Disgrace
We work all day
for a house and car.
Tarred and feathered
is what we are.
Stuck like Brer Rabbit
trying to get away
from mortgages and loans
and all we pay.
But that's the good
old American way.
We complain and comlain
but have no say.
We need a place to live
and a way to travel
so we pay and watch
our accounts unravel.
The cycle's unending.
The road's too long.
We can't find the end of it.
It's just plain wrong.
The scam is in place
for the tarred, feathered face.
And what we now have
is a damned disgrace.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Related quotes
Brer Rabbit You's de Cutes' of 'Em All
Once der was a meetin' in de wilderness,
All de critters of creation dey was dar;
Brer Rabbit, Brer 'Possum, Brer Wolf, Brer Fox,
King Lion, Mister Terrapin, Mister B'ar.
De question fu' discussion was, 'Who is de bigges' man?'
Dey 'pinted ole Jedge Owl to decide;
He polished up his spectacles an' put 'em on his nose,
An' to the question slowly he replied:
'Brer Wolf am mighty cunnin',
Brer Fox am mighty sly,
Brer Terrapin an' 'Possum — kinder small;
Brer Lion's mighty vicious,
Brer B'ar he's sorter 'spicious,
Brer Rabbit, you's de cutes' of 'em all.'
Dis caused a great confusion 'mongst de animals,
Ev'y critter claimed dat he had won de prize;
Dey 'sputed an' dey arg'ed, dey growled an' dey roared,
Den putty soon de dus' begin to rise.
Brer Rabbit he jes' stood aside an' urged 'em on to fight.
Brer Lion he mos' tore Brer B'ar in two;
W'en dey was all so tiahd dat dey couldn't catch der bref
Brer Rabbit he jes' grabbed de prize an' flew.
Brer Wolf am mighty cunnin',
Brer Fox am mighty sly,
Brer Terrapin an' Possum — kinder small;
Brer Lion's mighty vicious,
Brer B'ar he's sorter 'spicious,
Brer Rabbit, you's de cutes' of 'em all.
poem by James Weldon Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Travel to the place...
Travel to the place
Where mind set to peace,
No one can see,
Feel us free.
Travel to the place
Where we can breathe,
Fill our desire,
We wish; we aspire.
Travel to the place
Where we have silence,
Flower of fragrance,
And nature to admire.
Travel to the place
Where we can write,
Lines of rhyme,
At any time.
Travel to the place
Where we have enough space,
Work without race,
No tension on face.
Travel to the place
Where we can dance,
Sing at glance,
Bit of time to romance.
Travel to the place
Where we spread love,
Freedom to serve
And land to move.
Travel to the place
Where we can live,
Of joy and sprinkle its grace,
And do anything, anywhere.
poem by Divyesh J. Shah
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Old Dirt Road
Aint no people on old dirt road,
No more weather on the old dirt road.
Its better than a mudslide, mama, when the dry spell come, yeah,
Oh, oh, oh, oh, old dirt road.
Aint no diffrence on old dirt road,
Tarred and feathered on the old dirt road.
Trying to shovel smoke with a pitchfork in the wind, yeah, yeah, yeah.
Breezing thru the deadwood on a hot summer day,
I saw a lazybonin out in the hay.
I said, ah, hey, mister human, can ya rainmaker too?
He said, I guess its okay, you know the only thing we need is water,
Cool, clear water , (water) water, (water).
Aint no people on old dirt road,
No more weather on the old dirt road.
Its better than a mudslide, mama, when the morning come, yeah,
Oh - oh - oh - oh - old dirt road.
Ah!
Mm, good night.
Keep on keeping on,
Keep on keeping on,
Keep on keeping on,
Keep on keeping on,
Keep on keeping on,
Keep on keeping on,
Keep on keeping on,
So long,
So long,
Bye, bye,
Bye,
Keep on keeping on,
Keep on keeping on,
Keep on, keep on, keep on, keep on,
Keep on, keep on, keep on.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Winter's Approach
DE sun hit shine an' de win' hit blow,
Ol' Brer Rabbit be a-layin' low,
He know dat de wintah time a-comin',
De huntah man he walk an' wait,
He walk right by Brer Rabbit's gate —
He know —
De dog he lick his sliverin' chop,
An' he tongue 'gin' his mouf go flop, flop—
He —
He rub his nose fu' to clah his scent
So's to tell w'ich way dat cotton-tail went,
He —
De huntah's wife she set an' spin
A good wahm coat fu' to wrop him in
She —
She look at de skillet an' she smile, oh my!
An' ol' Brer Rabbit got to sholy fly.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Old Dirt Road
Aint no people on the old dirt road
No more weather on the old dirt road
Its better than a mudslide mamma when the dry spell come, yeah
Oh oh oh old dirt road
Aint no difference on the old dirt road
Tarred and feathered on the old dirt road
Trying to shovel smoke with a pitchfork in the wind, yeah yeah yeah
Breezing thru the deadwood on a hot summer day
I saw a human being lazybonin out in the hay
I said uh, hey mr. human can ya rainmaker too?
He said I guess its o.k. ya know the only thing we need is water
Cool, clear water, water
Aint no people on the old dirt road
No more weather on the old dirt road
Better than a mudslide mamma when the morning comes, yeah
Oh oh oh oh old dirt road
Keep on keeping on
Keep on keeping on
So long, so long
Bye bye
song performed by by Lennon John
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Who Other Than He and His Has Anything Left
Strategically...
He leaves the world in shambles!
He who stares incompetence in the face.
And has no regrets for the consequences.
He sees himself selected to lead,
With divine footsteps.
He believes himself worthy to be a fool.
Used.
Sympathetic,
Few are not.
Many wish to see him beheaded.
Or either tarred and feathered.
Since he represents those who are Jim Crow minded.
And absent of common sense.
He's so low in the opinion polls...
His closest allies are those,
Trying to get him a ride to the space station.
To be his first stop on a 'goodwill mission'.
He has even made his own poppa cry.
And tears of joy they were not!
Strategically...
He leaves the world in shambles!
He who stares incompetence in the face.
And has no regrets for the consequences.
Nor is he apologetic for creating such a mess.
With the best of 'intelligence'
That a theft that has taken place can buy!
If he had some 'handsome-in-nity'!
And something going on besides failure...
He would have received 'some' respect!
By someone,
From somewhere.
There has to be at least one empathetic soul,
On the planet.
But look what he and they have done!
Who other than he and his has anything left?
And who is going to suggest erecting his library?
When he has already been read!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Islamic america
Islamic America
It happened in the years when vegans and anti car people were in
power in North America it was decided to outlaw the automobile.
Every driver had to drive off a cliff and into an asphalt pit. When
they got out of there, and since everybody in USA can drive, even
old women and children, the nation was tarred. It was noticed that
God, Jesus, his coteries of seraphs and the second layers of angels,
the cherubs were un-tarred. How can one worship the un-blotted?
People turned away from Christianity. As no image of Mohamed
existed it was decided he too had been tarred, but it had been
kept a secret. Overnight, Americans turned into virtuous Moslems
and USA became the most powerful Islamic nation in the world.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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It's A Hard Road
I jumped on the train
I left this old town
I escaped the rain
I'm no longer down
The wheels start to turn
My worries are gone
I have lots to learn
About the trail that I'm on
As I look around
I see my new friend
I know I am bound
To travel till the end
I'll travel south and I'll travel north
I'll travel east and I'll travel west
I just want to find the road that is best
The train it did slow
I'm in a new place
The moonlight does glow
On my tired face
It's time for me
To try and find a bed
It's time for me
To rest my weary head
Morning is here
There's sorting to do
I'll sound sincere
With my goodbye to you
I'll travel south and I'll travel north
I'll travel east and I'll travel west
I just want to find the road that is best
It's time to move away
I'm not satisfied
I've spent many a day
Finding a place to reside
There's a town on my mind
It's just down the track
No need to find
A way to get back
The train I will get
Sitting at the station
The future is set
I feel anticipation
I'll travel south and I'll travel north
I'll travel east and I'll travel west
I just want to find the road that is best
poem by Liam Hughes
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Drifters
I dont believe in miracles if its all the same by you
Your wishes would come true if I had my say
Whether its right or wrong the words of every song
Remind us of a love we knew where love should not go wrong
In yesterday
Hang on ye drifters now you got so much to go and gamble on
Watch out for the shifting sand where ever you may ramble
Even now as I look back and see all thats come to pass
I cant remember how it was I got here
Look around this place theres a smile on every face
Were somewhere in the afterglow out there among the stars
Out there among the bars
Hang on ye drifters now you got places to go and people to meet
Watch out for the shifting tide where ever you may travel.
I know I should not complain because lifes been good to me
It feels real good to be stranded on my own
Be that as it may be we are what we are
Ill find you in the afterglow out there among the stars
Of yesteryear
Hang on ye drifters now you got so much to go and gamble on
Watch out for the shifting sand where ever you may ramble
All you drifters now you got places to go and people to meet
Watch out for the shifting tide where ever you may travel.
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Skipper Ireson's Ride
Of all the rides since the birth of time,
Told in story or sung in rhyme, -
On Apuleius' Golden Ass,
Or one-eyed Calendar's horse of brass,
Witch astride of a human back,
Islam's prophet on Al-Borak, -
The strangest ride that ever was sped
Was Ireson's, out from Marblehead!
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead!
Body of turkey, head of owl,
Wings a-droop like a rained-on fowl,
Feathered and ruffled in every part,
Skipper Ireson stood in the cart.
Scores of women, old and young,
Strong of muscle, and glib of tongue,
Pushed and pulled up the rocky lane,
Shouting and singing the shrill refrain:
'Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt
By the women o' Morble'ead!'
Wrinkled scolds with hands on hips,
Girls in bloom of cheek and lips,
Wild-eyed, free-limbed, such as chase
Bacchus round some antique vase,
Brief of skirt, with ankles bare,
Loose of kerchief and loose of hair,
With conch-shells blowing and fish-horns' twang,
Over and over the Maenads sang:
'Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt
By the women o' Morble'ead!'
Small pity for him! - He sailed away
From a leaking ship in Chaleur Bay, -
Sailed away from a sinking wreck,
With his own town's-people on her deck!
'Lay by! lay by!' they called to him.
Back he answered, 'Sink or swim!
Brag of your catch of fish again!'
And off he sailed through the fog and rain!
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead!
Fathoms deep in dark Chaleur
That wreck shall lie forevermore.
Mother and sister, wife and maid,
Looked from the rocks of Marblehead
Over the moaning and rainy sea, -
Looked for the coming that might not be!
What did the winds and the sea-birds say
Of the cruel captain who sailed away? -
Old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead!
Through the street, on either side,
Up flew windows, doors swung wide;
Sharp-tongued spinsters, old wives gray,
Treble lent the fish-horn's bray.
Sea-worn grandsires, cripple-bound,
Hulks of old sailors run aground,
Shook head, and fist, and hat, and cane,
And cracked with curses the hoarse refrain:
'Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt
By the women o' Morble'ead!'
Sweetly along the Salem road
Bloom of orchard and lilac showed.
Little the wicked skipper knew
Of the fields so green and the sky so blue.
Riding there in his sorry trim,
Like an Indian idol glum and grim,
Scarcely he seemed the sound to hear
Of voices shouting, far and near:
'Here's Flud Oirson, fur his horrd horrt,
Torr'd an' futherr'd an' corr'd in a corrt
By the women o' Morble'ead!'
'Hear me, neighbors!' at last he cried, -
'What to me is this noisy ride?
What is the shame that clothes the skin
To the nameless horror that lives within?
Waking or sleeping, I see a wreck,
And hear a cry from a reeling deck!
Hate me and curse me, - I only dread
The hand of God and the face of the dead!'
Said old Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead!
Then the wife of the skipper lost at sea
Said, 'God has touched him! why should we!'
Said an old wife mourning her only son,
'Cut the rogue's tether and let him run!'
So with soft relentings and rude excuse,
Half scorn, half pity, they cut him loose,
And gave him a cloak to hide him in,
And left him alone with his shame and sin.
Poor Floyd Ireson, for his hard heart,
Tarred and feathered and carried in a cart
By the women of Marblehead!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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The Beginning
tainted
has our love gone cold
in a place that's bitter and broken
we tasted of a world unknown
surely there must be something better
something forever
hello
from the world below
I'm watching the sun burning
as the road is slowly turning
well I know
that in letting go
I'm learning how to live
through a life I have to give
walking
past the city lights
silence can be so disturbing
you'll find me standing in the night
the stars never seem so unending
so unending
hello
from the world below
while I'm watching the sun burning
as the road is slowly turning
well I know
that in letting go
I'm learning how to live
through a life I have to give
but we painted
_ everything
without there remains our
shadows and the stones
tell me
where did we go wrong
can we just move on
hello
from the world below
while I'm watching the sun burning
as the road is slowly turning
when I know
that in letting go
I'm learning how to live
through a life I have to give
hello
to the world below
while I'm watching the world spinning
this night seems so unending
well I'll follow
to a place I know
that's only the beginning
start over after ending
song performed by by Lifehouse from Stanley Climbfall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Even Those Paid to Be Biased
People are awakening to realize,
They've been played.
Even those paid to be biased,
To spy on others...
Find they've been set up,
To sit and quack like feathered ducks.
Eyes all over the place,
Are opening wide to see...
Exactly who those victims are.
And recognizing everyday,
The identity of the wolves.
And knowing they've been branded as sheep.
People are awakening to realize,
They've been played.
Even those paid to be biased,
To spy on others...
Find they've been set up,
To sit and quack like feathered ducks.
And the ones who tremble and shake in their limousines,
Find they feel desperate not to be revealed, caught or seen.
Afraid their deceiving and greedy days,
Rapidly lose in snob appeal and popularity.
And in their social circles they sweat, yes!
All of them are suffering in nervous regret!
People are awakening to realize,
They've been played.
Even those paid to be biased,
To spy on others...
Find they've been set up,
To sit and quack like feathered ducks.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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On A Plain (Live) (10 Jan 92 Soundcheck, MTV Studios, NYC)
Nirvana- On A Plain
I'll start this off without any words
I got so high that I scratched 'til I bled
I love myself better than you
I know it's wrong so what should I do?
The finest day that I ever had
Was when I learned to cry on command
I love myself better than you
I know it's wrong so what should I do?
I'm on a plain
I can't complain
I'm on a plain
My brother died every night
It's safe to say don't quote me on that
I love myself better than you
I know it's wrong so what should I do?
The black sheep got blackmailed again
Forgot to put on the zip code
I love myself better than you
I know it's wrong so what should I do?
I'm on a plain
I can't complain
I'm on a plain
Somewhere I have heard this before
In a dream my memory has stored
As a defense I'm neutered and spayed
What the hell am I trying to say
It is now time to make it unclear
To write off lines that don't make sense
I love myself better than you
I know it's wrong so what should I do?
One more special message to go
And then I'm done then I can go home
I love myself better than you
I know it's wrong so what should I do?
I'm on a plain
I can't complain
I'm on a plain
I can't complain
I'm on a plain
song performed by by Nirvana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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From The Inside
I got lost on the road somewhere
Was it Texas or was it Canada
Drinking whiskey in the morning light
I work the stage all night long
At first we laughed about it
My long haired drunken friends
Proposed a toast to Jimmy's ghost
I never dreamed that I would wind up on the losing end
I'm stuck here on the inside looking out
I'm just another case
Where's my makeup where's my face on the inside
All got your kicks from what you saw up there
Eight bucks even buys a folding chair
I was downing seagrams on another flight
And I worked that stage all night long
You were screaming for the villain up there
And I was much obliged
The old road sure screwed me good this time
It's hard to see where the vicious circle ends
I'm stuck here on the inside looking out
That's no big disgrace
Where's my makeup where's my face on the inside
song performed by by Alice Cooper from Definitive
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Tar and Feathers
Oh! the circus swooped down
On the Narrabri town,
For the Narrabri populace moneyed are;
And the showman he smiled
At the folk he beguiled
To come all the distance from Gunnedah.
But a juvenile smart,
Who objected to "part",
Went in on the nod, and to do it he
Crawled in through a crack
In the tent at the back,
For the boy had no slight ingenuity.
And says he with a grin,
"That's the way to get in;
But I reckon I'd better be quiet or
They'll spiflicate me,"
And he chuckled, for he
Had the loan of the circus proprietor.
But the showman astute
On that wily galoot
Soon dropped -- you'll be thinking he leathered him --
Not he; with a grim
Sort of humourous whim,
He took him and tarred him and feathered him.
Says he, "You can go
Round the world with a show,
And knock every Injun and Arab wry;
With your name and your trade
On the posters displayed,
The feathered what-is-it from Narrabri.
Next day for his freak
By a Narrabri Beak,
He was jawed with a deal of verbosity;
For his only appeal
Was "professional zeal" --
He wanted another monstrosity.
Said his Worship, "Begob!
You are fined forty bob,
And six shillin's costs to the clurk!" he says.
And the Narrabri joy,
Half bird and half boy.
Has a "down" on himself and on circuses.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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The Mouse and the Grouse
The teeny, tiny mouse said to the finely feathered grouse
“I’d like to come and visit you in your lofty, lovely house.”
The finely feathered grouse smiled at the teeny, tiny mouse
And said, “You can’t since I'm saving it for my future spouse.”
The sad teeny, tiny mouse said, as tears started to douse,
“I’m lonely and just wanted to say hello, finely feathered grouse.”
Well, the finely feathered grouse with his lofty, lovely house
Was lonely too since he hadn’t yet found his future spouse.
But how could a mouse so teeny, tiny and a grouse so fine of feather
Ever visit each other and have a talk together?
They had nothing in common and their lives had different starts.
Although one thing was the same; they both had hurting hearts.
No one had ever visited the finely feathered grouse
And he did like friendly words uttered by the teeny, tiny mouse.
As mister mouse gazed aloft, sir grouse returned that smile
And suddenly blurted out, “Come on up and we’ll chat for awhile.”
Overjoyed, the teeny, tiny mouse jumped, but just bumped the tree.
Then tears wet ears to tail as teeny tiny moaned mournfully,
“You can fly free through the air, but alas, I’m earthbound.
There’s no hope since you live in a tree, but my house is on the ground.”
Suddenly, a star from the heavens flashed an idea for these two.
Perhaps they could visit together if both tried something new.
The finely feathered grouse left his lofty, lovely house
And eagerly landed in a bush near the star struck tiny mouse.
In one hop teeny, tiny leapt toward the bush, and I’ve heard tell
That the friendship of grouse and mouse has been doing very well.
(Illustrated book available direct from author)
poem by Gregory Huyette
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Betrayed
Have you ever felt the betrayal
from a string of broken promises?
You may not say anything,
but distrust breeds within
at any promise others make.
You become always wary
saying to yourself silently
it will never happen again.
It makes you lose trust
in all those around you,
colleagues at work
and even some close friends.
Sadly it is a fact of life,
something we all too often
take as common place,
but it is not
and only a few should be
tarred with that brush.
24 May 2011
poem by David Harris
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You Don't Need To Put A Supernova In The Window
You don't need to put a supernova in a window
like a candle in a telescope
to help me find my way back to you
from the next galaxy over. I'm gone
like a sixties light show after the music was over.
But I didn't close you like a door behind me,
I didn't find you like a threshold
in the spirit's lost and found
and try to return you to the house you belonged to.
I've always been a little ahead of myself
so when I said good-bye, it will be light years yet
before you know anything about it.
It's just that time doesn't linger in the doorway
of enlightenment, and eternity isn't any closer to God
than the next moment is. A hundred billion stars
two thousand lightyears away and you,
checking the wiring on blasting caps in a beaver dam
that's threatening to flood the road you're on
as I go off like a firefly already
two mellenia into the future that's looking forward
to meeting you eye to eye in a brighter place than this
just to see if you recognize me as I am.
Black matter in the lifemask of a blossom
peaking through the keyhole of the universe next door
to see if I've returned to my room like the moon
with a curfew it's in my nature to break forever
whenever we are, if the timing's not right.
If you can't see in the dark what the light owes
to the shadows who have died for it
just to attract your attention from afar again
like a man who's been tarred and feathered
and set aflame like a phoenix in the rootfires of the sumac.
Like an immolation that scatters the ashes of a burning house
all over the garden you've been tending
like a urnful of flowers about to come out.
Like a candle in the darkness enlightenment
snuffed out on the dark side of the moon
to keep you from being lost in the blazing like a star at noon.
I lead you away from me, like all I've ever wanted.
I say good-bye to keep death from saying hello along the way
as if it had met you somewhere before I came on the scene
like a flame thrower with a flare for arson burning
like the passion flower of a dragon on a pyre beside the Ganges.
To raise you up shining out of the grave of your aspirations
like lightning and fireflies in the updraft of my expedient means.
So when you cry over someone you're missing like me,
your tears have the power of a sunflower in the garden after dark,
and the ashes turn green. And scarlet runners bind themselves
like the happy home fires of heretics to the triune axes of your tent poles.
poem by Patrick White
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The Place of the Damned
All folks who pretend to religion and grace,
Allow there's a HELL, but dispute of the place:
But, if HELL may by logical rules be defined
The place of the damned -I'll tell you my mind.
Wherever the damned do chiefly abound,
Most certainly there is HELL to be found:
Damned poets, damned critics, damned blockheads, damned knaves,
Damned senators bribed, damned prostitute slaves;
Damned lawyers and judges, damned lords and damned squires;
Damned spies and informers, damned friends and damned liars;
Damned villains, corrupted in every station;
Damned time-serving priests all over the nation;
And into the bargain I'll readily give you
Damned ignorant prelates, and counsellors privy.
Then let us no longer by parsons be flammed,
For we know by these marks the place of the damned:
And HELL to be sure is at Paris or Rome.
How happy for us that it is not at home!
poem by Jonathan Swift
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Underneath
Waking up this morning thinking
Maybe this can't be real
And they say there is nothing love can't heal
Why don't you come on down
So you can feel what I feel
Sitting all alone in this place
Even though we're here face to face
There is nothing gone but there's something wrong
Can't you see that I'm stuck here underneath
And you're making it hard to breathe
Take a look around and tell me what you see
You'll find me
Underneath
Said Underneath
I know what to say but don't know where to begin
I fear I'm losing you beneath my skin
What is the resoloution for this pain that I'm in?
Sitting all alone in this place
Even though we're here face to face
There is nothing gone but there's something wrong
Can't you see that I'm stuck here underneath
And you're making it hard to breathe
Take a look around and tell me what you see
You'll find me
Underneath
Said Underneath
Oh whoa oh whoa oh
If only you could feel what I dream
Baby you could hear what I mean
There is nothing gone but there's something missing
Can't you see that I'm stuck here underneath
And you're making it hard to breathe
Take a look around and tell me what you see
You'll find me
Underneath
Said you'll find me
Underneath
Underneath
Said Underneath
song performed by by Hanson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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