The Porter
I'd like to be a porter, and always on the run,
Calling out, 'Stand aside!' and asking leave of none.
Shoving trucks on people's toes, and having splendid fun,
Slamming all the carriage doors and locking every one
And, when they asked to be let in, I'd say, 'It can't be done.'
But I wouldn't be a porter if ...
The luggage weighed a ton.
Would you?
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The I'd like to be........ series
The Sailor
I'd like to be a sailor - a sailor bold and bluff -
Calling out, "Ship ahoy!" in manly tones and gruff.
I'd learn to box the compass, and to reef and tack and luff;
I'd sniff and sniff the briny breeze and never get enough.
Perhaps I'd chew tobacco, or an old black pipe I'd puff,
But I wouldn't be a sailor if ...
The sea was very rough.
Would you?
The Porter
I'd like to be a porter, and always on the run,
Calling out, "Stand aside!" and asking leave of none.
Shoving trucks on people's toes, and having splendid fun,
Slamming all the carriage doors and locking every one -
And, when they asked to be let in, I'd say, "It can't be done."
But I wouldn't be a porter if ...
The luggage weighed a ton.
Would you?
The Pieman
I'd like to be a Pieman, and ring a little bell,
Calling out, "Hot pies! Hot pies to sell!"
Apple-pies and Meat-pies, Cherry-pies as well,
Lots and lots and lots of pies - more than you can tell.
Big, rich Pork-pies! Oh, the lovely smell!
But I wouldn't be a Pieman if ...
I wasn't very well.
Would you?
The Barber
I'd like to be a barber, and learn to shave and clip,
Calling out, "Next please! and pocketing my tip."
All day I'd hear my scissors going, "Snip, Snip, Snip;"
I'd lather people's faces, and their noses I would grip
While I shaved most carefully along the upper lip.
But I wouldn't be a barber if ...
The razor was to slip.
Would you?
The Teacher
I'd like to be a teacher, and have a clever brain,
Calling out, "Attention, please!" and "Must I speak in vain?"
I'd be quite strict with boys and girls whose minds I had to train,
And all the books and maps and things I'd carefully explain;
I'd make then learn the dates of kings, and all the capes of Spain;
But I wouldn't be a teacher if ...
I couldn't use the cane.
Would you?
The Postman
I'd like to be a postman, and walk along the street,
Calling out, "Good Morning, Sir," to gentlemen I meet,
Ringing every door-bell all along my beat,
In my cap and uniform so very nice and neat.
Perhaps I'd have a parasol in case of rain or heat;
But I wouldn't be a postman if ...
The walking hurt my feet.
Would you?
The Baker
I'd like to be a baker, and come when morning breaks,
Calling out, "Beeay-ko!" (that's the sound he makes) -
Riding in a rattle-cart that jogs and jolts and shakes,
Selling all the sweetest things a baker ever bakes;
Currant-buns and brandy-snaps, pastry all in flakes;
But I wouldn't be a baker if ...
I couldn't eat the cakes.
Would you?
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Frinton-on-Sea by Train - The Annual Pilgrimage,1910
When in the large compartment,
Everyone was seated.
And all the luggage loaded,
The family group completed.
Excitement as the train now
Leaves the local station.
Everyone perceiving
A feeling of elation.
The Servants in the Third Class
All with faces radiant,
The train now fairly straining
Up it's first steep gradient.
Smoke rising from the engine,
Through the countryside it races,
Such a rattling and a clattering,
Rhythmic chugging as it paces.
Nurse is quietly rocking baby,
Mother dozing, Father reading.
Children gazing through the window,
Trees and streams seem to be speeding.
Realisation, train is stopping,
Doors are opening, whistles blare,
All alighting from the carriage,
Platforms busy. Great sea air!
Call the porter for the luggage,
What! No luggage, this can't be,
'Did you tip the porter Father? '
Mother calls out nervously.
Father fuming calls the Driver,
Calls ths Station Master too,
Sorry Sir, it's not our doing
We will send it on to you.
Father marching to the taxi,
Mother fretting following along,
Nurse with baby shrieking loudly
Children calling, 'What is wrong? '.
Father should have tipped the porter,
Much more than a farthing's worth,
So he didn't load the luggage,
In the 'First Class' luggage berth.
It arrived early next morning,
By the first train down the track,
So as to the moral of this story,
If you're too mean, watch out Jack!
© Ernestine Northover
This poem was written from a story handed down through the family, and the 'Father' was my husband's Great Grandfather, and it is absolutely true, he was a very mean man. A Farthing being the lowest coinage of that time. We have photos of them all sitting on the sand, in full dress with the ladies in huge feathered hats. A wonderful sight! ! ! !
poem by Ernestine Northover
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hey Porter
(johnny cash)
(c) - (g) - (f)
(c) hey, porter, hey porter! would you tell me the (f) time?
(c) how much longer will it be til we cross that (g) mason dixon line? (c)
At daylight would you tell the engineer to slow it (f) down;
Or better still, just stop the train cause I (g) wanna look a (c) round.
Hey, porter! hey porter! what time did you say ?
How much longer will it be till I can see the light of day ?
When we hit dixie would ya tell the engineer to ring his bell;
And tell everybody that aint asleep to stand right up and yell.
Hey, porter! hey, porter! please, go on and get my bags for me,
I dont need nobody to tell me now that Im in tennessee.
Were not so far from home, you know, and its a-getting light outside
This old train is a-puffin smoke and I have to strain in my eyes
Hey porter! hey porter! please open up the door.
When they stop this train Im gonna get off first cause I cant wait no more.
Tell the engineer I say, thanks a lot. and I didnt mind the fare.
Im gonna set my feet on southern soil, Im gonna breathe the southern air.
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Licence porter
Santosh licence porter
make people happy
wth his song and sairy sally.
Santosh licence porter
as great as Oobbamaa
by his stature
so far as service to
humanity concerned.
Santosh licence porter
is always at the station.
To visit again and again
he called me often.
Santosh licence porter
everybodys friend
everybodys son
As if in the station
he is the moon
he is the sun.
Come to the station
to meet Santosh
how Santosh is there
to enable passenger
to reach their destination.
Santosh is
Santosh and you find
in your village also
if you like to hear song
if you like to make friend
with monk.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Rossa Mela Della Sera
rosso il sole
una mela
E sbuccia laria della sera
Che sei sola come me
Lo so dagli occhi
Li porter con me sai
Quando vado via
Lamore che
Disfi e fai
Con le tue mani su di me
Quando vieni e quando vai
Lo so dagli occhi
Li porter con me sai
Quando vado via
Li porter con me sai
x farmi compagnia ye ye ye
Uh uh uh uh con me
Nel cuore e nellanima mia
Uh uh uh uh con me
Rossa mela della sera
Se fossi un lago dilagherei
E se potessi pioverei
Fino in fondo agli occhi tuoi
Come un cielo
Ti porter con me sai
Quando vado via
Ti porter con me sai
x farmi compagnia ye ye ye
Uh uh uh uh con me
Nel cuore e nellanima mia
Uh uh uh uh con me
Ovunque sei
Uh uh uh uh con me
Miele per lanima mia
Uh uh uh uh s con me
Rossa mela della sera
Tu tu tu tu tu
Tu tu tu tu tu
Tu tu tu tu tu
Tu tu tu tu tu
Rossa mela della sera
song performed by by Zucchero
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Maria Elena
(Bobby Ray Appleberry, William Cuomo)
Johnny Porter was the oldest in his family
And I remember he was almost twenty one
Y'know I can't quite explain the situation
But he broke into his father's truck and stole a gun
Mother running down the highway screaming
Johnny it's too bad, oh it's too and it's bad
And it's too bad
Well, his father wonders where he got the money
And he wonders if he got it right or wrong
Then Johnny killed a man in Pensacola, Florida
And he caught a freight train and and took off on the run
Well, run, Johnny, run
They're rolling right behind you
Run, Johnny, run
You know they're gonna find you
You come out late at night, 'cause you're running for your life
Hum, Johnny Porter
Johnny Porter
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Well, it's a shame the way you make your mother worry
And it's hurts inside to sit and watch her cry
And it will be a long time before she knows the answer
But it won't be long before she will see ya die
Well, I was standing in my front door early this morning
So sad, when I heard my name was said
Johnny Porter was no good than anybody
But I hate to see him throw his life away
Now, run, Johnny, run
They're rolling right behind you
Run, Johnny, run
You know they're gonna find you
You come out late at night, 'cause you're running for your life
Well, Johnny Porter, Johnny Porter
Found him holed up in some dark and dirty building
Heard his mother begging,
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Doors You Can't See
The strangest things about these doors.
When they're shut.
You can't say one thing more.
They're always carried around by those ones
That have seen lots of abuse?
For which... there really was no excuse.
Yet, when you love or care or are married
To one of those... that were forced to live there!
It's hard to prove.. that you really care....
Because when they perceive... or think something is not just right.
They back up,
Slamming those doors(bang) in your face, tight!
Or when you see that blank face.
Here comes the door's.
And all you can do is stand there.. stare...
At the crying... helplessly... and more...
Waching... unable to do anything
As tears fall on the floor...
I know it's perceived... the doors that you cannot see....
The doors shutting and slamming... in your face....
But... so is the battle with time...
With you winning that race...
Or that old statement....
How they had egg on their face....
You can't actually see it....
Yet...just like that door
It's.....really.. there..................
poem by Clyde Bryson
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Johnny Porter
(bobby ray appleberry/william cuomo)
Johnny porter was the oldest in his family
And I remember he was almost twenty one
Yknow I cant quite explain the situation
But he broke into his fathers truck and stole a gun
Mother running down the highway screaming
Johnny its too bad, oh its too and its bad
And its too bad
Well, his father wonders where he got the money
And he wonders if he got it right or wrong
Then johnny killed a man in pensacola, florida
And he caught a freight train and and took off on the run
Well, run, johnny, run
Theyre rolling right behind you
Run, johnny, run
You know theyre gonna find you
You come out late at night, cause youre running for your life
Hum, johnny porter
Johnny porter
Yeah, yeah, yeah
Well, its a shame the way you make your mother worry
And its hurts inside to sit and watch her cry
And it will be a long time before she knows the answer
But it wont be long before she will see ya die
Well, I was standing in my front door early this morning
So sad, when I heard my name was said
Johnny porter was no good than anybody
But I hate to see him throw his life away
Now, run, johnny, run
Theyre rolling right behind you
Run, johnny, run
You know theyre gonna find you
You come out late at night, cause youre running for your life
Well, johnny porter, johnny porter
Found him holed up in some dark and dirty building
Heard his mother begging, please, let johnny go!
Thats when john fired his pistol
As a warning and he said,
I was born to die by the gun
I was born to die by the gun
I was born to die by the gun
song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sometimes I've looked at a plate of food and wondered if it wouldn't look better as a hat.
quote by Janet Street-Porter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sweetness Of Sin
“We suddenly know what heaven we’re in”
is a line first conceived by Cole Porter;
it’s based on a line that he chose to down-water,
“We suddenly know the sweetness of sin.”
Don’t know why Cole Porter decided to alter
a line antinomially apt in its neatness,
foreswearing all heaven for sin and its sweetness
as sure as my middle name warns you I’m Walter.
One more for the road, as once sang Johnnie Mercer,
is great, and you’ll find that the road is much shorter
to sin than to heaven, a meter maid’s quarter
provides enough time if you are not averse, sir.
Beginning beguines is the first step to take
for heaven on earth, not by pouring cold water
on sin as on lyrics was done by Cole Porter
while betting on heaven–a dreadful mistake.
5/9/06
poem by Gershon Hepner
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Striking
It was a railway passenger,
And he lept out jauntilie.
'Now up and bear, thou stout porter,
My two chattels to me.
'Bring hither, bring hither my bag so red,
And portmanteau so brown:
(They lie in the van, for a trusty man
He labelled them London town
'And fetch me eke a cabman bold,
That I may be his fare, his fare;
And he shall have a good shilling,
If by two of the clock he do me bring
To the Terminus, Euston Square.'
'Now,--so to thee the saints alway,
Good gentleman, give luck, -
As never a cab may I find this day,
For the cabman wights have struck:
And now, I wis, at the Red Post Inn,
Or else at the Dog and Duck,
Or at Unicorn Blue, or at Green Griffin,
The nut-brown ale and the fine old gin
Right pleasantly they do suck.'
'Now rede me aright, thou stout porter,
What were it best that I should do:
For woe is me, an I reach not there
Or ever the clock strike two.'
'I have a son, a lytel son;
Fleet is his foot as the wild roebuck's:
Give him a shilling, and eke a brown,
And he shall carry thy chattels down,
To Euston, or half over London town,
On one of the station trucks.'
Then forth in a hurry did they twain fare,
The gent, and the son of the stout porter,
Who fled like an arrow, nor turned a hair,
Through all the mire and muck:
'A ticket, a ticket, sir clerk, I pray:
For by two of the clock must I needs away.'
'That may hardly be,' the clerk did say,
'For indeed--the clocks have struck.'
poem by Charles Stuart Calverley
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I wanted to take a stand against what I think was not so well established then but is thoroughly well established now, which is the substitution for a real sense of a country of a hideous distortion which you can sell to the people called 'heritage'.
quote by Peter Porter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Researcher of poetry
‘Researcher of poetry’
To be or not to be that is the question
Am I a word junkie or a poetry equestrian?
Riding a rhyme changing the line
To make it look like it was mine
The good Lawrence Durrell was a wordy man
Little about poetry he did understand
Till a woman led him to the Promised Land
Now he’s one of the best in the land
Barrington had a duck-billed Platypus at trinity
With whom he shared a remarkable affinity
The Platypus made Barrington nervous
When he suggested they join the Diplomatic Service
John’s padre was an old sky pilot
Until they clipped his wings
He sits in his garden: writing poetry
Playing guitar, composing songs which he sings
Noel proved he was no coward
He proved he was the brave one
With mad dogs and Englishmen
He went out in the midday sun
Cole Porter said let’s do it let’s fall in love
I said Cole you have had to much porter
I really don’t fancy you, but, if you can wait
To get drunk: I might like a little porter
I did do some research to come up with this prose
I know you’re not happy, and what’s getting up your nose
I am not a researcher I will tell you for free
I may just be a thief of other people’s poetry
MICMAC
poem by Michael Micmac Mccrory
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5. Capital Trip
I remember in the fifties, as we stood there in the rain
On the platform where a porter pulled a trolley
I remember as we waited for the early morning train
Getting soaking wet we wished we’d took a brolly
I remember grubby paint on the bridge across the track
Dark blue signs that showed us all the stations name
I remember postmen rushing with letters in a sack
That they put down in the puddles what a shame
I remember an announcement the ping-pong of a bell
Telling passengers the train was nearly there
I remember those vibrations on my feet so I could tell
Like the others to the distance I should stare
I remember steam clouds rising above a smoking stack
As it thundered down the track towards our stop
I remember stationmaster’s gold braid upon his hat
Calling all the first class forward to the top
I remember its arrival as the doors flung open wide
Leather straps on carriage windows dark brown tan
I remember waving madly with my family by my side
Moving off and how our London trip began
poem by David Threadgold (2008)
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Strategy 101 is about choices: You can't be all things to all people.
quote by Michael Porter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Most people won't realize that writing is a craft. You have to take your apprenticeship in it like anything else.
quote by Katherine Anne Porter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dead Souls
Someone take these dreams away
That point me to another day
A duel of personalities
That stretch all true reality
They keep calling me
Keep on calling me
They keep calling me
Keep on calling me
When figures from the past stand tall
And mocking voices ring the hall
Imperialistic house of prayer
Conquistadores who took their share
They keep calling me
Keep on calling me
They keep calling me
Keep on calling me
Calling me, calling me
Calling me, calling me
They keep calling me
Keep on calling me
They keep calling me
Keep on calling me
Written by: joy division
Performed by: trent reznor
song performed by by Nine Inch Nails
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In Trouble and Shame
I look at the swaling sunset
And wish I could go also
Through the red doors beyond the black-purple bar.
I wish that I could go
Through the red doors where I could put off
My shame like shoes in the porch,
My pain like garments,
And leave my flesh discarded lying
Like luggage of some departed traveller
Gone one knows not where.
Then I would turn round,
And seeing my cast-off body lying like lumber,
I would laugh with joy.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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People do not always understand the motives of sublime conduct, and when they are astonished they are very apt to think they ought to be alarmed. The truth is none are fit judges of greatness but those who are capable of it.
quote by Jane Porter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I had known Cole Porter in Hollywood and New York, spent many a warm hour at his home, and met the talented and original people who were drawn to him.
quote by Gene Tierney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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