There was an Old Man who supposed,
That the street door was partially closed;
But some very large rats,
Ate his coats and his hats,
While that futile old gentleman dozed.
by Edward Lear from A Book of Nonsense (1846)
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Hats
Amy grant/chris eaton
Copyright 1991 age to age music, inc. (ascap)/clouseau music ltd. (prs), adm. by reunion music group, inc.
The sun comes up
The breakfast show
Cant you see me running
Its crazy dont you know?
(dont you know? dont you know? )
The moon is high
Im working through the night
Will somebody tell me
Where do all the hours go?
(I dont know.)
Well it dont stop
No, its never gonna stop
Why do I have to wear so many things on my head?
Hats!
One day Im a mother
One day Im a lover
What am I supposed to do?
Hats!
Working for a livin
(working for a livin)
All because Im driven
(all because Im driven)
To be the very best for you.
The water is hot
(so hot)
The phone dont stop
(hello, good-bye)
So how do I manage
To hold on to my sanity
(I dont know, baby, I dont know)
The red dress on
Time for having fun
(time for having fun)
But can I really be
The girl you see in me?
The spirit is willing
But the flesh is weak
Why do I have to wear so many things on my head?
Hats!
One day Im a mother
(one day Im a mother)
One day Im a lover
(one day Im a lover)
What am I supposed to do?
Hats!
Working for a livin
(working for a livin)
All because Im driven
(all because Im driven)
To be the very best for you.
Hats!
One day Im a mother
(one day Im a mother)
One day Im a lover
(one day Im a lover)
What am I supposed to do?
Hats!
Working for a livin
All because Im driven
To be the very best for you.
This may be a dream come true
This may be poetry in motion
This may be a dream come true
But when it all come down
Its an awful lot to do.
Hats!
It dont stop
Why do I have to wear thing on my head?
Hats!
One day Im a mother
(one day Im a mother)
One day Im a lover
(one day Im a lover)
What am I supposed to do?
Hats!
Working for a livin
(working for a livin)
All because Im driven
(all because Im driven)
To be the very best for you.
Hats!
One day Im a mother
(one day Im a mother)
One day Im a lover
(one day Im a lover)
What am I supposed to do?
Hats!
Working for a livin
All because Im driven
To be the very best,
Very best (nah, nah, nah).
Hats!
What am I supposed to do?
Hats!
Working for a livin
(working for a livin)
All because Im driven
(all because Im driven)
To be the very best
It dont stop
No, its never gonna stop
Why do I have to wear
Why to I have to wear
Hats!
One day Im a mother
One day Im a lover
What am I supposed to do?
Hats!
Working for a livin
All because Im driven
To be the very best for you.
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Futile
assimilate the night
they cut into your brain
they crack apart the skull
and stick the wires in
the computer releationship
a flame into the flesh
a cut into the brain
a cut runs in your face
you can't believe your head
you can't believe your eyes
nobody can escape
the futile assesment
the futile assesment
oh, futile
we're futile
futile
you're futile
futile religion
futile expression
your futile aggression
a futile obsession
oh, futile assasination
you'll faulter
your generation
your immoral futile assimilation
expressionation
annihilation
song performed by by Velvet Acid Christ
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hauptstrasse Heidelberg
I seem to see superimposed
upon today’s reality
An older world a fantasy
this high street as it used to be.
Pondering with eyes half closed.
I can imagine easily.
This old streets chequered history.
Today a lasting legacy.
Perhaps in truth I merely dozed
and only dreamt that I could see.
This cobbles street completely free.
From all modern technology.
A great deal different I suppose.
No mobile phones, no cameras
no bicycles, no motor cars.
Then in my mind a question rose.
Was there a possibility
my poet’s sensitivity.
Had actually enabled me.
To slip through times firmly closed door
and see vignettes from history.
A gift that fate had granted me
however undeservedly.
I do not know nor ever will.
It must remain a mystery
Just what I saw or did not see
Is etched deep in my memory.
I am compelled I must compose
A verse or two of poetry
Say how this street affected me
The how and why, eluding me
19/09/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Servant
A dumb servant in the hall holding on
to hats and coats,
got fed up and dropped them on the floor.
Walked down to the docks threw himself
into the water and tried swim to
the island of Madeira
A dumb servant made of wood and hollow legs
could float but not swim, picked up and sent home
to dry
A dumb servant in the hall, holding on
to hats and coats and the party goes on
and on...
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Sign On The Door
Wendys sittin next to me shes trying hard to drink it away and I feel the rumble of the subway beneath the stage and her eyes are screaming and her lips are pursed and this aint he
St heartache but it feels like, it feels like the worst and she says can someone tell me how this can happen and I guess that God only knows my heart used to be the sweet shop of lov
Ut now the sign on the door it says sorry were closed and I hear myself tell her some old words I know they wont help and then I feel guilty cause I closed some sweet shops myself
We all talk about timing and lifestyles and such but to a heart thats been shattered those words dont mean that much and all of our pining it just goes to show dont you enter a sh
With the sign on the door saying sorry were closed and shes been through all the pain that one can endure and her new man thinks she loves him but he cant be sure and his heart pi
R>
For wendy she says thats how it goes how am I supposed to know he cant read the sign saying sorry were closed yeah were closed and she says can someone tell me how this can ha
and I guess that God only knows my heart used to be the sweet shop of love but theres a sign on the door theres a sign on the door theres a sign on the door theres a sign on th
R one more sign
song performed by by Edwin McCain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Admit The Rat (Interlude)
I got a story
bout all these rats
all the sewer rats
all these gun rats
im talkin bout all these gold diggen rats
these hood rats
my grandmothers a rat
she's just an old school rat
my mothers a rat
she's just a high class rat
my sisters rats
she's just a middle class rat
my cousins rats
they just low class rats
im tired of rats tryin to get into my boyz pockets
im tired of rats tryin to ride around in my cars
im tired of rats talkin all that jibber jabber to their friends
but ond day these rats are gonna be straight
no diss to rats
cuz there are some rats that i love too
my message to you today is admit the rat in you
to all women admitt the rat in you
admit the rat in you
admit the rat in you
admit the rat in you
song performed by by Next
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Night Runners Competition Counted
we enjoy counting the rats
running around at night,
when we are arriving home
on our faithful motorbike,
usually two or three rats to see,
Kayla and I have a competition
counting first spied rats we see,
who can spot local drain rats first
the biggest rats seen truthfully
are as big as healthy pet cats,
we go look at pets frequently
in BSD once a week we peep,
in at a pet shop when we watch,
a movie in expedition BSD every week
a family movie is a special treat,
our two happy daughters think it so neat
our neigbour concreted over their open drain
next door rats love their drains seldom stray,
so less rats outside rats too close we do disdain
rats who venture close in life peril cannot stay,
if any bold rats venture into our house ceiling,
these rats are disposed of poisoned very quickly
our rule is no entry for any rats poison strictly,
tropical rat best learn trespass has no pity feeling.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Doctor's Visit
If today hadn't cooked the brain,
He'd risen like neurones,
In the way they do.
He'd awakened, jarring the door
So that nobody could enter
And stampede the nodes inside.
Spiders would squirm in beneath
The bedroom door, they explained
To the gentleman always with grey
That certainty of brain dementia
Was valid as the hair on the chest.
White coats entered to chant a message.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Admit The Rat
I got a story
Bout all these rats
All the sewer rats
All these gun rats
Im talkin bout all these gold diggen rats
These hood rats
My grandmothers a rat
Shes just an old school rat
My mothers a rat
Shes just a high class rat
My sisters rats
Shes just a middle class rat
My cousins rats
They just low class rats
Im tired of rats tryin to get into my boyz pockets
Im tired of rats tryin to ride around in my cars
Im tired of rats talkin all that jibber jabber to their friends
But ond day these rats are gonna be straight
No diss to rats
Cuz there are some rats that I love too
My message to you today is admit the rat in you
To all women admitt the rat in you
Admit the rat in you
Admit the rat in you
Admit the rat in you
song performed by by Next
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Slave To The Wage
Run away from all your boredom
Run away from all your whoredom and wave
Your worries and cares
Goodbye
All it takes is one decision
A lot of guts, a little vision to wave
Your worries and cares
Goodbye
Its a maze for rats to try
Its a maze for rats to try
Its a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die
Its a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die
Sick and tired of maggies farm
Shes a bitch with broken arms to wave
Your worries and cares
Goodbye
Its a maze for rats to try
Its a maze for rats to try
Its a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die
Its a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die
Its a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die
Its a race, a race for rats
A race for rats to die
Burn away
Run away, run away
Run away, run away
Run away, run away
Run away, run away
song performed by by Placebo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pulling Habits Out of Rats
I’m no genie or Houdini,
I’m The Famous Rob Kabob.
Hocus-pocus I must focus,
I must think to do my job.
First I get in this position,
While the rat sits very still.
I’m part Shrink and part Magician,
And it takes a secret skill.
People ask, 'Rob what’s your job? '
But they figure I am joking,
When I tell them I help rats
To stop drinking and stop smoking.
Some rats are such nail-biters,
Still others tend to overeat.
I wave my magic wand 3 times,
And PRESTO my work is complete.
I no longer miss my old job,
Pulling RABBITS out of HATS.
I’m The Famous Rob Kabob,
I pull HABITS out of RATS!
poem by ToddMichael St. Pierre
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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And Mary J. Blige, she's got all these fur coats and hats and stuff. She's good; I like her.
quote by Bryan Ferry
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Closed Door
sometimes we want to enter
a door
a closed door that does not open
no matter how hard we
knock
we try being courteous and gentle
and so patient
eating every waiting time
like we are the most foolish of all fools
knocking a closed door
seducing it more often with our
pleadings
begging and even compromising
for a dance
to convince the owner of the door to
open it
but no one hears, no one cares to listen
to our pleadings,
no one likes the dance of compromises
the door is still closed
and then the last crooked thing happens
we take the axe
and break the door which is closed
forcing it open
only to find that all the people there are dead
there is nothing inside
but mystery and
grief
an unsolved crime, no more
no less.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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While Davy Dozed
I stayed the night in your arms.
Over half an hour I stayed awake,
Looking at you.
Your face seemed radiant,
The walls to Steve
With a crack emerged
As I held you.
Oo-ooh...
While na-na ne-ne-na ne-na-na Davy dozed.
I closed my eyes
Realised the time is close for us to go.
Hold me, oh hold me.
Davy, Davy,
Bending like a willow-branch.
He rocks me like a baby.
Oo-ooh...
I know he loves another lady,
But I still see him in the hallway
Calling me.
Oh, when we danced so closely,
I really felt as though I was melting
In a pool.
Oo-ooh...
Oh while na-na na-na na-na-na Davy dozed.
I closed my eyes
Realised the time is close for us to go.
Hold me, please hold me.
Davy, Davy,
Bending like a willow-branch.
He rocks me like a baby.
Oo-ooh...
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hats Off to the Woman, Who…
Hats off to the woman, who bears children
With labor-pains, completing family;
Hats off to the woman, who rears the young,
Making her babies suckle at her breasts;
Hats off to the woman, who tends to both
Husband, children, others with care and love;
Hats off to the woman, who does all things
For others’ sake, selflessly all her life;
Hats off to the woman, who keeps the home,
And raises her children in forbearance;
Hats off to the woman, who labors hard
And burns the midnight-oil for family;
Hats off to the woman, who contributes
Fiscally by working in a work-place;
Hats off to the woman, who patiently
Toils, to keep the harmony of her home;
Hats of to the woman, who can also
Extend tender, loving care to old-aged;
Hats off to the woman, who has God first
In life, and sacrifices for the rest;
Hats off to the woman, who can smile
To all, despite her grief, anguish and strife in heart;
Hats off to the woman, who turns the home
A virtual Paradise on earth all life;
Hats off to the woman, who loves to slog,
And toils to raise her family with love;
Hats off to the woman, who’s an angel
To all, by being a good example.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-21-2008
poem by John Celes
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Back On The Street
They tell me Ive paid back the debt I owed
Forty-four months since the slammer door closed
They give me a suit and put me back on the road
And my thoughts are racing
Where do I go? what am I supposed to live on?
What happens when the twenty-five dollars is gone?
That leaves me lots of time to wonder why I was born
But the countdown is on
Everybodys dancing
The music sounds entrancing
But you cant find the beat
Its the ticking of a thousand human time bombs
Who are back on the street
Oh the names have been changed
But the storys the same
History will repeat
Add it all up and then divide it by zero
cause youre back on the street
I cant stand the strain of this job no more
I must have forgot what I took it on for
I make lots of money, yet still I want more
And my head is blazing
I think that Ill check out the shops downtown
Sometimes it helps to buy things when I feel brought down
At this hour I might dodge those hippie low-lifes around
But the countdown is on
Once you had to stand out
Looking for a handout
Free love and body heat
And that moneys just a crumpled green ball in your pocket
When youre back on the street
Back on the street again
Said youre back on the street again
The countdown is on
And nobody knows when
Spreading like a cancer
Looking for the answer
In everyone you meet
And each in his way has a hustle to play
When hes back on the street
song performed by by Utopia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Door
Behind the door what happens
behind the door what's hidden
till you keep the door closed
you are not exposed
Elseone cannot peep in
Elseone cannot step in
other side of closed door
you live behind secured.
If you want door of others
to open for you
keep your door open for
who needs you.
poem by S.D. Tiwari
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How We Were Introduced
—for perfidious protectors
I was playing in the street
no one paid attention to me
as I made forms out of sand
mumbling Rimbaud under my breath
once an elderly gentleman overheard it
—little boy you are a poet
just now we are organizing
a grass-roots literary movement
he stroked my dirty head
gave me a large lollypop
and even bought clothes
in the protective coloring of youth
I didn’t have such a splendid suit
since first communion
short trousers and a wide
sailor’s collar
black patent leather shoes with a buckle
white knee-high socks
the elderly gentleman took me by the hand
and led the way to the ball
other boys were there
also in short trousers
carefully shaven
shuffling their feet
—well boys now it’s time to play
why are you standing in the corners
asked the elderly gentleman
—make a circle holding hands
but we didn’t want tag
or blindman’s buff
we had enough of the elderly gentleman
we were very hungry
so we were seated promptly
around a large table
given lemonade
and pieces of cake
now disguised as adults
with deep voices
the boys got up they praised us
or slapped us on our hands
we didn’t hear anything
didn’t feel anything
staring with great eyes
at the piece of cake
that kept melting
in our hot hands
and this sweet taste the first in our lives
disappeared inside our dark sleeves
poem by Zbigniew Herbert
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To-Morrow
When you’re suffering hard for your sins, old man,
When you wake to trouble and sleep ill—
Oh, this is the clack of the middle class,
‘Win back the respect of the people!’
You are weak, you’re a fool, or a drunken brute
When you’re deep in trouble and sorrow;
But walk down the street in a decent suit,
And their hats will be off to-morrow! Old Chap—
And their hats will be off to-morrow!
They cant and they cackle—‘Redeem the Past!’
Who never had past worth redeeming:
Your soul seems dead, but you’ll find at last
That somewhere your soul lay dreaming.
You may stagger down-hill in a beer-stained coat,
You may loaf, you may cadge and borrow—
But walk down the street with a ten-pound note
And their hats will be off to-morrow! Old Man—
Yes, their hats will be off to-morrow!
But stick to it, man! for your old self’s sake,
Though to brood on the past is human;
Hold up for the sake of the mate who was true,
And the sake of the Other Woman.
And as for the rest, you may take off your hat
And banish all signs of sorrow;
You may take their hands, but in spite of that,
Can they win your respect to-morrow? Old Man—
Can they win your respect to-morrow?
poem by Henry Lawson
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I see myself playing as long as I am partially enjoying the game and partially successful and they are paying me. But honestly, two more years is about all I can take.
quote by Brett Hull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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