From A Letter From Lesbia
... So, praise the gods, Catullus is away!
And let me tend you this advice, my dear:
Take any lover that you will, or may,
Except a poet. All of them are queer.
It's just the same- a quarrel or a kiss
Is but a tune to play upon his pipe.
He's always hymning that or wailing this;
Myself, I much prefer the business type.
That thing he wrote, the time the sparrow died-
(Oh, most unpleasant- gloomy, tedious words!)
I called it sweet, and made believe I cried;
The stupid fool! I've always hated birds....
poem by Dorothy Parker
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Related quotes
Kiss Me Dear..Part3
Kiss me dear kiss me with lustful.
Kiss me dear kiss me with luxurious.
Kiss me dear kiss me with lyrical.
Kiss me dear kiss me with lovable.
Kiss me dear kiss me with humorous.
Kiss me dear kiss me with hummed.
Kiss me dear kiss me with hugged.
Kiss me dear kiss me with hopeful.
Kiss me dear kiss me with gutsy.
Kiss me dear kiss me with guaranty.
Kiss me dear kiss me with gratified.
Kiss me dear kiss me with graciousness.
Couse your kiss is a consomme.............
It's different taste..........
and i'will needs again...
Kiss me dear kiss me on sunday.
Kiss me dear kiss me on monday.
Kiss me dear kiss me on tuesday.
Kiss me dear kiss me on wednesday.
Kiss me dear kiss me on thursday.
Kiss me dear kiss me on friday.
Kiss me dear kiss me on saturday.
Couse your kiss is my dish everyday.
and i'will needs again.
Kiss me dear kiss me on january.
Kiss me dear kiss me on february.
Kiss me dear kiss me on march.
Kiss me dear kiss me on april.
Kiss me dear kiss me on may.
Kiss me dear kiss me on june.
Kiss me dear kiss me on july.
Kiss me dear kiss me on august.
Kiss me dear kiss me on september.
Kiss me dear kiss me on october.
Kiss me dear kiss me on november.
Kiss me dear kiss me on december.
Couse your kiss is my: every times
every days
every month
and every years.
I'will needs again
Spring, the Sweet Spring
Spring, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant king,
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing:
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The palm and may make country houses gay,
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay:
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,
In every street these tunes our ears do greet:
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to witta-woo!
poem by Thomas Nashe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Spring, The Sweet Spring
Spring, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant king,
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing:
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The palm and may make country houses gay,
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay:
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,
In every street these tunes our ears do greet:
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to witta-woo!
poem by Thomas Nashe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Summer's Last Will and Testament (excerpt)
1 Spring, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant king,
2 Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
3 Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing:
4 Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
5 The palm and may make country houses gay,
6 Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,
7 And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay:
8 Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
9 The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
10 Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,
11 In every street these tunes our ears do greet:
12 Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to witta-woo!
poem by Thomas Nashe
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Kiss Me Dear
Kiss me dear kiss with softly soft*
Kiss me dear kiss with your desire*
Kiss me dear kiss with a little bite*
Kiss me dear kiss with your heart*
Kiss me dear kiss with your warm hug*
Kiss me dear kiss with your smooth lips*
Kiss me dear kiss with your hopes*
Kiss me dear kiss with your pray*
Kiss me dear kiss with your honestly*
Kiss me dear kiss with your loves*
Kiss me dear kiss with your happiness*
Kiss me dear kiss with happily*
Kiss me dear kiss with heartbeat*
Kiss me dear kiss with really*
Kiss me dear kiss with admirable*
Kiss me dear kiss with quietly*
Kiss me dear kiss with realy on*
Kiss me dear kiss with require*
Kiss me dear kiss me now and forevermore*
I'need you for strong standing with me**
Clean Up Your Own Backyard
(words & music by b. strange - s. davis)
Back porch preacher preaching at me
Acting like he wrote the golden rules
Shaking his fist and speeching at me
Shouting from his soap box like a fool
Come sunday morning hes lying in bed
With his eye all red, with the wine in his head
Wishing he was dead when he oughta be
Heading for sunday school
Clean up your own backyard
Oh dont you hand me none of your lines
Clean up your own backyard
You tend to your business, Ill tend to mine
Drugstore cowboy criticizing
Acting like hes better than you and me
Standing on the sidewalk supervising
Telling everybody how they ought to be
Come closing time most every night
He locks up tight and out go the lights
And he ducks out of sight and he cheats on his wife
With his employee
Clean up your own backyard
Oh dont you hand me none of your lines
Clean up your own backyard
You tend to your business, Ill tend to mine
Armchair quarterbacks always moanin
Second guessing people all day long
Pushing, fooling and hanging on in
Always messing where they dont belong
When you get right down to the nitty-gritty
Isnt it a pity that in this big city
Not a one alittle bitty manll admit
He could have been a little bit wrong
Clean up your own backyard
Oh dont you hand me, dont you hand me none of your lines
Clean up your own backyard
You tend to your business, Ill tend to mine
Clean up your own backyard
You tend to your business, Ill tend to mine
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spring
SPRING, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king;
Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring,
Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing--
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The palm and may make country houses gay,
Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day,
And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay--
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
The fields breathe sweet, the daisies kiss our feet,
Young lovers meet, old wives a-sunning sit,
In every street these tunes our ears do greet--
Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
Spring, the sweet Spring!
poem by Thomas Nashe
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Sonnet: The Fool
Who would prefer to hit the ball same side?
Who loves to accept defeat without fight?
Who would knowing rules, by them not abide?
Who would prefer darkness to that of light?
Who would give birth and try to kill one's child?
Who would betray his master who feeds him?
Who prefers severe punishment to mild?
Who would want life to turn gloomy and grim?
A fool will keep his body, mind, unclean!
A fool will risk his life for stupid things;
A fool may think, he can do sin unseen;
A fool self-praises his follies and sings!
Who would dare climb an electrified fence?
Who would not pay heed to his common-sense?
poem by John Celes
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Lesbia’s Sparrow
All you Loves and Cupids cry
and all you men of feeling
my girl’s sparrow is dead,
my girl’s beloved sparrow.
She loved him more than herself.
He was sweeter than honey, and he
knew her, as she knows her mother.
He never flew out of her lap,
but, hopping about here and there,
just chirped to his lady, alone.
Now he is flying the dark
no one ever returns from.
Evil to you, evil Shades
of Orcus, destroyers of beauty.
You have stolen the beautiful sparrow from me.
Oh sad day! Oh poor little sparrow!
Because of you my sweet girl’s eyes
are red with weeping, and swollen.
poem by Gaius Valerius Catullus
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The Good Lord Watches Over Poets And Fools
The good Lord watches over poets and fools
Not exactly one of life’s little rules
Now which one do I happen to be?
Give me a minute and you shall see
I know it’s not cool
To be called a fool
Although I consider myself a poet
There are many who don’t know it
You might consider me a foolish poet
I know this poem is silly but I wrote it
I’m having fun with this little rhyme
Although some may say I’m wasting my time
My poetic license seems to have expired
Cause this isn’t exactly what I desired
But playing with words is such great fun
And knowing they’ll often touch someone
Overtures
My dear and I, we disagreed
When we had been much time together.
For when will lovers learn to sail
From sailing always in good weather?
She said a hateful little word
Between the pages of the book.
I bubbled with a noble rage,
I bruised her with a dreadful look,
And thanked her kindly for the word
Of such a little silly thing;
Indeed I loved my poet then
Beyond my dear, or anything.
And she, the proud girl, swept away,
How swift and scornfully she went!
And I the frightened lover stayed,
And have not had one hour's content
Until to-day; until I knew
That I was loved again, again;
Then hazard how this thing befel,
Brother of women and of men?
'Perhaps a gallant gentleman
Accomplished it, who saw you bleed;
Perhaps she wrote upon the book
A riddling thing that you could read;
'Perhaps she crept to you, and cried,
And took upon her all the blame.'
O no, do proud girls creep and cry?
'Perhaps she whispered you your name.'
O no, she walked alone, and I
Was walking in the rainy wood,
And saw her drooping by the tree,
And saw my work of widowhood.
poem by John Crowe Ransom
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He wonders whether to praise or to blame her
I have peace to weigh your worth, now all is over,
But if to praise or blame you, cannot say.
For, who decries the loved, decries the lover;
Yet what man lauds the thing he's thrown away?
Be you, in truth, this dull, slight, cloudy naught,
The more fool I, so great a fool to adore;
But if you're that high goddess once I thought,
The more your godhead is, I lose the more.
Dear fool, pity the fool who thought you clever!
Dear wisdom, do not mock the fool that missed you!
Most fair, - the blind has lost your face for ever!
Most foul, - how could I see you while I kissed you?
So . . . the poor love of fools and blind I've proved you,
For, foul or lovely, 'twas a fool that loved you.
poem by Rupert Brooke (1913)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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No. 51
To me that man seems like a god in heaven,
seems--may I say it?--greater than all gods are,
who sits by you & without interruption
watches you, listens
to your light laughter, which casts such confusion
onto my senses, Lesbia, that when I
gaze at you merely, all of my well-chosen
words are forgotten
as my tongue thickens & a subtle fire
runs through my body while my ears deafened
by their own ringing & at once my eyes are
covered in darkness!
Leisure, Catullus. More than just a nuisance,
leisure: you riot, overmuch enthusing.
Fabulous cities & their sometime kings have
died of such leisure.
poem by Gaius Valerius Catullus
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The Death of Lesbia’s Sparrow
Mourn, O you Loves and Cupids
and such of you as love beauty:
my girl’s sparrow is dead,
sparrow, the girl’s delight,
whom she loved more than her eyes.
For he was sweet as honey, and knew her
as well as the girl her own mother,
he never moved from her lap,
but, hopping about here and there,
chirped to his mistress alone.
Now he goes down the shadowy road
from which they say no one returns.
Now let evil be yours, evil shadows of Orcus,
that devour everything of beauty:
you’ve stolen lovely sparrow from me.
O evil deed! O poor little sparrow!
Now, by your efforts, my girl’s eyes
are swollen and red with weeping.
poem by Gaius Valerius Catullus
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Never You
Over my decades of sojourn on earth
There is but a lesson I've come to
learn;
Is that you never, never, never quarrel
with a poet
For he takes you up, puts you in a pot
Season you, and finally, he eats you up
with his words.
His tongue is cursed and poisoned
Like a warring deadly disease.
DO YOU.. DO YOU.. DO YOU really think
That poets are as friendly like you think,
Well, listen now friend, let me tell
You a little secret about poetry.
Like philosophy, it could be quite
contradictory.
My mentor Mr. Taban Lo Liyong
Would say: poetry is not a song
That a lover sings to a love of his
He only wishes for a bite or a kiss
But yet, let us sit and ponder on it
Taban was right about poetry;
It is a science, with rules like we
have in mathematics.
Thoughts arranged in lines are
called poetry,
Nobody writes poetry,
You only utter your thoughts
With much love for the world.
So we can now say poetry and
thoughts are one.
Never let a poet eat you up
With his thoughts or his words
For in his heart lies an abyss
And a void, like we have in Tartarus.
poem by Efe Benjamin
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Our Time
I may be dead, honey
But I was left with my eyes
And underneath, sugar
Well I've been stung by your lies
And my heart, baby
It's cold and blue
We're two of a kind baby
Me and you
It's our time, sweet baby
To break on through
It's the year to hated
So glad that we made it
'Cause all the kids in the street
Whisper sounds that sweet
The stars under their feet
Well it's the year to be hated
One two ready go
It's our time (x7)
To be hated
All right
To be hated
Come on kids
It's our time (x7)
To be hated
All right
Well it's the year to be hated
song performed by by Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Our Time
I may be dead, honey
But I was left with my eyes
And underneath, sugar
Well I've been stung by your lies
And my heart, baby
It's cold and blue
We're two of a kind baby
Me and you
It's our time, sweet baby
To break on through
It's the year to hated
So glad that we made it
'Cause all the kids in the street
Whisper sounds that sweet
The stars under their feet
Well it's the year to be hated
One two ready go
It's our time (x7)
To be hated
All right
To be hated
Come on kids
It's our time (x7)
To be hated
All right
Well it's the year to be hated
song performed by by Yeah Yeah Yeahs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ayyappa The Naughty God
Ayyappa they called a god
badly I know you
not a god
but they called a god
not to hear from you
but you write from the soul
madly we read it
they called a mad
know this is true
God made words he made soul of songs
song of love
He made us to read, he made you
God, madly made eveything
Without her wondrous words
madly we read a poem from you
They say God made you a naughty
And he gave a godlen hand
hand to write poems
Yes I know he’s mighty good and truthful to you
he drinks with you, stay in the night
There is no god, but madly he writes for us
And he knows everything to dream
So just you call on him God
And he will share his love with you
stay with you, drinks with you
and he quit the room
where we sit together
all the time....
(a poet of our Gods own land)
poem by Thampi KEE
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Micky Marlene
There was a man called Micky Marlene
Whose clothes were dirty though his hands were clean,
He said 'You'll never guess where I've been
Or the things I've done and the things I've seen
'I've walked this earth for many a year
And I've seen men's courage dissolve into fear,
I've laughed at their folly and not shed a tear
When I relaxed in the bar and swallowed my beer!
'I don't give a monkey for money or fame
And when it comes to sex I don't have any shame,
Religion is stupid and life's just a game -
There's no need for judgement 'cos no one's to blame!
'You may think me callous but I don't care;
If you're talking of suffering, well I've had my share,
I've been on my knees and uttered a prayer
But God is a figment - there's nobody there!
'So don't try to fool me with words of advice,
I've made my mistakes and I'm paying the price,
I know my intentions are not very nice,
Just mind your own business - I won't tell you twice! ! '
Those were the words of Micky Marlene
Whose clothes were dirty though his hands were clean,
A bit of an actor, he still must have been
The most lecherous man that I've ever seen.
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
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A beautiful thing called YOU
How to write about a beautiful piece of God’s writing
I mean what is there to edit?
Did God leave room for improvement
Oh I see, he did leave some for comment
And praise and Glory to value
A Beautiful thing called you
Unmatched in splendor
A beautiful thing named you
That only God` s description could equal the importance
A beautiful thing called you
That only the angelic can understand
A beautiful thing called you
Whose creation was inspired by the divine
A beautiful thing called you
That the universe handles with care
A beautiful thing called you
Whose shape was sculpted by His own word
A beautiful thing called you
How do I begin to describe it
Is it by letter
Oh I see holding it is better
How do I own it
To praise the glory and the value
A beautiful thing called you
Oh I see, God knows better
The value the Glory and the praise
No, He revealed it to me
But still I cant
Bear the praise the value and the glory
That flows from those eyes
The ear the nose and the belly
I looked through the key hole to see the sky
I saw heaven`s 1 2 3 stars shy
HE opened the door of your heart
Behold the millions that were hidden
Now I know
How to Praise the glory and the value of a beautiful thing called you.
poem by Didier Sixte Kahungu
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