Scotch Rhapsody
Do not take a bath in Jordan, Gordon,
On the holy Sabbath, on the peaceful day! '
Said the huntsman, playing on his old bagpipe,
Boring to death the pheasant and the snipe —
Boring the ptarmigan and grouse for fun —
Boring them worse than a nine-bore gun.
Till the flaxen leaves where the prunes are ripe,
Heard the tartan wind a-droning in the pipe,
And they heard Macpherson say:
'Where do the waves go? What hotels
Hide their bustles and their gay ombrelles?
And would there be room? —
Would there be room?
Would there be room
for
me?
There is a hotel at Ostend
Cold as the wind, without an end,
Haunted by ghostly poor relations
Of Bostonian conversations
(Like bagpipes rotting through the walls.)
And there the pearl-ropes fall like shawls
With a noise like marine waterfalls.
And 'Another little drink wouldn't do us any harm! '
Pierces through the Sabbatical calm.
And that is the place for me!
So do not take a bath in Jordan, Gordon,
On the holy Sabbath, on the peaceful day —
Or you'll never go to heaven, Gordon Macpherson,
And speaking purely as a private person
That is the place
— that is the place
— that is the
place
for
me!
poem by Dame Edith Louisa Sitwell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
I Saw You In The Crowd
I saw you in the crowd
I saw you singing out loud
The people were swaying
The band was playing
Something real loud
I couldnt hear one word
Screams were all that I heard
But I saw her face
I saw her eyes
I saw his grace
In the darkning skies
I saw you raise your hand
Stretching out to the band
You reach exceeding your grasp
On the beach from the whale
Comes one last gasp
Meet me in my hotel room
Meet me just for fun
And I will not be boring
Some things I been storing
Inside to show someone like you
A few friends just stopped by
I think they wanted to get high
But it wasnt you
Who they led me to
So I bid them all good-bye
I probably would forget
This episode of regret
So I wrote this song
So when you sing along
I hope my message you will get
Meet me in my hotel room
Oh, meet me just for fun
And you will not be boring
Something you been storing
Inside to show someone like me
Gordon gano: vocal, guitar
Brian ritchie: bass guitar, electric piano
Guy hoffman: drums, vocal
Recorded and mixed by david vartanian at dvs perversion room, milwuakee, wi
gorno music reprinted with permission
song performed by by Violent Femmes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Boring Lonely Day
What to do
On a boring lonely day?
How to have something to do
To keep the blues away?
I have got my papers sorted
And I am faced with a lonely boring day.
I cleaned my home yesterday.
From having a good and fun day,
I am thwarted.
The songs only make me sadder
I am having a boring lonely day.
All my games bore me now
Even when I win, it is a lonely boring day.
Having nothing to do
Makes for a boring lonely day.
And no one to do nothing with
That's the cause of the lonely boring day.
Now that I know the cause
Of my lonely boring days,
I can do something without pause
To cure my boring lonely days.
poem by Lonely People Champion
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Headroom
I need headroom,
Got to have headroom,
Some place to rest my head.
I'm gettin' taller,
Thinkin's gettin' smaller,
Time is winnin' out instead.
Well, I heard it on the news,
They're selling everything they can.
And the American flag
Is manufactured in Japan.
They're fightin' battles in the stars,
They're pourin' billions into Mars.
And layin' right there at my feet,
There're people sleepin' in the street.
Give me room, room, room, room, room, room.
Well, I'm livin' on the farm,
Where chemistry has lost its charm.
And every dusty wind that blows,
Is burnin' big holes in my clothes.
They're burnin' big holes in the sky,
Makin' people wonder why
With all our land and sea and space,
Progress is wreckin' every place.
Give me room, room, room, room, room, room.
Well, if you want an assen-ell,
The government will wish you well,
And if you steal a million bucks,
The government will wish you luck.
And they might even give you more,
If you're makin' things for war.
But if you're poor and stealin' cars,
You'll spend your life behind the bars.
Give me room, room, room, room, room, room.
They're talkin' ethics on the hill,
They're talkin' union at the mill,
They're talkin' justice at the farm,
They're talkin' safety in the car.
They're talkin' murder in the states,
They're talkin' cash to get a fix.
They're talkin' virus in the bed,
I'm talkin' room to rest my head.
Give me room, room, room, room, room, room.
I need headroom,
Got to have headroom,
Some place to rest my head.
song performed by by Don McLean
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Obstacle 1
I wish I could eat the salt off of your lost faded lips
We can cap the old times, make playing only logical harm
We can cap the old lines, make playing that nothing else will change
But she can ray, she can ray, she can ray, she can ray, she's bad
She can ray, she can ray, she can ray, she's bad
Oh, she's bad
But it's different now that I'm poor and aging, I'll never see this face again
You go stabbing yourself in the neck
And we can find new ways of living make playing only logical harm
And we can top the old times, clay-making that nothing else will change
But she can ray, she can ray, she can ray, she can ray, she's bad
She can ray, she can ray, she can ray, she's bad
Oh, she's bad
It's different now that I'm poor and aging, I'll never see this place again
You go stabbing yourself in the neck
But it's different now that I'm poor and aging, I'll never see this place again
And you go stabbing yourself in the neck
It's in the way that she posed, it's in the things that she puts in my head
Her stories are boring and stuff, she's always calling my bluff
She puts, she puts the weights into my little heart
And she gets in my room and she takes it apart
She puts the weights into my little heart
I said she puts the weights into my little heart
She packs it away
It's in the way that she walks
Her heaven is never enough
She puts the weights in my heart
She puts, oh she puts the weights into my little heart
song performed by by Interpol
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nasty Sumel
sumele
on bath room...
with out
bath room
taken bath...
in paid bath room
also in india
nasty sumel...
free...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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A Boring Issue About A Demise....
somehow the fear of
our end
becomes too familiar and boring
it occurring
almost daily when we are flogged
like donkeys
as we carry our loads of bricks
death gets boring sometimes
like that same movie that we watch
all the days of the week
when we finally meet it in the street
or in the room
you say nothing at all
it's not a pest, it is just an ordinary dust
a tiny frog that gets inside your room from nowhere
you pick it up and say alright
'i have no right to refuse, take me, i am ready'
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Not a Good Place to Die
Not a Good Place to Die
Not a good place to die,
Airless room.
Blank walls.
Not a good place to die,
Here death hovers.
A disinfectant smell.
Not a good place to die,
Hid away from all.
Arid stark.
Not a good place to die,
No cool breeze.
Warm sun on face.
Not a good place to die,
Alone and scared.
Cold dark.
Not a good place to die
But die he did.
Non mourned.
Copyright P H Brookes 2012.
poem by Paul Brookes
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There's a story everywhere. Being bored to death someplace is basically a funny proposition. What you have to watch out for is you don't write a boring story about a boring place.
quote by Tim Cahill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The upper room
There is a special room set apart and blessed
a holy place and sanctuary where we can rest.
We enter in protected from this worlds care
and sweet communion with the Lord we share.
It is a place where our souls can come in sanctity
a meeting place where we can open and honest be.
A place of tears and a place of worshipping You.
Where deep searching things can be worked through.
'Come to me, Roy and Dot', We hear You say
as burdened with sorrow and care we make our way
to that Holy meeting place of solitude and peace
and commune with You to find blessed release.
The tests of this life can take its toll upon us Lord
and battered and bruised we turn to Your word.
It is so good to retire to that room upstairs awhile
and pour out our soul to You and see Your smile.
Thank You, Jesus for such a blessed place as this
where we can experience again Your heavenly kiss.
Resting in Your presence and feeling Your embrace
strengthened once more for the challenges we face.
Like A Stone
On a cold wet
Afternoon
No room for love and emptiness
By a freeway
I confess I was lost in the pages
Of a book
Full of death
Reading how well die alone
And if a God will lay to rest
Anywhere we want to go
In your house
I long to be
Room by room
Patiently
Ill wait for you there
Like a stone
Ill wait for you there
Alone
And on my death bed
I will prey
To the gods and the angels
Like a pagan
To anyone who will take me to heaven
To a place
I would recall
I was there so long ago
The sky was bruised
The world was black
And there you led me on
In your house
I long to be
Room by room
Patiently
Ill wait for you there
Liek a stone
Ill wait for you there
Alone
In all I read
Till the day was gone
And I sat in regret
In all the things Ive done
For all that Ive blessed
And all that Ive wronged
In dreams till my death
I will wonder on
In your house
I long to be
Room by room
Patiently
Ill wait for you there
Like a stone
Ill wait for you there
Alone
Alone
song performed by by Audioslave
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Quiet Room
(Alice Cooper / Bernie Taupin / Dick Wagner)
The California air
Your nightgown on the stairs
I remember every night
Scenes from home in the Quiet Room
How long have I been gone
Did winter kill the lawn
And all those polaroids you sent
Are on the wall in the Quiet Room
They've got this place
Where they've been keeping me
Where I can't hurt myself
I can't get my wrists to bleed
Just don't know why
Suicide appeals to me
The Quiet Room
Is sterilized and white
It's like a tomb
With just a moth stained naked night
Plastic forks and spoon
No laces in my shoes
They allknow what I tried to do
Outside the Quiet Room
This quiet place
It ain't so new to me
It's haunted atmosphere
Has heard so many scream
My home from home
My twilight zone
My strangest dream
My confidant
I have confessed my life
The Quiet Room
Knows more about me than my wife
They've got this place
Where they've been keeping me
Where I can't hurt myself
I just can't
I just can't get these damn wrists to bleed
A mattress on the floor
No handles on the door
I really need nothing here
I'm alone
---------------------------------------------------------
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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But Still You Go On
you walked to school everyday
knowing that it's gonna be the same
same lessons, same teachers
but still you go on
you get to school
chatting to all your friends
same people, same conversations
but still you go on.
you get into a lesson
listening to the boring chatter
same subject, same seat
but still you go on
you walk home from school
going to your empty house
same place, same doorway
but still you go on
you go to bed
snuggle in your warm sheets
same room, same bed
but still you go on....
poem by Becky Hassall
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Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore —
No doubt you have heard the name before —
Was a boy who never would shut a door!
The wind might whistle, the wind might roar,
And teeth be aching and throats be sore,
But still he never would shut the door.
His father would beg, his mother implore,
'Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore,
We really do wish you would shut the door!'
Their hands they wrung, their hair they tore;
But Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore
Was deaf as the buoy out at the Nore.
When he walked forth the folks would roar,
'Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore,
Why don't you think to shut the door?'
They rigged up a Shutter with sail and oar,
And threatened to pack off Gustavus Gore
On a voyage of penance to Singapore.
But he begged for mercy and said, 'No more!
Pray do not send me to Singapore
On a Shutter, and then I will shut the door!'
'You will?' said his parents; 'then keep on shore!
But mind you do! For the plague is sore
Of a fellow that never will shut the door,
Godfrey Gordon Gustavus Gore!'
poem by William Brighty Rands
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Said Sadly
James iha: you should know that I love you
And I cant help but fall for you
Oh honey Im just a fool
Now you know
Nina gordon: darling, Ill never be true
You see, for so long I was blue
James iha: Im not the lonely one
Nina gordon: and if I hurt, then you will, too
Oh honey I always lose
Now you know
James iha & nina gordon: lover, when will you?
James iha: Im so afraid that noone cares
James iha & nina gordon: lover, cant find you
James iha: I swear to God dont leave me here
James iha & nina gordon: now you know
James iha & nina gordon: only you know that it cant be
When noone else here really means
James iha: anything to me
James iha & nina gordon: if you hurt inside
If you confide in me again
Nina gordon: since you ran away
James iha: hold me now, tell me how
Nothings lost
James iha & nina gordon: lover, when will you?
Im so afraid that noone cares
Lover, cant find you
And noone knows what brings us here
Lover
James iha: hold me now
Nina gordon: hold me now
James iha: tell me how
James iha & nina gordon: nothings lost
song performed by by Veruca Salt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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They Love But They Were Never Loved In Return
and there they are
inside the room of beauty
and lonely conversations
they roam the world
unable to learn the art of permanence
the lessons
of staying in one place and be sober
they love that much
and give themselves all in the name of love
yet they are never loved
in return
the reason why they go from one place to another
like gypsies
looking for love on dark nights till dawn
till the weary morning
till noonday
and till the night comes again
howling and teasing them
loving so loving
and yet so unloved
it is nature's curse
a spell not broken till the end
and so i see them in this room of beauty
and lonely conversations
they cut my hair and clean me
with powder and their brushes
until the floor is filled
with what i am shedding off
and then i leave them again
and visit them
as often as i feel dirty
and unshaven
missing the lonely conversations
the hush of loves always unrequited
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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So Say Who Dont Need To Fake
The freedom is my destiny
The freedom is like the wind in my face
I need, because freedom is love
The water holes, the city gates
The sweetest taste, the broken street
She take me around, playing with my sound
Throw your arms around love and me
The archer without range
The elemental of fire burning you
A hand on my shoulder
Please say who don't need to fake
In this worthless place
The storm is here like her fear
And when she comes around
You know there's aura in the area of taste
But now doomed the room is
Silent the room is
Wasted the room is
Safe the room is
Lonely the room is
Gone the room is
And all your lessons with your enemy
poem by Not A Dream Choice
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Familiarity With The World, Finally....
no place does not give you a distraction
the sound of the machine that lingers in the air and pierces your ear
it will always be there
the sound of engines
more cruel than thunder
and folding waves of the storms at sea
bigger than houses
shall always meet you straight in the eye
deeper in your mind
there seems to be no peaceful place of the leaves and
grass
where you can rest your body where your soul finds an imaginary
home
where the heart can sleep and dream
there seems to be none
and so you run and run as fast as you can to find it
but the running even if it does not stop
finds no such place
and hopeless then
you rest upon a field of destructive sounds and then begin to
accept them as they are
the mad cry of the baby, the heated exchange of hate between
couples, the war of governments and people,
all these are very real
are becoming spots in your skin
your very own shadow that goes with you everywhere you go
you too, is that sound of anger and despair
this is the world
this is your place
now, you must learn what is this all about
rest your head upon the madness of the crowd
sleep amidst the chaos
this is finally what we call as home
yes, a home in a very crowded mall, in a very narrow path
towards a broken door, that slanted room.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Rio Grande
Now this was what Macpherson told
While waiting in the stand;
A reckless rider, over-bold,
The only man with hands to hold
The rushing Rio Grande.
He said, “This day I bid good-bye
To bit and bridle rein,
To ditches deep and fences high,
For I have dreamed a dream, and I
Shall never ride again.
“I dreamt last night I rode this race
That I today must ride,
And cantering down to take my place
I saw full many an old friend’s face
Come stealing to my side.
“Dead men on horses long since dead,
They clustered on the track;
The champions of the days long fled,
They moved around with noiseless tread—
Bay, chestnut, brown, and black.
“And one man on a big grey steed
Rode up and waved his hand;
Said he, ‘We help a friend in need,
And we have come to give a lead
To you and Rio Grande.
“‘For you must give the field the slip;
So never draw the rein,
But keep him moving with the whip,
And, if he falter, set your lip
And rouse him up again.
“‘But when you reach the big stone wall
Put down your bridle-hand
And let him sail-he cannot fall,
But don’t you interfere at all;
You trust old Rio Grande.’
“We started, and in front we showed,
The big horse running free:
Right fearlessly and game he strode,
And by my side those dead men rode
Whom no one else could see.
“As silently as flies a bird,
They rode on either hand;
At every fence I plainly heard
The phantom leader give the word,
‘Make room for Rio Grande!’
“I spurred him on to get the lead,
n I chanced full many a fall;
But swifter still each phantom steed
Kept with me, and at racing speed
We reached the big stone wall.
“And there the phantoms on each side
Drew in and blocked his leap;
‘Make room! make room!’ I loudly cried,
But right in front they seemed to ride—
I cursed them in my sleep.
“He never flinched, he faced it game,
He struck it with his chest,
And every stone burst out in flame—
And Rio Grande and I became
Phantoms among the rest.
“And then I woke, and for a space
All nerveless did I seem;
For I have ridden many a race
But never one at such a pace
As in that fearful dream.
“And I am sure as man can be
That out upon the track
Those phantoms that men cannot see
Are waiting now to ride with me;
And I shall not come back.
“For I must ride the dead men’s race,
And follow their command;
’Twere worse than death, the foul disgrace
If I should fear to take my place
Today on Rio Grande.”
He mounted, and a jest he threw,
With never sign of gloom;
But all who heard the story knew
That Jack Macpherson, brave and true,
Was going to his doom.
They started, and the big black steed
Came flashing past the stand;
All single-handed in the lead
He strode along at racing speed,
The mighty Rio Grande.
But on his ribs the whalebone stung—
A madness, sure, it seemed—
And soon it rose on every tongue
That Jack Macpherson rode among
The creatures he had dreamed.
He looked to left, and looked to right,
As though men rode beside;
And Rio Grande, with foam-flecks white,
Raced at his jumps in headlong flight
And cleared them in his stride.
But when they reached the big stone wall,
Down went the bridle-hand,
And loud we heard Macpherson call
“Make room, or half the field will fall!
Make room for Rio Grande!”
“He’s down! he’s down!” And horse and man
Lay quiet side by side!
No need the pallid face to scan,
We knew with Rio Grande he ran
The race the dead men ride.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hotel California
On a dark desert highway,
Cool wind in my hair
Warm smell of colitas,
Rising up through the air
Up ahead in the distance,
I saw a shimmering light
My head grew heavy and my sight grew dim
I had to stop for the night
There she stood in the doorway;
I heard the mission bell
And I was thinking to myself,
this could be heaven and this could be hell
Then she lit up a candle
And she showed me the way
There were voices down the corridor,
I thought I heard them say...
Welcome to the hotel california
Such a lovely place (such a lovely place)
Such a lovely face
Theres plenty of room at the hotel california
Any time of year (any time of year)
You can find us here
Her mind is tiffany-twisted,
She got the mercedes benz.
She got a lot of pretty, pretty boys,
That she calls friends
How they dance in the courtyard,
Sweet summer sweat.
Some dance to remember,
Some dance to forget
So I called up the captain,
please bring me my wine
He said,we havent had that spirit here since nineteen sixty nine
And still those voices are calling from far away,
Wake you up in the middle of the night
Just to hear them say...
Welcome to the hotel california
Such a lovely place (such a lovely place)
Such a lovely face
Were livin it up at the hotel california.
What a nice surprise (what a nice surprise)
Bring your alibis
Mirrors on the ceiling,
The pink champagne on ice
And she said
we are all just prisoners here of our own device
And in the masters chambers,
They gathered for the feast
The stab it with their steely knives,
But they just cant kill the beast
Last thing I remember,
I was running for the door
I had to find the passage back
To the place I was before
relax,said the night man,
We are programmed to receive.
And you can checkout any time you like,
But you can never leave!
So welcome to the hotel california
Such a lovely place (such a lovely place)
Such a lovely face
Were living it up at the hotel california
Any time of year (any time of year)
You can find us here
song performed by by Wilson Phillips
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death Of A Cockroach
I opened wide the bath-room door,
And all at once switched on the light,
When moving swift across the floor
I saw a streak of ebon bright:
Then quick, with slipper in my hand,
Before it could escape,--I slammed.
I missed it once, I missed it twice,
But got it ere it gained its lair.
I fear my words were far from nice,
Though d----s with me are rather rare:
Then lo! I thought that dying roach
Regarded me with some reproach.
Said I: "Don't think I grudge you breath;
I hate to spill your greenish gore,
But why did you invite your death
By straying on my bath-room floor?"
"It is because," said he (or she),
"Adventure is my destiny.
"By evolution I was planned,
And marvellously made as you;
And I am led to understand
The selfsame God conceived us two:
Sire, though the coup de grâce you give,
Even a roach has right to live."
Said I: "Of course you have a right,--
But not to blot my bath-room floor.
Yet though with slipper I may smite,
Your doom I morally deplore . . .
From cellar gloom to stellar space
Let bards and beetles have their place.
poem by Robert William Service
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