The Tale Of Steven
’TIS the tale of Simon Steven, braceman at the Odd-and-Even,
At The Nations, in the gully. They were sinking in the rock.
Sim was small and wiry rather, and a husband and a father,
But he’s gone and left his family as a consequence of shock.
Shock was Sim’s disease, we reckoned, for it took him in a second,
And no doctor born could dognose what the symptoms were, I think,
But we’re missin’ Sim completely—he could play the whistle sweetly,
And was always very sociable and brotherly in drink.
That was how poor Steven drifted into trouble—being gifted,
He was hungry for an audience, and it led him up to Coy’s;
But his wife made no deductions for the artist, and the ructions
What she raised around that public were just fireworks for the boys.
When she caught him on the liquor, being stronger like and quicker,
She would hammer him in company, which, I take it, wasn’t right;
Yet he bore it like a martyr while his wife played up the tartar,
And she gave her straight opinion of each mother’s son in sight.
Sim had marks of her corrections scattered round in all directions
On his features and his figure, but he didn’t seem to care—
For he thought his missus clearly did her duty by him merely
When she pommelled him for boosing with a poker or a chair.
’Twas a Wednesday, boss, I’m thinking. There’d been much promiscuous drinking
Up the gully, where some city chaps were christening Spooner’s mill;
Sim was dayshift at The Nations, and he missed the grand orations,
But, with help from men and brothers, he contrived to get his fill.
They’d been shooting holes, an’ Steven, when he left the Odd-and-Even,
Carried with him in his pocket here a plug of dynamite.
Sim had put it there to soften—which is done by miners often,
But it’s not the sort of practice that I’d recommend as right.
Well, the braceman didn’t worry after tea that day, nor hurry
To the bosom of his family, but took drink for drink with Mack;
When they aimed him homewards kindly, Steven went the distance blindly,
And his feet performed the lockstitch all the way along the track.
Mrs. Sim was primed and ready, and she met him with a neddy,
And she passed no vain remarks, but aimed an awful blow at him;
Came a sound of roaring thunder—Mrs. Sim was blown from under,
And the universe was ruined, and the sun went out for Sim.
After search in all directions, we found very few selections
Of the widow’s dear departed, but we did the best we could.
For, you see, by passion goaded, and not knowing Sim was loaded,
She’d concussed that plug of dynamite, and blown him up for good.
There was room for no reproaches ’bout the hearse and mourning coaches;
Though we only buried samples, yet we ’lowed for style and tone—
Man’s-size coffin, grave, and preacher for a broken fellow creature,
And we wrote ‘In Death Divided’ at the bottom of the stone.
poem by Edward George Dyson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
David the Lunatic
David the lunatic
had a son whom
they named Steven.
No home, they slept
under a canopy.
The wife Caroline
left one morning
leaving Steven
on the balcony.
Fate had a way, Steven
never fell sick.
David's dad had a
thing with polygamy.
Steven grew up
A man and joined
the seminary.
poem by Efe Benjamin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hully Gully
Hully gully
(that, thats good.)
(one, I wanna sing along--you know why? youre missing part of it.)
(that pays off, ah, p.o.g.)
(well have greenwich village *snap* just like that.)
([...])
(play it like it is, carl!
Pick it up from the third!)
(ha!)
Well, theres a dance spreadin round like an awful disease
Hully, hully gully
You just shake your shoulders and you wiggle your knees
(play it like it is!)
Hully, hully gully
Well, theres a dance spreadin (*laugh*) round from coast to coast
Hully, hully gully
Well, when me and my baby do it, thats how we do it the most
Hully, hully gully
Mama hully gully
Papa hully gully
Baby hully gully, too
Well, I went to a party now and what did they do?
Hully, hully gully
Well now everybodys doing it son, so why aint you on their way too
Hully, hully gully
Everybodys lookin like they got the shakes
Hully, hully gully
You just wiggle your shoulders, man, thats all it takes
Hully, hully gully
Mama hully gully
Papa hully gully
Baby hully gully, too
(lets tear em down!)
Hully, hully gully
Do it with your left shoulder
Hully, hully gully
Do it with your other shoulder, now
Hully, hully gully
Switch your blades
Hully, hully gully
Mama hully gully
Papa hully gully
Baby hully gully too
(how about me and my girl? )
Mama hully gully
Papa hully gully
You can hully gully too
(*loud slap*)
(whoa!)
(thats all [...])
(what do you know? )
(before we bring on the star of our show this evening...)
(what else do you know? )
(uh, he knows...)
(what? )
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When The Bell Blew Up
‘THAT’S the boiler at The Bell, mates! Tumble out, Ned, neck and crop—
Never mind your hat and coat, man, we’ll be wanted on the job.
Barney’s driving, Harvey’s stoking—God help all the hands on top!
Bring along the brandy, some one. Don’t stand like an image, Bob;
Grab those shirts—they’ll all be needed. Rugs and candles, that’s all right.
Bet your lives, boys, we’ll have lots of doctor’s work to do to-night!
‘Didn’t she thunder? Scot! I thought the universe had gone to smash.
Take the track through Peetree’s paddock, make the smartest time you know.
Barney swore her plates were rotten, but poor Bill was always rash.’
‘And his missus, heaven help her!—they were spliced a month ago.’
Down the track we raced together, up the hill—then o’er the claim
Saw the steam-clouds hanging thickly, lustrous with the glow of flame.
Boiler-house in hopeless ruins, engines wrecked and smoke-stack gone;
Bricks and shingles widely scattered, and the shattered boiler bare.
‘Five men missed!’ ‘Buck in, you fellows; get your freest action on;
Keep the fire back from the timbers—God knows who is under there.
Sprag that knocker. How it rattles! Braceman’s nowhere—Coleman’s Joe.
Tell them what has happened, Ryan. They will have to wait below.’
As we fought the fires, the women, pale and tearful gathered round.
‘That you, Peter? Thanks to Heaven!’ ‘There’s my Harry! God is good!’
‘Praise the Lord—they’ve got our lad safe! Joe the braceman has been found!
Down between the tips they found him, pinned there by a log of wood.
‘Battery boys are safe. Mack saw them hiding under Peetree’s ricks.
They just up and cut from under when it started raining bricks.’
Only two now—Bill and Barney. Still we laboured might and main
’Mid the ruins round the boiler where the shattered walls were stacked.
Then his wife discovered Barney, dazed and black, but right as rain;
Said he didn’t know what hit him—‘thought the crack of doom had cracked;’
He had landed on the sand-heap, thirty yards or so away.
‘God is mighty good to sinners,’ murmured Geordie. ‘Let us pray.’
Fifty voices called on Harvey, and we worked like horses all,
Delving down amongst the timber, burnt and knocked about, but gay.
‘Lend a hand, here, every man; he’s pinned beneath the outer wall!
All together. Now you’ve got him. Gently does it. That’s O.K.
Scalded! Yes, and right arm broken. Pass some brandy, one of you.
Cheer, ye devils! Give it lip, lads. He’s alive and kicking, too!’
‘Give him air, now. Make a track there. Let him see his missus first.’
‘Where’s his wife?’ The women wondered. She had not been seen all night.
Someone whispered she was timid, that she dared not face the worst.
Harvey smiled despite his troubles. ‘Boys, she’s fainted—she’s all right.’
So we bore him gaily home, and as he saw the gateway near
Bill tried hard to lead the chorus when we gave a rousing cheer.
‘Stop, for God’s sake!’ In the garden, where her life blood tinged the vine,
Prone poor Harvey’s wife was lying, in the moon- light, cold and gray.
There the flying bolt had struck her as she ran towards the mine.
We could guess the truth too well—and near a broken firebar lay.
Carrol, kneeling down beside her, gently raised the wounded head,
And we bent to catch his whisper, and he answered sadly—‘Dead!’
poem by Edward George Dyson
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I guess I didn't feel confident enough to be searching in a big public way. I was very content at the time to toil in obscurity on things that I thought might point me in certain directions or teach me certain things - not knowing what that would be.
quote by Steven Soderbergh
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Where I Come From
As I sit here thinking
Where I came from I had nothing
I had no mother love
Nor no father
I had me...
Which was nothing
The place I was to call home
Was not really home
Mom and Steven always fighting
Cussing, Screaming, Blood, and Tears
That's what I grew up with
I have scars to prove it
Always under weight
I would go some days starving
Other days I would beg for food
Mom said I didnt need to eat
Or I wasn't good that day
Where I came from I had nothing
Mama beat me
Steven laughed at me
Nobody to protect me
I was alone
I had nothing
poem by Makayla Straight
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It takes three to make a family
(The Mistress or mother)
My son was a gift,
But his father didn't think so,
He left me alone,
With his son I mind you,
I was just a girl,
And he a man,
He did not care,
He left me bowed eyes and broken,
A Lord was he and I Mistress was I,
We were in two different worlds,
Seperated by our familes,
But our son not like us,
A son forced to see his parents like this,
I can still do te best for him,
His father is a monster not a man,
I am scared for my son,
What of his life?
No, I must do my best for him,
If I don't I'll let both of us down,
Years have past and now my son is a man,
I'm dying slowly,
I don't want my son to worry,
I know that I'm on my deathbed,
And I'm as king forJesus.
(Lord or father)
I did not leave her,
She left me,
I couldn't find her,
I wanted my son,
She didn't give him,
Now she's gone and my son with me,
My son's mother was my late wife,
I wanted them both,
But she sought me to be a demon,
Lies upon lies,
I was persuaded from my mother,
My wife listened to our converesation,
Many years later my son is married,
Now I'm going to meet my wife,
Together in heaven,
We have all eternity,
Jesus please keep our son.
(Son)
I am a man who loves,
Mom and dad didn't know,
I am the birth of their future,
They died without knowing me,
I am their son,
But all their time was fighting,
Mentally and emotional,
I spent my childhood afraid of them,
On a nevering chase against time,
My family will teach and give me love,
Years, many, many, years later,
I am a great grandfather,
Now and finally I am on my deathbed,
And I'm happy,
A tear has fallen out my eye,
I am now ready to reunite with,
Both my mother and father,
Jesus thank you for bringing,
The family together at last.
poem by Qeeony Luv
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Steven
I don't want to see you go
I don't even want to be there
I will cover up my eyes
And pray it goes away
You've only lived a minute of your life
I must be dreaming, please stop screaming
I don't like to hear you cry
You just don't know how deep that cuts me
So I will cover up my eyes
And it will go away
You've only lived a minute of your life
I must be dreaming, please stop screaming
STEVEN!
STEVEN!
I hear my name!
STEVEN!
Is someone calling me? I hear my name!
STEVEN!
That icy breath that whispers screams of pain!
I don't want to feel you die
But if that's the way that God has planned you
I'll put pennies on your eyes
And it will go away
See?
You've only lived a minute of your life
I must be dreaming, please stop screaming
Steven.... Is someone calling me? No....
Steven....
I think I hear a voice--- it's outside the door!
STEVEN!
I hear my name!
STEVEN!
Is someone calling me? I hear my name!
STEVEN!
WHAT DO YOU WANT?
STEVEN!
WHAT DO YOU WANT?
WHAT DO YOU WANT?
WHAT DO YOU WANT?
STEVEN!
STEVEN!
STEVEN!
I hear my name
song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Demon Drink
Oh, thou demon Drink, thou fell destroyer;
Thou curse of society, and its greatest annoyer.
What hast thou done to society, let me think?
I answer thou hast caused the most of ills, thou demon Drink.
Thou causeth the mother to neglect her child,
Also the father to act as he were wild,
So that he neglects his loving wife and family dear,
By spending his earnings foolishly on whisky, rum and beer.
And after spending his earnings foolishly he beats his wife-
The man that promised to protect her during life-
And so the man would if there was no drink in society,
For seldom a man beats his wife in a state of sobriety.
And if he does, perhaps he finds his wife fou',
Then that causes, no doubt, a great hullaballo;
When he finds his wife drunk he begins to frown,
And in a fury of passion he knocks her down.
And in that knock down she fractures her head,
And perhaps the poor wife she is killed dead,
Whereas, if there was no strong drink to be got,
To be killed wouldn't have been the poor wife's lot.
Then the unfortunate husband is arrested and cast into jail,
And sadly his fate he does bewail;
And he curses the hour that ever was born,
And paces his cell up and down very forlorn.
And when the day of his trial draws near,
No doubt for the murdering of his wife he drops a tear,
And he exclaims, "Oh, thou demon Drink, through thee I must die,"
And on the scaffold he warns the people from drink to fly,
Because whenever a father or a mother takes to drink,
Step by step on in crime they do sink,
Until their children loses all affection for them,
And in justice we cannot their children condemn.
The man that gets drunk is little else than a fool,
And is in the habit, no doubt, of advocating for Home Rule;
But the best Home Rule for him, as far as I can understand,
Is the abolition of strong drink from the land.
And the men that get drunk in general wants Home Rule;
But such men, I rather think, should keep their heads cool,
And try and learn more sense, I most earnestlty do pray,
And help to get strong drink abolished without delay.
If drink was abolished how many peaceful homes would there be,
Just, for instance in the beautiful town of Dundee;
then this world would be heaven, whereas it's a hell,
An the people would have more peace in it to dwell
Alas! strong drink makes men and women fanatics,
And helps to fill our prisons and lunatics;
And if there was no strong drink such cases wouldn't be,
Which would be a very glad sight for all christians to see.
O admit, a man may be a very good man,
But in my opinion he cannot be a true Christian
As long as he partakes of strong drink,
The more that he may differently think.
But no matter what he thinks, I say nay,
For by taking it he helps to lead his brither astray,
Whereas, if he didn't drink, he would help to reform society,
And we would soon do away with all inebriety.
Then, for the sake of society and the Church of God,
Let each one try to abolish it at home and abroad;
Then poverty and crime would decrease and be at a stand,
And Christ's Kingdom would soon be established throughout the land.
Therefore, brothers and sisters, pause and think,
And try to abolish the foul fiend, Drink.
Let such doctrine be taught in church and school,
That the abolition of strong drink is the only Home Rule.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mrs. Blaileen
Mrs. blaileen - she was a sixth grade teacher
And she controlled the children
By using humiliation.
The target always seemed to be donny.
He was a bit slower than the others.
When he was quite young
His mother died at the kitchen table
While choking on some food.
The fashion of the day
Was bleach and tied levi's.
Donny decided to make some,
But he didn't know to rinse them.
So he came to school a reekin'.
Bleach stenched filled the classroom.
Mrs. blaileen began to chastise.
She made him feel like an asshole
Two feet small.
Oh what a lonely boy.
Don and ronald
They always stuck together
For they were a bit different than the others
And they were as tight as brothers
Then ronald moved away.
Now steven
He was year or two younger
And he really thought he was something.
He liked to harass other children
Or anyone he found outnumbered.
Alone don walks from fishing.
Steven and his friend they stop him.
They took his hat and they taunt him,
Pimp-slap him with a newspaper.
Don lunged forward with his fish knife
Then ran all the way home weeping.
He gave his knife to his father and
Said "i think i hurt steve."
Oh what a lonely boy.
song performed by by Primus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Don't Ever Drink And Drive
I never thought about accidents,
When I drove my souped up car,
I thought I was invincible,
Admired from afar.
There was no one else could touch me,
Those others could only dream.
When I had that drink in me,
My God was I was supreme,
I always took a drink or two,
Before getting behind the wheel,
Alcohol gives you confidence,
It enhances the way you feel.
I didn't need to drink too much,
Just enough to get me by,
Laws were made to be broken,
To me they don't apply.
Nobody would accompany me,
Which always made me think,
Are they scared because I drive so fast,
Or because I drive with drink.
I thought my friends admired me,
They'd say I was over zealous,
Their comments only made me think,
That they were all just jealous.
Little did I realise then,
My actions made them frown,
Instead of being their hero,
I was looked on as a clown.
Driving with a drink in me,
Had never held any fears,
I never gave it a second thought,
That it would all end in tears.
I drove down to the bar one night,
Then I sat and had a few,
I came out and jumped behind the wheel,
I'd show them what I could do.
As I sped along the highway,
Here was I the king,
I thought I was immortal,
What more could my life bring.
Just then there was a mighty crash,
What in Gods name had I done,
There was blood and gore everywhere,
This was no longer fun.
As I left my car I froze with fear,
There were bodies all around,
They were all lying lifeless,
Not one of them made a sound.
I knew I had to run away,
What a low down skunk, ,
I knew that I'd be sent to jail,
For driving whilst drunk.
Just then the police approached me,
I didn't know what to say,
They told me I'd caused total carnage,
For that there'd be a price to pay.
Tonight there'll be families grieving,
What you've done they won't forgive,
Because of your selfish actions,
Their kin no longer live.
Those parents have lost their children,
Yes it's solely down to me,
A thoughtless drunken lowlife,
So I beg you all to see.
Our actions have a consequence,
Some good while others bad,
To drive with just one drink in you,
Is totally and utterly mad.
Families are left distraught with grief,
Because I just didn't care,
I chose to drive while I was drunk,
Now they're left in despair.
Millions do it every day,
They don't give it a second thought,
It really only hits you,
'' WHEN '', not if you're caught.
I'm lucky, I'm in prison now,
Alive and in my bed,
My victims weren't so fortunate,
Five of them are dead.
It's too late to say I'm sorry now,
But while I'm still alive,
Please listen to my plea to you,
‘' Don't Ever Drink And Drive''.
The prisoner of his conscience (Story Poem)
He was very poor and he married a rich woman
So he got money but he became a very sad man
She couldn't have children, even it wasn't his game plan
One day he saw a widow walking down the street ''It's later'
He told her calmly and begun to discuss about life with her
He didn't know why he suddenly felt to touch her so tender
He understood her when she confessed her cried coeur
Saying that she had three grown children and she was very poor
And she had to work as housemaid at a loudmouthed boor
She was in pain and he felt that and to help her was his concern
He wanted to take care of her family asking nothing in return
He thought never to dishonor her acting as a father to her children
He begun to understand how unhappy was the woman he loved
When he left her for another one and she became so grieved
He asked her to talk about his feelings for her and she approved
He wanted to divorce to marry her and take care of her needs
Certainly he wanted to become an adoptive father of her kids
To make her the mother of his future children he made a bid
His wife didn't agree to divorce but he left her on her demand
He took the widow and went to find their soul in a far away land
His wife got crazy and she killed herself they found her on the sand
He went to her funeral to see her last time without annoyance
He begun to scream releasing something deeper and fierce
Without his wish releasing the prisoner of his conscience.
poem by Marieta Maglas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It Runs In The Family!
The uncle is a barfly and he's
Locked up in jail for jay walking on a
Holy Sunday morning to the nineteenth hole
It runs in the blood of this alcohol ravaged
Family and the father is dying of the liver
Cirrhosis but he's adamant that he won't
Give up his love of the bottle and he has fled
From the hospital to drink himself to death
It has brought shame and untold suffering
To this family but the mother is an alcoholic
Par excellence and she will drink until she
Can no longer stand and she urinates on herself
She is gang raped by the drunkards the baby in
Her arms is in danger of suffocating in the
Vomit of the soused mother from hell
It runs in the family!
The daughter is an exhibitonist who likes
To expose what her grand mama gave her in public
The girl is a public nuisance and she has grabbed
The headlines of the rumor mill for a glass of beer
It runs in the family!
And the son has been hauled off to
The mental institution and this soused drunk family
Do you think they care?
Do you run a rehabilitation program that will
Save the alcoholics them from themselves?
poem by Ngaka Motaung
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Death's Call
I heard my friend died yesterday,
It knocked me off my feet,
I'd passed the time of day with him
Last Wednesday, on the street,
He'd caught me at an awkward time,
I strained to get away,
He had some awful flu, or cold,
I didn't want to stay.
He phoned me later, chatted on,
I looked up at the sky,
I'm always so impatient with
This one annoying guy,
His jokes were inappropriate,
He laughed at them himself,
When wit was handed out, they left
His sitting on the shelf.
He wrote a bit, of prose and verse,
It wasn't up to scratch,
I'd see him coming up the drive
And flick across the latch,
He'd want me to critique them
And I'd hate to lay him low,
By telling him his talent was
Not up to 'so and so'.
He seemed to think that I was
Someone special in his life,
And tried to join the family
By chatting up my wife,
He really thought I didn't know
But still I kept my peace,
I didn't tell his wife on him,
Or tear him off a piece.
The one thing I will say is that
He always had a smile,
Whenever he caught up with me,
With notepad, book or file,
I've never known one try so hard
For friendship, in despair,
And in return, I'd tell the wife
'Just keep him out my hair! '
But now he's dead, so suddenly,
It's time that I took stock,
The friendship was all his, you see,
And all I did was block.
The fault was not in him, I see,
But in my tardy soul,
For he deserved much more than me,
And now, I'm feeling old.
I wasted all the chances that
He offered me, for free,
To just enjoy a simple soul,
One who looked up to me.
I'm going to miss that little man
And pray his soul to keep,
For now I'd welcome anyone
To talk to, in the street!
29 January 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Holes
There's three in the wall from those pictures in the closet
Two in the bedroom from that night I lost it
One deep inside me determined to stay
They don't get any bigger but they don't go away
Holes in and around me I keep falling back into
Holes digging its around me
God knows what I'm gonna do
To fill in these holes left by you
Left by you
I pour drink after drink but nothing hit bottom
I've been on my knees admitted my problem
The love that we made still barely an echo
I'll try anything in these vacant hollow
Holes in and around me I keep falling back into
Holes digging its around me
God knows what I'm gonna do
To fill in these holes left by you
Left by you
There's two through my hands and one through my feet
From this cross that I bare to the day that I see
Its guilt and its blame its shame and its love
song performed by by Rascal Flatts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dynomite Satchel Of Pain
Lets write a song, baby
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
Now sit your ass in the chair and I'll tell you my name,
My daddy always told me that he didn't wanna hear me complain,
That's why my balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
I hope this song will explain,
Just why my balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
Well I was born in the back of a truck on the fourth of july,
I was raised by a Portuguese ninja who taught me to fly,
A business man pulled over and he asked if I needed a ride,
I had to eat that business man for lunch cos I wanted his tie,
Damn I look good in that tie,
Air born Portuguese ninja eats man for his tie,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My daddy always told me that he didn't wanna hear me complain,
That's why my balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain.
song performed by by Wheatus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Dynamite Satchel Of Pain
Lets write a song, baby
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
Now sit your ass in the chair and I'll tell you my name,
My daddy always told me that he didn't wanna hear me complain,
That's why my balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
I hope this song will explain,
Just why my balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
Well I was born in the back of a truck on the fourth of july,
I was raised by a Portuguese ninja who taught me to fly,
A business man pulled over and he asked if I needed a ride,
I had to eat that business man for lunch cos I wanted his tie,
Damn I look good in that tie,
Air born Portuguese ninja eats man for his tie,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My daddy always told me that he didn't wanna hear me complain,
That's why my balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain,
My balls are bigger than a dynamite satchel of pain.
song performed by by Wheatus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Secret Whisky Cure
’Tis no tale of heroism, ’tis no tale of storm and strife,
But of ordinary boozing, and of dull domestic life—
Of the everlasting friction that most husbands must endure—
Tale of nagging and of drinking—and a secret whisky cure.
Name of Jones—perhaps you know him—small house-agent here in town—
(Friend of Smith, you know him also—likewise Robinson and Brown),
Just a hopeless little husband, whose deep sorrows were obscure,
And a bitter nagging Missis—and death seemed the only cure.
’Twas a common sordid marriage, and there’s little new to tell—
Save the pub to him was Heaven and his own home was a hell:
With the office in between them—purgatory to be sure—
And, as far as Jones could make out—well, there wasn’t any cure.
’Twas drink and nag—or nag and drink—whichever you prefer—
Till at last she couldn’t stand him any more than he could her.
Friends and relatives assisted, telling her (with motives pure)
That a legal separation was the only earthly cure.
So she went and saw a lawyer, who, in accents soft and low,
Asked her firstly if her husband had a bank account or no;
But he hadn’t and she hadn’t, they in fact were very poor,
So he bowed her out suggesting she should try some liquor cure.
She saw a drink cure advertised in the Sydney Bulletin—
Cure for brandy, cure for whisky, cure for rum and beer and gin,
And it could be given secret, it was tasteless, swift and sure—
So she purchased half a gallon of that Secret Whisky Cure.
And she put some in his coffee, smiling sweetly all the while,
And he started for the office rather puzzled by the smile—
Smile or frown he’d have a whisky, and you’ll say he was a boor—
But perhaps his wife had given him an overdose of Cure.
And he met a friend he hadn’t seen for seven years or more—
It was just upon the threshold of a private bar-room door—
And they coalised and entered straight away, you may be sure—
But of course they hadn’t reckoned with a Secret Whisky Cure.
Jones, he drank, turned pale, and, gasping, hurried out the back way quick,
Where, to his old chum’s amazement, he was violently sick;
Then they interviewed the landlord, but he swore the drink was pure—
It was only the beginning of the Secret Whisky Cure.
For Jones couldn’t stand the smell of even special whisky blends,
And shunned bar-rooms to the sorrow of his trusty drinking friends:
And they wondered, too, what evil genius had chanced to lure
Him from paths of booze and friendship—never dreaming of a Cure.
He had noticed, too, with terror that a something turned his feet,
When a pub was near, and swung him to the other side the street,
Till he thought the devils had him, and his person they’d immure
In a lunatic asylum where there wasn’t any Cure.
He consulted several doctors who were puzzled by the case—
As they mostly are, but never tell the patient to his face—
Some advised him ‘Try the Mountains for this malady obscure:’
But there wasn’t one could diagnose a Secret Whisky Cure.
And his wife, when he was sober?—Well, she nagged him all the more!
And he couldn’t drown his sorrow in the pewter as of yore:
So he shot himself at Manly and was sat upon by Woore,
And found rest amongst the spirits from the Secret Whisky Cure.
And the moral?—well, ’tis funny—or ’tis woman’s way with men—
She’s remarried to a publican who whacks her now and then,
And they get on fairly happy, he’s a brute and he’s a boor,
But she’s never tried her second with a Secret Whisky Cure.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Pursuit
The Lord travels in all directions.
The Lord arrives from all directions at once.
Wherever we are, we find that He has just departed.
Wherever we go, we discover that He has just arrived before us.
Thomas Merton, No Man Is An Island
I try to catch you,
sideglancing
facing forward to see
your heels flashing fire
in the shimmering red sea.
I gaze into night,
desiring sight
of your dancing eyes.
I whisper, I sigh,
but you elude,
ahead always,
always behind.
poem by Steven Federle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Misery (feat. Steven Tyler)
Pink:
Shadows are fallin' all over town
Another night these blues got me down
Oh misery ... I sure could use some company
Pink & Steven Tyler:
Since he's been gone I ain't been the same
I carry the weight like an ol' ball and chain
Guess it's all meant to be ... for love to cause me misery
Pink & Steven Tyler:
Oh, misery ... Oh, misery ...
Tell me, why does my heart make a fool out of me?
Seems it's my destiny,
for love to cause me misery
Pink & Steven Tyler:
Oh, I've been down this road before
where the passion turns into pain
And each time I saw love walk out the door
I swore I'd never get caught again
Pink:
But ain't it true ... It takes what it takes
And sometimes, we get too smart too late
Steven Tyler:
One more heartache for me
Pink & Steven Tyler:
Another night in misery
Pink & Steven Tyler:
Misery ... Misery ...
Tell me, why does my heart make a fool out of me?
Misery ... Misery ...
Tell me, why does my heart make a fool of me?
Pink:
Seems it's my destiny,
for love to cause misery
Guess it's all meant to be,
for love to cause me misery
song performed by by Pink
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Same Old Strain
Each day that I live I am persuaded anew,
A maxim I long have believed in, is true.
Each day I grow firmer in this, my belief,
Strong drink causes half the world's trouble and grief.
Do I take up a paper, I read of a fight,
Tom's fist in his eye deprived Jamie of sight;
Both fellows were drinking before it began,
And drink made a brute of a peaceable man.
Next, Jones kills his wife, such an awful affair!
She was throttled, and pounded, and drawn by the hair;
Cause-'Jones had been drinking-not in his sane mind.'
(Few men
are
who tip up the bottle, I find.)
Then, a man is assaulted and dirked in the dark
By two 'jolly boys' who are out on a 'lark;'
They have ever been peaceable boys-but, you see,
They drank, and 'were hardly themselves' on this spree.
Just over the street lives the man who is known
To be honest and kind, when he lets drink alone;
But whenever he quaffs from the full, flowing bowl,
He is more like a beast than a man with a soul.
Next door lives the husband who frets at his wife;
With his temper and spleen, she's no peace of her life.
Well I know-do you? he muddles his head
Every night with hot toddy, ere going to bed.
'We temperance croakers harp on the same strain?'
Well-the cause is one story again and again;
Fights-tragedy-troubles-all stirred up by drink,
Good reason we have to keep
harping
, I think.
We harp to these words; strong drink drives the knife
To the heart of a friend, and deprives him of life;
It turns sober boys into rowdies and knaves-
It steals from the household to fill up the graves.
Who loves it the most first falls by its art;
It first wins its victim-then strikes to the heart.
But one thing is certain-it never was known
To do a man harm if he let it alone.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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