The Silent Member
He lived in Mundaloo, and Bill McClosky was his name,
But folks that knew him well had little knowledge of that same;
For he some'ow lost his surname, and he had so much to say –-
He was called 'The Silent Member' in a mild, sarcastic way.
He could talk on any subject -- from the weather and the crops
To astronomy and Euclid, and he never minded stops;
And the lack of a companion didn't lay him on the shelf,
For he'd stand before a looking-glass and argue with himself.
He would talk for hours on literature, or calves, or art, or wheat;
There was not a bally subject you could say had got him beat;
And when strangers brought up topics that they reckoned he would baulk,
He'd remark, 'I never heard of that.' But all the same -- he'd talk.
He'd talk at christ'nings by the yard; at weddings by the mile;
And he used to pride himself upon his choice of words and style.
In a funeral procession his remarks would never end
On the qualities and virtues of the dear departed friend.
We got quite used to hearing him, and no one seemed to care --
In fact, no happ'ning seemed complete unless his voice was there.
For close on thirty year he talked, and none could talk him down,
Until one day an agent for insurance struck the town.
Well, we knew The Silent Member, and we knew what he could do,
And it wasn't very long before we knew the agent, too,
As a crack long-distance talker that was pretty hard to catch;
So we called a hasty meeting and decided on a match.
Of course, we didn't tell them we were putting up the game;
But we fixed it up between us, and made bets upon the same.
We named a time-keep and a referee to see it through;
Then strolled around, just casual, and introduced the two.
The agent got first off the mark, while our man stood and grinned;
He talked for just one solid hour, then stopped to get his wind.
'Yes; but --' sez Bill; that's all he said; he couldn't say no more;
The agent got right in again, and fairly held the floor.
On policies, and bonuses, and premiums, and all that,
He talked and talked until we thought he had our man out flat.
'I think --' Bill got in edgeways, but that there insurance chap
Just filled himself with atmosphere, and took the second lap.
I saw our man was getting dazed, and sort of hypnotized,
And they oughter pulled the agent up right there, as I advised.
'See here -' Bill started, husky; but the agent came again,
And talked right on for four hours good -- from six o'clock to ten.
Then Bill began to crumple up, and weaken at the knees,
When all at once he ups and shouts, 'Here, give a bloke a breeze!
Just take a pull for half a tick and let me have the floor,
And I'll take out a policy.' The agent said no more.
The Silent Member swallowed hard, then coughed and cleared his throat,
But not a single word would come –- no; not a blessed note.
His face looked something dreadful –- such a look of pained dismay;
Then he have us one pathetic glance, and turned, and walked away.
He's hardly spoken since that day –- not more than 'Yes' or 'No'.
We miss his voice a good bit, too; the town seems rather slow.
He was called 'The Silent Member' just sarcastic, I'll allow;
But since that agent handled him it sort o' fits him now.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Secret Agent Man
You know I live a life of danger
For the fbi
Keeping tabs on our nation
On the land, on the sea, in the sky
But every single night
Before I go to bed
I get down on my knees
And thank god
Im a secret agent man
* secret agent man
Secret agent man
Theyve given me a number
But theyve taken way my name
I got one hell of a job to perform
For the u. s. of a.
Got the responsibility
Of our nations top security
But every night and day
I salute the flag and say
Thank you jesus
Cause im, Im a secret agent man
( * repeat)
You know they got me doin this
Doin that
And a little bit of something else
Fighting cavities of evil
Safe-guarding americas health
But not an afternoon pass
I dont get up off my ass
Thank you god
Cause im, Im a secret agent man
( * repeat 2 times)
Cause Im a secret agent man
song performed by by Devo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I mean normally you have your agent call the other agent and all the agents talk and then finally you get a phone call and you hear some misrepresentation of what someone else had to say.
quote by Radha Mitchell
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Secret Angent X-9
Got a racecar grin and a calculation
And every gun for a secret agent
Defunct that timebomb at the space station
Hey, Secret Agent X-9 why don't you drop me a line?
And say, would it cost you your job
to say what was in that gold box?
So why did they give you that job?
And why can they give you that job?
You think this guy was on a permanent vacation
But no he's not, he's a secret agent
song performed by by Modest Mouse
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I didn't have any agent; I've never had an agent.
quote by Barbara Steele
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lets Talk About Us
We talked about the birdies
That fly up in the trees
We talked about the moon
And the stars we couldnt see
But you keep on pretending
You dont know whats wrong with me
Come on, lets talk, about us
We talked about the good times
That made us laugh and sigh
We talked about the bad times
That brought tears to our eyes
Now, I think its about time
For you to realize
Come on, lets talk, about us
(hey)
Dear, I swear Ill love you, til the very end
But I dont plan on stickin around
If its just to be your friend
Weve talked, an talked, an talked, an talked
But theres been nothin said
The things that youve been talkin about
Just dont stick to my head
Sometimes I think, little girl
That your heart is filled with lead
Come on, lets talk, about us
Well, dear I swear Ill love you
Oh, til the very end
Well, I dont plan on stickin around
If its just to be your friend
Weve talked, an talked, an talked, an talked
And theres been nothin said
The thing that youve been talkin about
Just dont stick to my head
My darlin little girl
I think that your heart is made of lead
Come on, lets talk, about us
Come on, lets talk, about us
Well, well, well, well, well
Come on, lets talk, about us
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At half-mast
You didn't know Billy, did you? Well, Bill was one of the boys,
The greatest fellow you ever seen to racket an' raise a noise,--
An' sing! say, you never heard singing 'nless you heard Billy sing.
I used to say to him, "Billy, that voice that you've got there'd bring
A mighty sight more bank-notes to tuck away in your vest,
If only you'd go on the concert stage instead of a-ranchin' West."
An' Billy he'd jist go laughin', and say as I didn't know
A robin's whistle in springtime from a barnyard rooster's crow.
But Billy could sing, an' I sometimes think that voice lives anyhow,--
That perhaps Bill helps with the music in the place he's gone to now.
The last time that I seen him was the day he rode away;
He was goin' acrost the plain to catch the train for the East next day.
'Twas the only time I ever seen poor Bill that he didn't laugh
Or sing, an' kick up a rumpus an' racket around, and chaff,
For he'd got a letter from his folks that said for to hurry home,
For his mother was dyin' away down East an' she wanted Bill to come.
Say, but the feller took it hard, but he saddled up right away,
An' started across the plains to take the train for the East, next day.
Sometimes I lie awake a-nights jist a-thinkin' of the rest,
For that was the great big blizzard day, when the wind come down from west,
An' the snow piled up like mountains an' we couldn't put foot outside,
But jist set into the shack an' talked of Bill on his lonely ride.
We talked of the laugh he threw us as he went at the break o' day,
An' we talked of the poor old woman dyin' a thousand mile away.
Well, Dan O'Connell an' I went out to search at the end of the week,
Fer all of us fellers thought a lot,--a lot that we darsn't speak.
We'd been up the trail about forty mile, an' was talkin' of turnin' back,
But Dan, well, he wouldn't give in, so we kep' right on to the railroad track.
As soon as we sighted them telegraph wires says Dan, "Say, bless my soul!
Ain't that there Bill's red handkerchief tied half way up that pole?"
Yes, sir, there she was, with her ends a-flippin' an' flyin' in the wind,
An' underneath was the envelope of Bill's letter tightly pinned.
"Why, he must a-boarded the train right here," says Dan, but I kinder knew
That underneath them snowdrifts we would find a thing or two;
Fer he'd writ on that there paper, "Been lost fer hours,--all hope is past.
You'll find me, boys, where my handkerchief is flyin' at half-mast."
poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Dead was cool, It's a great horror story. I went to the casting director of this movie and talked to him, then they called my agent and had me come in and read for it and they wanted to use me.
quote by Matthew McGrory
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I didn't know it at the time, but Hitch didn't want to talk to me - he hated meeting with people he might have to reject. As it turned out, someone, maybe his agent, insisted that he interview me.
quote by Joseph Stefano
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Undercover Agent For The Blues
He was my lover he was working undercover
The fellow knew all of the moves
He really had me romping bare footing stomping
He just kept igniting my fuse
He was blinded by the blackness of my long silk stockings
He would rock me with an optical illusion
And this aint how I thought itd be
He just kept on keeping me in a state of total confusion
He took me for a ride
And rattled me down to my shoes
But I found out
He was an undercover agent for the blues
He never really needed love from any direction no I was just an innocent bystander
He just kept getting kinkier hook line and sinker
Just too hot to handle
He took me by storm
It must have been a season for the fools
So bad
He was an undercover agent for the blues
He took me for a ride
And rattled me down to my shoes
But I found out
He was an undercover agent for the blues
song performed by by Tina Turner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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And I have a really great agent and I know it's almost an oxymoron to say you have a smart agent. But she is and she has a beautiful aesthetic and she has guided me.
quote by Patricia Clarkson
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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My agent sent me the script and I loved it. I wondered how they would turn me into a chimp. My agent said it would probably not entail to much time. Just some hair and make-up. I found out that it was not so simple.
quote by Kim Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Book Agent Story
As we have given several humorous Scottish stories in verse we will venture to
trespass on your good nature by giving an American specimen. The scene is laid
in the suburbs of New York. It was a prose tale, and we fancy we have not
diminished the height, breadth or depth of the humour by grinding it in our
poetical mill and having it flow out in rhyme.
There is a man, his name is Brown,
He lives in a suburban town
And has an office in the city,
His misfortunes you will pity.
His mind it was on stocks and change,
He cared not for things new or strange ;
But agent managed him to hook
And sold to him a costly book.
Brown cared not for those glorious names-
Died for religion in the flames;
Now he felt agent was a Tartar
For selling him a book of martyr.
The agent knew it would make strife,
But sold another to his wife;
She did not know that Brown had bought,
And agent on her easy wrought .
Approaching her with winning smile
He poor woman did beguile.
He made her believe without a doubt
No Christian could do without
This book, which would all inspire
With spark of celestial fire,
With feelings like the first martyr
Who had died for Christian charter.
When Brown did home return at night
His wife, to add to his delight,
Resolved that she would, after tea,
Get chatting with her husband free
And tell him of fine book she bought ;
Of trouble fresh she never thought,
But she noticed a gloomy frown
On the brow of her husband Brown,
But thought when I my purchase tell
Those dark clouds they will dispel ;
She said, my dear, I bought martyr,
He looked as if he her could quarter.
And said the scoundrel sold me book ;
Out of the window then he did look
And saw the agent haste to train ;
He tried to stop him, but in vain ;
Smith then was passing in spring waggon,
And he had his trotting nag on ;
He told him to stop book agent ;
His escape for to prevent,
Smith told him Brown wanted him ;
But agent-nothing daunted him ;
Said he : He only wants to barter
With me for my book of Martyr.
If thats all, said Smith, with quick dash,
Give me his book, and here's your cash ;
Book agent jumped aboard the car,
For he knew there would be war;
Smith met Brown with triumphant look-
Said he : I have got you the book ;
Brown's feelings now no one could paint,
He there did show he was no saint ;
But to big own home he now returned,
And fierce rage in his bosom burned ;
He was not fit for Knight of Garter
When he brought in the third martyr.
poem by James McIntyre
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The Gossiper
(9/15/12)
She was well to do, and had more
Money than me and you.
She loved to gossip and put people down
it mattered not- who was around.
She talked about everyone that she knew
And wouldn't let you leave till she was through.
She talked about her neighbors and her friends
And put them down to the bitter end.
They said she was lonely and didn't have a life
But who in the world would make her " his wife"?
Now the years have taken its toll
And she's gotten very old.
But! There was someone " who had done just that"
And she became bitter and fat.
She had married at a very young age
To a man who was twice her age.
After a few years he passed away
And she became even more bitter and enraged.
That is when she started to talk
About all who was around
And enjoyed the fact of putting people down.
Soon no one came to visit any more
For she had closed all the doors
They had gotten tired of trying
To be her friend, when she talked
About them - to no end.
There was nothing that could stop
Her wagging tongue, even as she
Was in her dying bed.
She talked about the living and the dead.
When the time came and she was laid to rest.
They said there was two coffins laid in the ground.
One for her body and one for her tongue
So she could not talk to anyone.
(the comical moral of this story)
: Don't talk without knowing- cause
Your tongue don't know where it's going.
© L. RAMS
poem by Louis Rams
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Talked Me Into It
I'll stand and hold onto
everything I wished for
I'm stubborn, but you talked me into it
You have the key to my mind
I melt in front of you
You turn me on without trying
You talked me into it
And I let you, at that time
I could have believed
anything you said
You ignored me before that night
but I was desperate for your attention
If I was psychic,
woulda wished for anything but you
You talked me into it
Into everything I wished for
I'm stubborn, but you talked me into it
Wondered if you knew I existed
I was enchanted with you
Never felt more forgotten
I'm stubborn, but you laughed
Said, I'll never leave you in the rain
I took your word, let you
Talk me into it
You're the only one that has
enough of me to love
and wish
You talked me into it
Banished me to the back of your mind
after all these years
Never felt more forgotten
I'm stubborn, but
I remember that night
When you talked me into it
But I stood and held onto
everything I wished for
I'm stubborn, but you talked me into it
Top Of The Pops
Ive just come in at number 25
Im oh so happy, so glad to be alive
And everybody says its going to get to the top
Life is so easy when your records hot.
Go tell my mamma and my sister too
To press my trousers and polish my shoes
I might even end up a rock-and-roll god
It might turn into a steady job.
And my agent said to me: son, I always told you so.
Now my records number 11 on the bbc
But number seven on the n.m.e.
Not the melody maker want to interview me
And ask my view on politics and theories on religion.
Now my records up to number 3
And a woman recognized me and started to scream
This all seems like a crazy dream
Ive been invited to a dinner with a prominent queen
And now Ive got friends that I never knew I had before.
Its strange how people want you when you records high
cos when it drops down they just pass you by
Now my agent just called me and said it me:
Son your records just got to number one.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dick Moss, my agent. Dick became my agent in 1979 when I signed my contract with the Houston Astros.
quote by Nolan Ryan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Big Me
when I talk about it
it carries on
reasons only knew
when I talk about it
aries or treasons
all renew
big me to talk about it
I could stand to prove
if we can get around it
I know that it's true
when I talked about it
carried on
reasons only knew
but it's you I fell into
well I talked about it
put it on
never was it true
but it's you i fell into
song performed by by Foo Fighters from Foo Fighters
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Reverend Simon Magus
A rich advowson, highly prized,
For private sale was advertised;
And many a parson made a bid;
The REVEREND SIMON MAGUS did.
He sought the agent's: "Agent, I
Have come prepared at once to buy
(If your demand is not too big)
The Cure of Otium-cum-Digge."
"Ah!" said the agent, "THERE'S a berth -
The snuggest vicarage on earth;
No sort of duty (so I hear),
And fifteen hundred pounds a year!
"If on the price we should agree,
The living soon will vacant be;
The good incumbent's ninety five,
And cannot very long survive.
See - here's his photograph - you see,
He's in his dotage." "Ah, dear me!
Poor soul!" said SIMON. "His decease
Would be a merciful release!"
The agent laughed - the agent blinked -
The agent blew his nose and winked -
And poked the parson's ribs in play -
It was that agent's vulgar way.
The REVEREND SIMON frowned: "I grieve
This light demeanour to perceive;
It's scarcely COMME IL FAUT, I think:
Now - pray oblige me - do not wink.
"Don't dig my waistcoat into holes -
Your mission is to sell the souls
Of human sheep and human kids
To that divine who highest bids.
"Do well in this, and on your head
Unnumbered honours will be shed."
The agent said, "Well, truth to tell,
I HAVE been doing very well."
"You should," said SIMON, "at your age;
But now about the parsonage.
How many rooms does it contain?
Show me the photograph again.
"A poor apostle's humble house
Must not be too luxurious;
No stately halls with oaken floor -
It should be decent and no more.
" No billiard-rooms - no stately trees -
No croquet-grounds or pineries."
"Ah!" sighed the agent, "very true:
This property won't do for you."
"All these about the house you'll find." -
"Well," said the parson, "never mind;
I'll manage to submit to these
Luxurious superfluities.
"A clergyman who does not shirk
The various calls of Christian work,
Will have no leisure to employ
These 'common forms' of worldly joy.
"To preach three times on Sabbath days -
To wean the lost from wicked ways -
The sick to soothe - the sane to wed -
The poor to feed with meat and bread;
"These are the various wholesome ways
In which I'll spend my nights and days:
My zeal will have no time to cool
At croquet, archery, or pool."
The agent said, "From what I hear,
This living will not suit, I fear -
There are no poor, no sick at all;
For services there is no call."
The reverend gent looked grave, "Dear me!
Then there is NO 'society'? -
I mean, of course, no sinners there
Whose souls will be my special care?"
The cunning agent shook his head,
"No, none - except" - (the agent said) -
"The DUKE OF A., the EARL OF B.,
The MARQUIS C., and VISCOUNT D.
"But you will not be quite alone,
For though they've chaplains of their own,
Of course this noble well-bred clan
Receive the parish clergyman."
"Oh, silence, sir!" said SIMON M.,
"Dukes - Earls! What should I care for them?
These worldly ranks I scorn and flout!"
"Of course," the agent said, "no doubt!"
"Yet I might show these men of birth
The hollowness of rank on earth."
The agent answered, "Very true -
But I should not, if I were you."
"Who sells this rich advowson, pray?"
The agent winked - it was his way -
"His name is HART; 'twixt me and you,
He is, I'm grieved to say, a Jew!"
"A Jew?" said SIMON, "happy find!
I purchase this advowson, mind.
My life shall be devoted to
Converting that unhappy Jew!"
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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til Death Do Us Part
When you look into my eyes
Tell me what you see
I dont think you even realize
The pride inside of me
Ive walked my walk, talked my talk
Lived and died in my songs
Temptation cuts so deep
Its fires still burn so strong
You know Ive lived a few mistakes
And I stand by them
Its me, myself, and i
til death do us part
If you want to criticize
Then you cant believe anything you read
What you see is all of me...
Ive talked the talk and walked the walk
Who thought Id live this long?
This lifes been hard
Like a switchblade, blind fate, suicide
And I stand by them
Its me, myself, and i
til death do us part
Sometimes my words may cut too deep
And I step on a toe or two
Well Im half dead and barely half alive
But I live by the truth
til death do us part
song performed by by Motley Crue
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Oil from Bill Shane
I got the oil: too right. A cove called Shane.
Yes; ole Bill Shane. You've 'eard of 'im, of course.
Big racin' 'ead. There's no need to explain
The things he don't know about a 'orse.
Good ole Bill Shane. They say he's made a pile
At puntin'. Shrewd! I wis I 'ad 'is brain.
An' does 'e know the game? Well, I should smile.
They can't put nothin' over ole Bill Shane.
Yes; Shane, Bill Shane ... Aw, listen, lad. Wake up!
Why everybody's 'eard of ole Bill Shane.
They say he made ten thousan' on the Cup
Last year, an' now he's got the oil again.
Wot? Owner? Trainer? Nah! Who 'eeds their guff?
Bill's a big racin' man - a punter. See?
Top dog. I alwiz sez wot's good enough
For ole Bill Shane is good enough for me.
Yes; he gave me the oil. I got it straight
Well, nearly straight. Of course, I've never spoke
To Bill 'imself direck. I got a mate
Wot knows a bloke wot knows another bloke
Wot's frien's with Shane, an' so - you un'erstand.
Wot? me give you the tip? Aw, take a walk!
Yeh think I'd do a thing so under'and?
Bill Shane would kill me if I was to talk.
Well, listen ... Now, for gosh sake, keep it dark.
An' don't let no one know it came from Shane.
Keep it strick secret. I would be a nark
To let you chuck yer money down the drain ...
Wazzat you said? He's scratched? 'Ere! Lemme look!
Scratched! Ain't that noos to knock a man clean out?
I alwiz said this puntin' game was crook ...
Who? Shane? Aw, I dunno. Some racin' tout.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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