lies
Then the dislike I'd feel for one like you i barely could disguise
For lies can be defamatory when used in such a way
Any respect to a malicious liar i would find hard to pay.
The truth it can be hurtful as we all ought to know
But out of the truth it can be said respect for one does grow
And though you may not like what's said about you at least what's said is true
And to the one who speaks the truth credit is always due.
The truth it can be hurtful but the truth is never wrong
And those who cannot accept the truth mentally cannot grow strong
And though for some the truth is poison they'd rather live a lie
The truth lives on forever and the truth will never die.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Her Truth
Your truth claims to be a reality
While her truth is the reality
Your truth is just another fallacy
While her truth states actuality
Your truth tries to call her an insurgent
Just another agent
Trying to spread hatred
When her truth really speaks for those you have murdered
For those you denied existence
After they fought for their freedom
Went to the streets to express their position
And you accused them of being destroyers
Ended their lives like they worth nothing
Your truth tried to oppress them
Suppress their voices
While her truth spoke for them
Went to the squares screaming for their liberty
Fighting for their authority
Your truth is only believed by those who shared your earnings
Those who sold their souls for the Benjamins
Used religion, race and lies to serve your purpose
While her truth refused to take it all
Her truth was so pure it refused to sell the martyrs blood
Your truth has become so little
So her truth rose above it and took over the scene
Your truth was caught out
Your truth was discovered
More and more are finding her truth
Seeing the Real Truth
And yours, of course, just wished it would have listened…
poem by Jacob Arden
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The Quest Eternal
O west of all that a man holds dear, on the edge of the Kingdom Come,
Where carriage is far too high for beer, and the pubs keep only rum,
On the sunburnt ways of the Outer Back, on the plains of the darkening scrub,
I have followed the wandering teamster's track, and it always led to a pub.
There's always in man some gift to show, some power he can command,
And mine is the Gift that I always know when a pub is close at hand;
I can pick them out on the London streets, though most of their pubs are queer,
Such solid-looking and swell retreats, with never a sign of beer.
In the march of the boys through Palestine when the noontide fervour glowed,
Over the desert in thirsty line our sunburnt squadrons rode.
They looked at the desert lone and drear, stone ridges and stunted scrub,
And said, "We should have had Ginger here, I bet he'd have found a pub!"
We started out in the noonday heat on a trip that was fast and far,
We took in one each side of the street to balance the blooming car,
But then we started a long dry run on a road we did not know,
In the blinding gleam of the noonday sun, with the dust as white as snow.
For twenty minutes without a drink we strove with our dreadful thirst,
But the chauffeur pointed and said, "I think ----," I answered, "I saw it first!"
A pub with a good old-fashioned air, with bottles behind the blind,
And a golden tint in the barmaid's hair -- I could see it all -- in my mind --
Ere ever the motor ceased its roar, ere ever the chauffeur knew,
I made a dash for the open door, and madly darted through.
I looked for the barmaid, golden-crowned as they were in the good old time,
And -- shades of Hennessy! -- what I found was a wowser selling "lime!"
And the scoundrel said as he stopped to put on his lime-washed boots a rub,
"The Local Option voted it shut, it ain't no longer a pub!"
'Twas then I rose to my greatest heights in dignified retreat
(The greatest men in the world's great fights are those who are great in defeat).
I shall think with pride till the day I die of my confidence sublime,
For I looked the wowser straight in the eye, and asked for a pint of lime.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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First 4 Stanzas of MY VERSION of 'The Raven' by E. A. Poe
Once upon a bright spring morning, while I pondered about the heat,
Over many a splendid and soothing volume of forgotten sound,
While I nodded, nearly speechless, suddenly there came a knocking.
As of someone gently tapping, tapping at my house all around.
' 'Tis some visitor, ' I whispered, 'tapping at my house all around-
Only this, 'twas all I found.'
Ah, distinctly I remember it was in the sparkling April,
And each separate blooming flower circled the room round.
Eagerly, I wished for more- I had to try to find
A dog of some sort that could hunt- maybe something like a hound-
For the rare and radiant maiden so she could have a hound-
Nothing else that I had found.
And the vibrant, vibrating uncertain rustling of each blue curtain
Thrilled me-filled me with fantastic elation never felt before;
So that now, to still the fast beats of my heart, I stood saying
' 'Tis some visitor trying to come in at my door weighing a pound-
Some late visitor trying to come on at my door weighing a pound-
This it is, it was all I found.'
Presently my soul grew in strength; hesitating for a short time,
'Sir, ' said I, 'or Madam, truly you have great reason for being profound;
But the fact that you are here, and so gently you came knocking
And so faintly did I hear you, tapping at my house all around.
That I knew you would be here' - here I opened the door weighing a pound-
An angel there, with beautiful seraph sound.
poem by Rebecca Ryan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Truth For All
There is a Truth for all to behold, a need that never grows old,
One sound Truth under the sun, to be addressed by everyone,
A Truth that’s meant for all, isn’t embraced because of the fall.
As Satan darkens the heart, from this Truth, many men depart.
This Truth crosses party lines, and is to be shared at all times,
A truth not limited to a season, or dismissed by man’s reason,
It is one Truth bound in grace, and available to all in any place,
Truth from the Eternal King, which on earth impacts everything.
The Truth that I’m speaking of, is God’s Truth from God above,
It is The Revelation from God, sent to all upon this earthly sod,
Truth which transcends the earth, leading men to Eternal Worth,
God’s Eternal Truth to each nation, sent to all in His Revelation.
His Truth surpasses political views, providing to all Good News,
Tidings, sent through Jesus Christ, by God, to every human life,
Not for the righteous you know, as their religion’s only for show,
But, it’s for that repentant heart, who in Christ wants a new start.
Not for those dark and depraved, who see no need to be saved,
And being so spiritually deceived, God’s Truth is never received,
But, His Truth, for all who heed, supplies us with our every need,
Believing souls, like you and me, along with a New Life eternally.
(Copyright ©10/2008)
The Ballad of Bill's Breeches
Once on a time, a party by the name of Mr. BULL
Discovered that with many schemes his hands were pretty full.
His cares of family were great. Four fine young sons he'd got;
They were, indeed, of goodly breed, a strong and hefty lot.
But Mr. BULL's domestic cares (as shortly will be seen)
Were not with them, but with his wife, whose name was JINGOPHINE.
A foolish fad this lady had that all the boys were ninnies;
And, though they grew,
As children do,
She dressed them all in pinnies.
Now, while her boys were young, JOHN BULL engaged in business strife
Took little heed of their affairs, and left them to his wife;
And JINGOPHINE, who loved her lord, impressed them, noon and night.
With tales of his magnificence, his wisdom, wealth and might.
But when they talked of growing up, and 'helping pa' some day,
She shook her finger at them in her stern, maternal way.
'Your pa's a great, big man,' she said. 'You never, never, NEVER
Can hope to be
As big as he,
Or half so wise and clever.
Now, JINGOPHINE, like other dames of fussy, frilly kind,
Delighted to have round her folk of weak and narrow mind.
Pet persons were her weakness. also aldermen and those
Who held the very strictest views, and wore the nicest clothes.
They cheered her when she praised her lord, and listened, with a frown.
To tales of BILL; and all agreed he'd have to be 'kept down.'
'He is a naughty child,' they said, 'a mostprecocious brat.
To think good Mr. BULL should have an offspring such as that!'
But BILL despite the stern rebukes of aldermen and Wowsers,
Defied the crowd.
And shouted loud:
'Shut up! I want my trousers!'
Now, in the course of time, JOHN BULL awakened to the fact
That, in the interests of his sons, 'twas time for him to act.
'My dear,' he said, 'these sons of ours are growing quite immense;
We ought to have a business talk - I'11 call a conference.
They're nearly men; and they must learn, each one, to stand alone.
Each with responsibilities, and a household of his own.
They can't always be at our skirts, like great, big, awkward gabies.'
'Why, Mr. BULL!'
She cried. 'You fool!
Those boys are only babies!'
But at the meeting Mr. BULL spoke plainly to his lads.
'My sons,' said he, 'I don't agree with all your mother's fads.
You can't be always little boys; like other lads, you've grown;
And now 'tis time to face the world, and learn to stand alone.
We still remain one family; and none will fail, I know,
To aid another in distress, against a common foe.
Dear lads, I know, you'll recollect - despite success and riches -
Your father still.'
'Hear. hear!' said BILL
'Hooray! I've got me breeches!'
From out that solemn conference BILL marched in highest glee,
With more mopeef for Mr. BULL, now that his limbs were free.
'The old man, he's an all-right sort, and talks sound, common sense,
It's time we learned to act like men, and chucked this fool-pretence.
We've done with apron-strings at last. But what will Ma say now?
Her Wowsers and her aldermen? LORD, won't there be a row!
They've pecked at me quite long enough; it's up to me to scare 'em.
They'll howl for weeks!
But here's me breeks;
An', spare me days, I'll wear 'em!'
The Wowsers and the aldermen and Mrs. JING0PHINE
Were seated in the drawing-room when BILL came on the scene.
'He's got 'em on!' a Wowser cried. 'He's disobeyed his ma!'
'Help! Murder!' shrieked the aldermen. 'He'll kill his pore, dear vp!'
Pell-mell they rushed to Mr. BULL - 'Oh, sir, that dreadful BILL!
He'll murder you! He stole yer pants! He's got 'em on 'im still! Mr. BULL said. 'Is he?
There, there, good folk,
You've had your joke.
Now, go away; I'm busy.'
But, up and down the land they went, the Wowsers and the rest;
And BILL, besides the trousers, sported now a coat and vest.
'He's dressin' like a man!' they shrieked. 'He's going to resist
His dear, kind pa! Oh, who'll restrain this rank disloyalist?
He won't take sops from 'is fond ma; 'er pore 'art's nearly broke!
He's even gone at scoffed at us; an' treats us as a joke!' ....
And if you chance to come across those aldermen and Wowsers
You'll find them still
Abusing BILL
Who grins, and wears the trousers.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Another Plan
Editor Owen, of San Jose,
Commonly known as 'our friend J.J.'
Weary of scribbling for daily bread,
Weary of writing what nobody read,
Slept one day at his desk and dreamed
That an angel before him stood and beamed
With compassionate eyes upon him there.
Editor Owen is not so fair
In feature, expression, form or limb
But glances like that are familiar to him;
And so, to arrive by the shortest route
At his visitor's will he said, simply: 'Toot.'
'Editor Owen,' the angel said,
'Scribble no more for your daily bread.
Your intellect staggers and falls and bleeds,
Weary of writing what nobody reads.
Eschew now the quill-in the coming years
Homilize man through his idle ears.
Go lecture!' 'Just what I intended to do,'
Said Owen. The angel looked pained and flew.
Editor Owen, of San Jose,
Commonly known as 'our friend J.J.'
Scribbling no more to supply his needs,
Weary of writing what nobody reads,
Passes of life each golden year
Speaking what nobody comes to hear.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tell us The Truth
Tell us the truth
Tell us the truth
They said.
So he told them
The Truth,
Untainted
Undiluted
Straight
Direct
That's not the truth
It hurts,
They said.
Tell us the 'real' truth,
The Truth!
So he repeated it.
Again, the unadulterated
Spotless,
Plain truth.
You do not like us, do you, they said.
We're asking you
For the 'proper' truth,
The 'Real Truth',
Not
This hurtful rubbish
Tell us that truth
Tell us that truth.
So, weary,
And now wary,
He told it to them
Once more.
He did not change his story,
He told them
What he had always believed in,
He told them
That no matter how unpleasant
It sounded,
His feelings for them
Remained the same
He gave it to them
Once more,
Direct,
Undiluted,
Impartially,
But passionately nevertheless.
The Truth.
Go away, go away
They said.
You do not understand us
You do not like us.
Go away.
So goes the story
Of how they lost
The best leader
They could ever have had,
The only one
Who really understood them,
The only one
Who wanted nothing
But the best
'For Them',
The only one
Who never shied away
From The Truth
The only one
Who loved them as they were.
(Year 2002, Mars, The Sun Galaxy)
poem by District 13 Okiso Sooki
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Which Is Which
> To beware of the truth.
> Is truth...it, self?
> So, what is truth?
>
> Is truth, true love?
> Or...just a reality?
> To be a man...is that truth?
>
> A man...is reality.
> A woman...is reality.
> To be woman...is that truth?
>
> To have more then one partner
> Is a reality of the world.
>
> Which this world agrees.
> Truth is; in my point of view
> Is what one claims to be truth.
>
> But, the truth is whatever you
> Are doing as I speak.
> A woman is good for the soul.
>
> That truth is very bold.
> A man lives for his manhood
> So I am told.
>
> Is it truth or reality?
> Respect is in the middle of the spectrum.
> Male vs. Female
>
>
> That is truth.
> Man being woman
> A reality.
>
> Woman being man...
> She tries.
> Respect cover both the unreal and the wise.
>
> Truth or reality...we never really
> Give it much thought.
> Maybe it was the way we are taught.
>
> Truth or reality...
> Which is Which?
>
>
> whisperkwane
>
> [email protected]
>
>
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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