Lemon Underwear
The New Morse Hotel
Chicago, circa 1970
What if after Browne has gone
one of us discovers who Browne was,
leads the rally to his room before
the maid has time to broom the webs,
retrieve from underneath the bed
the sweat-stiff socks, the lemon underwear?
What if before he leaves Browne scrawls
across the dresser’s dust: “I have leased
new quarters and have gone to them.
Don’t give the clothes you find here to the poor.
Don’t burn the books. Beware the next
who rents this room, who leaves it only after dark,
who screams if the maid knocks once
to ask if she may clean. When he arrives
have four men bear him, belly down, downstairs.
Tell them: 'Pitch him out across the lawn!
Let him land in a lake of sun.
Let him drown there.' ”
poem by Donal Mahoney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
To Lizbie Browne
I
Dear Lizbie Browne,
Where are you now?
In sun, in rain? -
Or is your brow
Past joy, past pain,
Dear Lizbie Browne?
II
Sweet Lizbie Browne
How you could smile,
How you could sing! -
How archly wile
In glance-giving,
Sweet Lizbie Browne!
III
And, Lizbie Browne,
Who else had hair
Bay-red as yours,
Or flesh so fair
Bred out of doors,
Sweet Lizbie Browne?
IV
When, Lizbie Browne,
You had just begun
To be endeared
By stealth to one,
You disappeared
My Lizbie Browne!
V
Ay, Lizbie Browne,
So swift your life,
And mine so slow,
You were a wife
Ere I could show
Love, Lizbie Browne.
VI
Still, Lizbie Browne,
You won, they said,
The best of men
When you were wed . . .
Where went you then,
O Lizbie Browne?
VII
Dear Lizbie Browne,
I should have thought,
"Girls ripen fast,"
And coaxed and caught
You ere you passed,
Dear Lizbie Browne!
VIII
But, Lizbie Browne,
I let you slip;
Shaped not a sign;
Touched never your lip
With lip of mine,
Lost Lizbie Browne!
IX
So, Lizbie Browne,
When on a day
Men speak of me
As not, you'll say,
"And who was he?" -
Yes, Lizbie Browne!
poem by Thomas Hardy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mrs. Browne and Me
Mrs. Browne traveled roads
Passed upon by me
Inviting into nature
The butterfly and bee
She walked e'er so gently
Down in the vale
Listening to the melodies
Of the sweet Nighingale
Mrs. Browne held out her hands
And welcomed in the sun
In the valley mist
Where pollination 'tis done
Hark can't you hear the buzz
Of the bumble bee?
Mrs. Browne and i
Are in very good company
(Dedicated to: Emily Dickinson)
poem by Theodora Onken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lord Thomas And Fair Annet
Lord Thomas and Fair Annet
Sate a' day on a hill;
Whan night was cum, and sun was sett,
They had not talkt their fill.
Lord Thomas said a word in jest,
Fair Annet took it ill:
'A, I will nevir wed a wife
Against my ain friend's will.'
'Gif ye wull nevir wed a wife,
A wife wull neir wed yee;'
Sae he is hame to tell his mither,
And knelt upon his knee.
'O rede, O rede, mither,' he says,
'A gude rede gie to mee;
O sall I tak the nut-browne bride,
And let Faire Annet bee?'
'The nut-browne bride haes gowd and gear,
Fair Annet she has gat nane;
And the little beauty Fair Annet haes
O it wull soon be gane.'
And he has till his brother gane:
'Now, brother, rede ye mee;
A, sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,
And let Fair Annet bee?'
'The nut-browne bride has oxen, brother,
The nut-browne bride has kye;
I wad hae ye marrie the nut-browne bride,
And cast Fair Annet bye.'
'Her oxen may dye i' the house, billie,
And her kye into the byre;
And I sall hae nothing to mysell
Bot a fat fadge by the fyre.'
And he has till his sister gane:
'Now, sister, rede ye mee;
O sall I marrie the nut-browne bride,
And set Fair Annet free?'
'I'se rede ye tak Fair Annet, Thomas,
And let the browne bride alane;
Lest ye sould sigh, and say, Alace,
What is this we brought hame!'
'No, I will tak my mither's counsel,
And marrie me owt o hand;
And I will tak the nut-browne bride,
Fair Annet may leive the land.'
Up then rose Fair Annet's father,
Twa hours or it wer day,
And he is gane unto the bower
Wherein Fair Annet lay.
'Rise up, rise up, Fair Annet,' he says
'Put on your silken sheene;
Let us gae to St. Marie's Kirke,
And see that rich weddeen.'
'My maides, gae to my dressing-roome,
And dress to me my hair;
Whaireir yee laid a plait before,
See yee lay ten times mair.
'My maids, gae to my dressing-room,
And dress to me my smock;
The one half is o the holland fine,
The other o needle-work.'
The horse Fair Annet rade upon,
He amblit like the wind;
Wi siller he was shod before,
Wi burning gowd behind.
Four and twanty siller bells
Wer a' tyed till his mane,
And yae tift o the norland wind,
They tinkled ane by ane.
Four and twanty gay gude knichts
Rade by Fair Annet's side,
And four and twanty fair ladies,
As gin she had bin a bride.
And whan she cam to Marie's Kirk,
She sat on Marie's stean:
The cleading that Fair Annet had on
It skinkled in their een.
And whan she cam into the kirk,
She shimmerd like the sun;
The belt that was about her waist
Was a' wi pearles bedone.
She sat her by the nut-browne bride,
And her een they wer sae clear,
Lord Thomas he clean forgat the bride,
When Fair Annet drew near.
He had a rose into his hand,
He gae it kisses three,
And reaching by the nut-browne bride,
Laid it on Fair Annet's knee.
Up then spak the nut-browne bride,
She spak wi meikle spite:
'And whair gat ye that rose-water,
That does mak yee sae white?'
'O I did get the rose-water
Whair ye wull neir get nane,
For I did get that very rose-water
Into my mither's wame.'
The bride she drew a long bodkin
Frae out her gay head-gear,
And strake Fair Annet unto the heart,
That word spak nevir mair.
Lord Thomas he saw Fair Annet wex pale,
And marvelit what mote bee;
But when he saw her dear heart's blude,
A' wood-wroth wexed bee.
He drew his dagger that was sae sharp,
That was sae sharp and meet,
And drave it into the nut-browne bride,
That fell deid at his feit.
'Now stay for me, dear Annet,' he sed,
'Now stay, my dear,' he cry'd;
Then strake the dagger untill his heart,
And fell deid by her side.
Lord Thomas was buried without kirk-wa,
Fair Annet within the quiere,
And o the ane thair grew a birk,
The other a bonny briere.
And ay they grew, and ay they threw,
As they wad faine be neare;
And by this ye may ken right weil
They were twa luvers deare.
poem by Andrew Lang
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Chicago Sestina
I am surprised by the streets of Chicago
when the palm of winter grips them with snow
as if to forgive the city’s mistakes
and give it a canvas that’s new, white, and clean–
its fingers, the branches on all of the trees
kneading the air that blows in from the lake.
I’ve never lived next to the pulse of the lake
(until I set foot down the side of Chicago)
breathing in through the streets and out through the trees
welcoming the cool of the wet, numbing snow.
It lets my mind slip into thinking it’s clean
as if to personally forgive my mistakes.
“But what have you done to forgive your mistakes? ”
Did I ask this? Or is that the voice of the lake?
Some days, not even does it appear clean,
worn down from its tall standing neighbor, Chicago.
It scrapes at the sky, asking it for more snow
to stick to and freeze the trunks of the trees.
If I were a branch on one of these trees
incapable of making a single mistake,
I’d grab at the sky as it shook out the snow
and grow my roots thick till they tasted the lake.
But I wouldn’t bend to the force of Chicago
that’s constantly keeping me from being clean.
And what does it mean to try to be clean?
I don’t understand the stillness of the trees
when they’re being attacked by the size of Chicago
as if to glorify the city’s mistakes
that glisten like stars at night on the lake
before it all froze and was covered with snow.
Ah! To imagine how long there’s been snow.
How can something this old still feel so clean
and dance through the wind that swoops in from the lake?
Is it the kneading by the spiny branches on trees
trusting that there will be no more mistakes
that leaves these the only pure thing in Chicago?
Here comes the snow that seeks out the trees
Am I now clean? Where are my mistakes?
Chicago belongs where it lay with the lake.
poem by Brian Maloney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There were bars that began to have acoustic musicians play, it was 1970: Joni Mitchell, Jackson Browne, America, The Eagles, all that kind of stuff was popular. It was very easy for me to just kind of move in and be noticed.
quote by Shawn Colvin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Birds Of St. Marks
(Jackson Browne)
[From the Jackson Browne: Going Home video]
Oh how sadly sound the songs the queen must sing of dying
A prisoner upon her throne of melancholy sighing
If she could see her mirror now
She would be free of those who bow and
Scrape the ground before her feet
Silently she walks among her dying midnight roses
Watches as each moment goes that never really know us
And so it seems she doesn't care
If she has dreams of no one there
Within the shadows of her room
But all my frozen words agree, and say it's time to
Call back, all the birds I sent to
Fly behind her castle walls, and I'm
Weary of the nights I've seen
Inside these empty halls
Wooden lady turn and turn among my weary secrets
And wave within the hours past and other empty pockets
Maybe we've found what we have lost
When we've unwound so many crossed entangling
Misunderstandings; but
All my frozen words agree and say it's time to
Call back all the birds I sent to
Fly behind her castle walls, and I'm
Weary of the nights I've seen
Inside these empty walls
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Man Needs A Maid
My life is changing in so many ways
I dont know who to trust anymore
Theres a shadow running thru my days
Like a beggar going from door to door.
I was thinking that maybe Id get a maid
Find a place nearby for her to stay.
Just someone to keep my house clean,
Fix my meals and go away.
A maid. a man needs a maid.
A maid.
Its hard to make that change
When life and love turns strange.
And old.
To give a love, you gotta live a love.
To live a love, you gotta be part of
When will I see you again?
A while ago somewhere I dont know when
I was watching a movie with a friend.
I fell in love with the actress.
She was playing a part that I could understand.
A maid. a man needs a maid.
A maid.
When will I see you again?
song performed by by Neil Young
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If I Ever Marry, I'll Marry A Maid
If ever I marry, I'll marry a maid;
To marry a widow, I am sore afraid:
For maids they are simple, and never will grutch,
But widows full oft, as they say, know too much.
A maid is so sweet, and so gentle of kind,
That a maid is the wife I will choose to my mind
A widow is froward, and never will yield;
Or if such there be, you will meet them but seeld.
A maid ne'er complaineth, do what so you will;
But what you mean well, a widow takes ill:
A widow will make you a drudge and a slave,
And, cost ne'er so much, she will ever go brave.
A maid is so modest, she seemeth a rose
When it first beginneth the bud to unclose;
But a widow full-blowen full often deceives,
And the next wind that bloweth shakes down all her leaves.
The widows be lovely, I never gainsay,
But too well all their beauty they know to display;
But a maid hath so great hidden beauty in store,
She can spare to a widow, yet never be poor.
Then, if ever I marry, give me a fresh maid,
If to marry with any I be not afraid;
But to marry with any, it asketh much care;
And some bachelors hold they are best as they are.
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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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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I Am Not Your Broom
Now broom, you must now sweep for me
The dust it fills my room
No, john, I will not sweep for you
For I am not your broom
What nonsense are you speaking, broom
My words you must obey
Another life awaits me and
Im leaving you today
I am not your broom
I am not your broom
Ive had enough, Im throwing off
My chains of servitude
I am not your broom
I am not your broom
No longer must I sweep for you
For I am not your broom
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I love to read. I love to stretch. In the morning, I get up, and if I'm not in a hurry, I will lie on the floor on a rug, look through some books and magazines, and maybe listen to music and try to do stretching exercises to tune up.
quote by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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An Angler
Now as an angler melancholy standing
Upon a green bank yielding room for landing,
A wriggling yellow worm thrust on his hook,
Now in the midst he throws, then in a nook:
Here pulls his line, there throws it in again,
Mendeth his cork and bait, but all in vain,
He long stands viewing of the curled stream;
At last a hungry pike, or well-grown bream
Snatch at the worm, and hasting fast away,
He knowing it a fish of stubborn sway,
Pulls up his rod, but soft, as having skill,
Wherewith the hook fast holds the fish's gill;
Then all his line he freely yieldeth him,
Whilst furiously all up and down doth swim
Th' insnared fish, here on the top doth scud,
There underneath the banks, then in the mud,
And with his frantic fits so scares the shoal,
That each one takes his hide, or starting hole:
By this the pike, clean wearied, underneath
A willow lies.
poem by William Browne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Rill
So when the pretty rill a place espies,
Where with the pebbles she would wantonize,
And that her upper stream so much doth wrong her
To drive her thence, and let her play no longer;
If she with too loud mutt'ring ran away,
As being much incens'd to leave her play,
A western, mild and pretty whispering gale
Came dallying with the leaves along the dale,
And seem'd as with the water it did chide,
Because it ran so long unpacified:
Yea, and methought it bade her leave that coil,
Or he would choke her up with leaves and soil:
Whereat the riv'let in my mind did weep,
And hurl'd her head into a silent deep.
poem by William Browne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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It is we that are blind, not fortune.
quote by Thomas Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You are where you are today because you have chosen to be there.
quote by Harry Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I never was a very good singer.
quote by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You know you're old when you've lost all your marvels.
quote by Merry Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Girl Afraid
Girl afraid
Where do his intentions lay ?
Or does he even have any ?
She says :
He never really looks at me
I give him every opportunity
In the room downstairs
He sat and stared
In the room downstairs
He sat and stared
Ill never make that mistake again !
Ill never make that mistake again
Ill never make that mistake again
Boy afraid
Prudence never pays
And everything she wants costs money
But she doesnt even like me !
And I know because she said so
In the room downstairs
She sat and stared
In the room downstairs
She sat and stared
Ill never make that mistake again !
song performed by by Smiths
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There is no man alone, because every man is a Microcosm, and carries the whole world about him.
quote by Thomas Browne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Obstinacy in a bad cause is but constancy in a good.
quote by Thomas Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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