Hod Putt
Here I lie close to the grave
Of Old Bill Piersol,
Who grew rich trading with the indians, and who
Afterwards took the bankrupt law
And emergeed from it richer than ever.
Myself grown tired of toil and poverty
And beholding how Old Bill and others grew in wealth,
Robbed a traveler one night near Proctor's Grove,
Killing him unwittingly while doing so,
For the which I was tried and hanged.
That was my way of going into bankruptcy.
Now we who took the bankrupt law in our respective ways
Sleep peacefully side by side.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Related quotes
Evolution is a bankrupt speculative philosophy, not a scientific fact. Only a spiritually bankrupt society could ever believe it. Only atheists could accept this Satanic theory.
quote by Jimmy Swaggart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Anna Hazare’s Crusade against Corruption in India
Anna wants a Lokpal bill strong
Anna wants a Lokpal bill fast
Anna wants a Lokpal bill full
Anna wants a Lokpal bill now
Anna wants a Lokpal bill by fast
Anna wants a Lokpal bill first
Anna wants a Lokpal bill for all
Anna wants a Lokpal bill – his call
Anna wants a Lokpal bill now
Anna wants a Lokpal bill without delay
Anna wants a Lokpal bill, come what may
Anna wants a Lokpal bill even if it means death.
There is no turning back
There is no giving up the fast
There is no fear of arrest
There is no worry about death
For,
India needs an anti-corruption bill
India is monetarily seriously ill
India needs the honesty drill
India has its wealth outside but inside will
Bring the bill
Heed people’s will
Give them the fill
Heal those hearts ill.
Victory to India; victory to Lokpal Bill; victory to Anna!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 22-08-11
poem by John Celes
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Medicaid is essentially bankrupt, Medicare is essentially bankrupt, why the heck would we give the federal government another entitlement program to manage?
quote by Timothy Pawlenty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At the wake of bankruptcy…
In case you went bankrupt,
Don't seek hospitality
As a poor relation
In the house of wife's kin.
Humiliation is
Harsher than bankruptcy.
10.08.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Killing Time
Everybodys going somewhere
See how they stand in line
All complaining their lives are unfair
Too bad for them, too bad for mine
(its the killing time) from now till then
(killing time), not knowing when
Theyre watching me, Im watching them
Standing by the empty mine
(killing time)
Its a killing time
I know it well
Killing time
Until the bell
Too late to change, too soon to tell
And in between, the killing time
(killing time) giving me hell
Up above the stars still shine
Through the poverty and grime
Of the empty streets below
Killing time, nowhere to go
(killing time)
Tell me, brother whats the plan?
Will I be a working man?
And occupy my idle mind
Or kill the time I knew so well
(killing time) giving me hell
Still I can smile at what I see
Soap operas full of vanity
So much wealth and property
Side by side with petty crime
Is that all lifes meant to be?
Commercials full of luxuries
A man has one, a cat has nine
And in between its killing time
(killing time)
Its a killing time
I know it well
Too late to change
Too soon to tell
Still I can smile at what I find
Waiting round and killing time
Bite the bullet
Help me through it
These lunatics will take my mind
Why cant life be more sublime
Than all of this waste and killing time
Killing time
I know it well
Its the killing time
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Impoverish Child
A small poverty-stricken girl wearing shabby clothes and unkempt hair. Treasures in heaven was all she bear. Poverty seem to be her destiny in life, but as she grew she struggle to survive. Nine was the age she began to toil. Sunrise to sunset was all. She was taught God's love and never be idle for survival. She remember God's word, through sorrow the heart will be better. Through diligence life began to matter.
Life had dealt her a bad hand, she remember it's God who giveth wealth to make one stand.
through prayer and toil riches in life came soon. Poverty was not her doom.
poem by Sylvia James
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Colonel Buffalo Bill
Who's got the stuff that made the Wild West wild?
Who pleases ev'ry woman, man and child?
Who does his best to give the customers a thrill?
-Who?
Colonel Buff'lo Bill
Who's got the show that gets the most applause?
Five hundred Indians and fifty squaws
Ten feature acts and there's the special feature still
-Who?
Colonel Buff'lo Bill
Did you ever see a cowboy rope a steer?
-No, we haven't
Or an Indian with feathers throw a spear?
-No, we haven't
Or a marksman shoot an earring from an ear?
-No, we haven't
Did you ever see a hold up?
-No, sir
Then gather closer
And let me give you some of the atmosphere
The hour is midnight and all is still
We see the stagecoach climbing up a hill
Going along a mountain trail carrying passengers and mail
Never suspecting danger as they roll along
The watchful driver is in his seat
His trusty rifle lying at his feet
Some of the passengers inside seem to be dozing as they ride
Never suspecting there is something really wrong
Suddenly there's a shout
-What is it all about?
What is it all about you ask? It's Indians
-Indians!
Indians
-Indians!
Very notable, cut your throat-able Indians
-Indians!
Just when they've taken ev'ryone by force
Who makes an entrance on a big white horse?
Who starts a' shootin' till there's no one left to kill
-Gen'ral Grant?
No! Colonel Buff'lo Bill!
-Certainly this is quite a thrill, better than all the vaudeville
-Let us be on the go and see the show with Buff'lo Bill
song performed by by Irving Berlin
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As I think through the issue of funding the rebuilding of Iraq, I think about the analogy of a bankruptcy proceeding. There is no doubt that Iraq as a country is bankrupt.
quote by Arlen Specter
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The Traveller
Reply to Rudyard Kipling’s ‘He travels the fastest who travels alone.’
Who travels alone with his eye on the heights,
Though he laughs in the day time oft weeps on the nights;
For courage goes down at the set of the sun,
When the toil of the journey is all borne by one.
He speeds but to grief though full gaily he ride
Who travels alone without love at his side.
Who travels alone without lover of friend
But hurries from nothing, to naught at the end.
Though great be his winnings and high be his goal,
He is bankrupt in wisdom and beggared in soul.
Life’s one gift of value to him is denied
Who travels alone without love at his side.
It is easy enough in this world to make haste
If one live for that purpose – but think of the waste;
For life is a poem to leisurely read,
And the joy of the journey lies not in its speed.
Oh! vain his achievement and petty his pride
Who travels alone without love at his side.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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I had always thought that once you grew up you could do anything you wanted - stay up all night or eat ice-cream straight out of the container.
quote by Bill Bryson
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Those Two Boys
WHEN Bill was a lad he was terribly bad.
He worried his parents a lot;
He'd lie and he'd swear and pull little girls' hair;
His boyhood was naught but a blot.
At play and in school he would fracture each rule— 5
In mischief from autumn to spring;
And the villagers knew when to manhood he grew
He would never amount to a thing.
When Jim was a child he was not very wild;
He was known as a good little boy;
He was honest and bright and the teacher's delight—
To his mother and father a joy.
All the neighbors were sure that his virtue'd endure,
That his life would be free of a spot;
They were certain that Jim had a great head on him 15
And that Jim would amount to a lot.
And Jim grew to manhood and honor and fame
And bears a good name;
While Bill is shut up in a dark prison cell—
You never can tell.
poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Bill and Jim Fall Out
Bill and Jim are mates no longer—they would scorn the name of mate—
Those two bushmen hate each other with a soul-consuming hate;
Yet erstwhile they were as brothers should be (tho’ they never will):
Ne’er were mates to one another half so true as Jim and Bill.
Bill was one of those who have to argue every day or die—
Though, of course, he swore ’twas Jim who always itched to argufy.
They would, on most abstract subjects, contradict each other flat
And at times in lurid language—they were mates in spite of that.
Bill believed the Bible story re the origin of him—
He was sober, he was steady, he was orthodox; while Jim,
Who, we grieve to state, was always getting into drunken scrapes,
Held that man degenerated from degenerated apes.
Bill was British to the backbone, he was loyal through and through;
Jim declared that Blucher’s Prussians won the fight at Waterloo,
And he hoped the coloured races would in time wipe out the white—
And it rather strained their mateship, but it didn’t burst it quite.
They battled round in Maoriland—they saw it through and through—
And argued on the rata, what it was and how it grew;
Bill believed the vine grew downward, Jim declared that it grow up—
Yet they always shared their fortunes to the final bite and sup.
Night after night they argued how the kangaroo was born,
And each one held the other’s stupid theories in scorn,
Bill believed it was ‘born inside,’ Jim declared it was born out—
Each as to his own opinions never had the slightest doubt.
They left the earth to argue and they went among the stars,
Re conditions atmospheric, Bill believed ‘the hair of Mars
‘Was too thin for human bein’s to exist in mortal states.’
Jim declared it was too thick, if anythin—yet they were mates
Bill for Freetrade—Jim, Protection—argued as to which was best
For the welfare of the workers—and their mateship stood the test!
They argued over what they meant and didn’t mean at all,
And what they said and didn’t—and were mates in spite of all.
Till one night the two together tried to light a fire in camp,
When they had a leaky billy and the wood was scarce and damp.
And . . . No matter: let the moral be distinctly understood:
One alone should tend the fire, while the other brings the wood.
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Somber night
Somber night,
grew us apart,
but the truth
of the world.
Is that we all are,
one unique Artifact
we make history
we make lies
but we realize
it no use
to pretend
The Somber night
makes us tired
sleep on guilt
which will make you a liar
Th tears of somber night,
grew us weaker
sky's eyes
warn me
to tell
or yell the truth
it is said
to set you free
Somber night
grew apart
new history
has been made
lies are old
and the truth renewls
my guilt of somber night.
4/8/2011
Hildrup Tubbs
I made two fights for the people.
First I left my party, bearing the gonfalon
Of independence, for reform, and was defeated.
Next I used my rebel strength
To capture the standard of my old party --
And I captured it, but I was defeated.
Discredited and discarded, misanthropical,
I turned to the solace of gold
And I used my remnant of power
To fasten myself like a saprophyte
Upon the putrescent carcass
Of Thomas Rhodes' bankrupt bank,
As assignee of the fund.
Everyone now turned from me.
My hair grew white,
My purple lusts grew gray,
Tobacco and whisky lost their savor
And for years Death ignored me
As he does a hog.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Sibling Children at Play
Two sibling children are at play;
The ‘horse’ is elder sister, Jill,
Whose younger brother ‘driver’ Bill
Sits on an ‘Umbrella-cart’, gay!
‘Giddap! ’ ‘Giddap! ’ shouts Bill to her;
‘Pull me, pull me, pull me faster! ’
The fuming, panting tired Jill,
Finds it hard pulling Bill ‘uphill’?
The ‘Umbrella-cart’ moves with speed;
Poor Jill is pulling fast indeed;
Her brother giggles, laughs aloud;
The cart-drive makes him truly proud!
But, Jill is only five-years’ old;
Her baby brother is quite bold;
She does not have the strength to pull;
But give a joy-ride for Bill, she’ll!
The wheels of th’ cart wobble along;
Bill insists her to sing a song;
‘Neigh like a horse! ’ he commands her;
If she does not, Bill will holler.
Her little brother loves the ride;
The cart stops often by road-side;
The ‘driver’ shouts, ‘Pull on farther! ’
Or I will cry and call mother.
Poor Jill cannot pull on and on;
But she must do: she is first-born;
Jill loves her little brother, Bill;
Do anything for him, she will.
Yes, children love to play all day;
They do not know dangers en way;
They copy elders, come what may;
They never like the word called ‘nay’.
But children love a simple ride;
They do it on their own with pride;
They love to learn and enjoy too;
You never know what they can do.
To children, work is also play;
They love to learn in playful way;
At times, they fight as though by right;
They sleep like angels small, at night!
Their innocence is worth watching;
Their childish ways befit smiling;
Their scuffles are worth too, prying;
But sad ’tis to see them sobbing.
And adults dream of childhood years-
The loveliest in life with dears!
That was the time they knew not fears,
While parents never allowed tears.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 11-21-2007
poem by John Celes
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Railroad Bill
Railroad bill were gonna railroad bill
He never works and he never will
Im gonna ride on a railroad bill
Im gonna ride on a railroad bill
Railroad bill he was a mighty bad man
Kill anybody that he think he can
Gonna ride old railroad bill
Gonna ride old railroad bill
Im singin railroad bill,
Im talkin railroad bill, uh-huh-huh
He never worked and he never will
Im gonna ride on railroad bill, yeah
(cmon) Im gonna ride on railroad bill
Well old railroad bill he done stole my wife
Im gonna check him down Im gonna take his life
Gonna ride on railroad bill
Gonna ride railroad bill
Im singin railroad bill
On a railroad bill
He never worked and he never will
Im gonna ride on railroad bill
Im gonna ride on railroad bill
Railroad bill he was a mighty bad man
Kill anybody that he think he can
Gonna ride old railroad bill
Gonna ride railroad bill
Im talkin railroad bill
I love him railroad bill
Uh-huh-huh
He never worked and he never will
Gonna ride on railroad bill
Yeah, gonna ride on railroad bill
Well Im goin up the mountain
Yes Im goin out west
I got a mighty big pistol
Stickin out of my vest
Gonna ride old railroad bill
Gonna ride (alright)
Railroad bill, I love that railroad bill
Uh-huh-huh
He never works and he never will
Im gonna ride on a railroad bill
Im gonna ride on railroad bill
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Modern Love XLVII: We Saw the Swallows
We saw the swallows gathering in the sky,
And in the osier-isle we heard them noise.
We had not to look back on summer joys,
Or forward to a summer of bright dye:
But in the largeness of the evening earth
Our spirits grew as we went side by side.
The hour became her husband and my bride.
Love that had robbed us so, thus blessed our dearth!
The pilgrims of the year waxed very loud
In multitudinous chatterings, as the flood
Full brown came from the West, and like pale blood
Expanded to the upper crimson cloud.
Love that had robbed us of immortal things,
This little moment mercifully gave,
Where I have seen across the twilight wave
The swan sail with her young beneath her wings.
poem by George Meredith
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The Allegory Of Good And Evil
i made a cottage
of nipa and bamboo
and rattan
by the side of the
sea
it is not that
luxurious
any common man of this
village may come and
rest
i put the sign that any
tired man may sleep there
any traveler may use it
for free
i was away for three days
when i visited it
the vandals drew a big penis and
a vagina as big as a platter
poured black paint on the floor
and scattered drift wood
in the center of the floor
how unkind are these unknown
vandals?
but we cannot be outdone
we clean it again
repaint it with green and beige
to cover the obscenity
i guess, what devil destroy
God is never tired repairing
because we have promised
to be instruments of good
then we must all comply
now the cottage stands clean again
welcoming still a tired traveler.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The language of America changed with the election of Bill Clinton, because with all due respect to my friends on the Republican side, Bill Clinton is the best communicator of the last 50 years. He felt your pain.
quote by Frank Luntz
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