Song of the Worm
THE worm, the rich worm, has a noble domain
In the field that is stored with its millions of slain ;
The charnel-grounds widen, to me they belong,
With the vaults of the sepulchre, sculptured and strong.
The tower of ages in fragments is laid,
Moss grows on the stones, and I lurk in its shade ;
And the hand of the giant and heart of the brave
Must turn weak and submit to the worm and the grave.
Daughters of earth, if I happen to meet
Your bloom-plucking fingers and sod-treading feet--
Oh ! turn not away with the shriek of disgust
From the thing you must mate with in darkness and dust.
Your eyes may be flashing in pleasure and pride,
'Neath the crown of a Queen or the wreath of a bride ;
Your lips may be fresh and your cheeks may be fair--
Let a few years pass over, and I shall be there.
Cities of splendour, where palace and gate,
Where the marble of strength and the purple of state ;
Where the mart and arena, the olive and vine,
Once flourished in glory ; oh ! are ye not mine ?
Go look for famed Carthage, and I shall be found
In the desolate ruin and weed-covered mound ;
And the slime of my trailing discovers my home,
'Mid the pillars of Tyre and the temples of Rome.
I am sacredly sheltered and daintily fed
Where the velvet bedecks, and the white lawn is spread ;
I may feast undisturbed, I may dwell and carouse
On the sweetest of lips and the smoothest of brows.
The voice of the sexton, the chink of the spade,
Sound merrily under the willow's dank shade.
They are carnival notes, and I travel with glee
To learn what the churchyard has given to me.
Oh ! the worm, the rich worm, has a noble domain,
For where monarchs are voiceless I revel and reign ;
I delve at my ease and regale where I may ;
None dispute with the worm in his will or his way.
The high and the bright for my feasting must fall--
Youth, Beauty, and Manhood, I prey on ye all :
The Prince and the peasant, the despot and slave ;
All, all must bow down to the worm and the grave.
poem by Eliza Cook
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Related quotes
The Chambermaid's Second Song
From pleasure of the bed,
Dull as a worm,
His rod and its butting head
Limp as a worm,
His spirit that has fled
Blind as a worm.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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The (f) Rying Woman....
to pry upon his weakness and to discover
some artifacts from his house is her past time
and every hour when there is a break from the
wanton hours and the monotonous menu of the day
she opens the usual window and watch what the
worm is doing inside the terrarium
she records the possibility that this can be a landmark
of history and significant for what others say as a phenomenon
other people's lives matter
and sometimes the worm that looks at her too asks: why?
the worm, and she does not know this, is also prying upon her
her shrinking breasts, her skin that looks like dry tobacco leaf
her life that to the worm has become more of a raisin
stuffed inside a boxed, with a history of having been dried by the sun
the worm is fair though, in its latest description
she is still sweet though neutral in smell, and deserves still to be liked to be eaten someday
p.s. the worm remarks, kids will like her.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Worm Either Way
If you live along with all the other people
and are just like them, and conform, and are nice
you're just a worm --
and if you live with all the other people
and you don't like them and won't be like them and won't conform
then you're just the worm that has turned,
in either case, a worm.
The conforming worm stays just inside the skin
respectably unseen, and cheerfully gnaws away at the heart of life,
making it all rotten inside.
The unconforming worm -- that is, the worm that has turned --
gnaws just the same, gnawing the substance out of life,
but he insists on gnawing a little hole in the social epidermis
and poking his head out and waving himself
and saying: Look at me, I am not respectable,
I do all the things the bourgeois daren't do,
I booze and fornicate and use foul language and despise your honest man.--
But why should the worm that has turned protest so much?
The bonnie bonnie bourgeois goes a-whoring up back streets just the same.
The busy busy bourgeois imbibes his little share
just the same
if not more.
The pretty pretty bourgeois pinks his language just as pink
if not pinker,
and in private boasts his exploits even louder, if you ask me,
than the other.
While as to honesty, Oh look where the money lies!
So I can't see where the worm that has turned puts anything over
the worm that is too cunning to turn.
On the contrary, he merely gives himself away.
The turned worm shouts. I bravely booze!
the other says. Have one with me!
The turned worm boasts: I copulate!
the unturned says: You look it.
You're a d----- b----- b----- p----- bb-----, says the worm that's turned.
Quite! says the other. Cuckoo!
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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Dr Worm
They call me Dr. Worm,
Good morning, how are you? I'm Dr. Worm.
I'm interested in things,
I'm not a real doctor but I am a real worm,
I am an actual worm,
I live like a worm.
I like to play the drums.
I think I'm getting good, but I can handle criticism.
I'll show you what I know and you can
Tell me if you think I'm getting better on the drums
I'll leave the front unlocked 'cause I can't
Hear the doorbell...
When I get into it, I can't tell if you are
Watching me twirling the stick.
When I give the signal, my friend
Rabbi Vole will play the solo...
Someday, somebody else besides me will
Call me by my stage name, they will
Call me Dr. Worm,
Good morning, how are you? I'm Dr. Worm.
I'm interested in things.
I'm not a real doctor but I am a real worm,
I am an actual worm,
I live like a worm.
And I like to play the drums,
I think I'm getting good, but I can handle criticism.
I'll show you what I know and you can
Tell me if you think I'm getting better on the drums.
I'm not a real doctor, but they call me
Dr. Worm!
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Doctor Worm
They call me dr. worm.
Good morning. how are you? Im dr. worm.
Im interested in things.
Im not a real doctor,
But I am a real worm;
I am an actual worm.
I live like a worm.
I like to play the drums.
I think Im getting good,
But I can handle criticism.
Ill show you what I know,
And you can tell me if you think Im getting better on the drums.
Ill leave the front un-locked cause I cant
Hear the doorbell
When I get into it I cant tell if you are
Watching me twirling the stick.
When I give the signal, my friend
Rabbi vole will play the solo
Some day somebody else besides me will
Call me by my stage name, they will
Call me dr worm.
Good morning how are you, Im dr worm
Im interested in things.
Im not a real doctor,
But I am a real worm;
I am an actual worm.
I live like a worm.
I like to play the drums.
I think Im getting good,
But I can handle criticism.
Ill show you what I know,
And you can tell me if you think Im getting better on the drums.
Im not a real doctor,
But they call me dr. worm.
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ant Worm Story...
shall i finish the story of the ant
and the worm?
at the cliff the worm jumps
landing on the arms of the grounded worm
and there and then
willfully, euphoniously, they both lived
happily ever-after
if you only write it yourself
i could have read a better ending than what i have
lazily imagined.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Part 4: The fish saves the worm
The big-mouth fish, snatched the worm.
As the worm was afraid; a small piece of him,
was left, on the sharp object.
The fish cuddle him, in his mouth.
Swimming as fast as he can;
to make it, close to the shore.
The fish, spit him out, on the land.
As the worm landed, he look toward the fish.
And said, ' thank you for not eating me? '
I wish you well, the fish said. Take care!
As the worm grind his way, toward a new place.
Knowing this ain't his home, the ground was moist.
He drilled a hole, and discover a new home.
The End....
poem by Derrick Clark
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Among All Lovely Things My Love Had Been
AMONG all lovely things my Love had been;
Had noted well the stars, all flowers that grew
About her home; but she had never seen
A glow-worm, never one, and this I knew.
While riding near her home one stormy night
A single glow-worm did I chance to espy;
I gave a fervent welcome to the sight,
And from my horse I leapt; great joy had I.
Upon a leaf the glow-worm did I lay,
To bear it with me through the stormy night:
And, as before, it shone without dismay;
Albeit putting forth a fainter light.
When to the dwelling of my Love I came,
I went into the orchard quietly;
And left the glow-worm, blessing it by name,
Laid safely by itself, beneath a tree.
The whole next day, I hoped, and hoped with fear;
At night the glow-worm shone beneath the tree;
I led my Lucy to the spot, 'Look here,'
Oh! joy it was for her, and joy for me!
poem by William Wordsworth
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The Beacon
The silent shepherdess,
She of my vows,
Here with me exchanging love
Under dim boughs.
Shines on our mysteries
A sudden spark--
'Dout the candle, glow-worm,
Let all be dark.
'The birds have sung their last notes,
The Sun's to bed,
Glow-worm, dout your candle.'
The glow-worm said:
'I also am a lover;
The lamp I display
Is beacon for my true love
Wandering astray.
'Through the thick bushes
And the grass comes she
With a heartload of longing
And love for me.
'Sir, enjoy your fancy,
But spare me harm,
A lover is a lover,
Though but a worm.'
poem by Robert Graves
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The Acorn
An acorn swung
On an oak-tree bough;
So long it had hung,
It would fain fall now
To the kindly earth,
That its germ within
Might burst into birth,
And its life begin.
And the autumn came
With its burning hand,
And each leaf grew a flame,
And each bough a brand.
And a worm came up
And began to eat
Though the hard, dry cup
To the acorn sweet.
And the acorn thought,
“I shall soon see now
The life I have sought,
When I fall from the bough;
For the worm gnaws through
Each tendon slight,
That about me grew,
And bound me tight.”
And with dying day
Came the zephyr’s sound;
And the acorn lay
Next morn on the ground;
But its germ was gone
By the worm’s sharp teeth;
And the ground it had won
Was its grave in death.
poem by Francis William Bourdillon
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Professor Nutbutters House Of Treats
Cmon kiddies gather round. whos your foremost friend in town?
From main to maple the name resounds, professor nutbutter.
Hes the one, the humble one, the barkley county prodigal son.
Here to serve only you, professor nutbutter.
At old nutbutters house of treats from jellied jams to sacks of
Sweets,
Theres creamy and nutatious spreads for all.
Chemist, master of entomology the professor for a modest fee
Will cure what ails you, guaranteed professor nutbutter.
Its alright, dont fear the worm.
Cmon kiddies dont be shy be youthful til the day you die.
The man the myth, the magic of professor nutbutter.
Hes the one the only one the meeklybville prodigal son.
Here to help us with ourselves, professor nutbutter
Its alright to fear the worm.
[its all right to fear the worm. the worm, the worm is our friend.
Um, but not all of the properties of the worm can be, uh, fully,
Fully, well, appreciated by the, uh, the human body itself, but, um
Its, its, its, its ok to, to fear the worm. um, i, myself, have
Had no, uh, problems with the worm but in a certain situation, uh, i
Would feel like, what, what, uh, ramifications, um, could occur? uh,
Theres, theres really no need to, uh, to fear much of anything, you
Know. fear of the, fear of the temptation is a, more, probably, more,
More, appropriate word in this particular scenario. um, the, uh,
Well, it, depends on what you want, I suppose. it really depends on,
On what you want.]
song performed by by Primus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm Bad
bad bad bad bad bad
bad bad bad bad bad
bad bad bad bad
I was bas born
I'd be badder when I die
I'm bad when I am sober
I'm badder when I'm high
I'm when I feel good
I'm bad when I'm blue
I'm bad to myself
So I'll be bad to you
So I'll be bad to you
I should've been good
Look at the trouble I've had
I would if I could
But I'm just bad
bad bad bad bad bad
bad bad bad bad
I'm, bad and I'm alive
I'll be badder when I'm dead
I'm bad in my body
man I'm badder in the head
I'm bad in the bed
Something wrong from the start
Guilt in my mind
Evil in my heart
Evil in my heart
I don't need to be happy
I don't care if I'm sad
I don't care about nothin'
Cause I'm bad bad bad bad bad
bad bad bad bad
Don't lend me a dollar
Don't lend me a dime
Don't lend me your wife
She'll have a good time
I'm bad in my car
I'm badder when I'm home
I'm bad when I'm with you
And I'm badder all alone
I'm a low down worm
I'm a conquering worm
I'm a blood-suckin' worm
I'm a slime baitin' worm
I'll put you on the hook
And I'll watch you squirm
I could never learn
Any young turks new tricks
I could never learn
Not to kick against the pricks
Things go from bad to worse
Sometimes it makes me glad
That I was born
Under the Curse of being bad bad bad bad bad
bad bad bad bad
Don't lend me a dollar
Don't lend me dime,
Don't lend me your wife
She'll have a good time
Don't lend me a twenty,
Don't lend me a ten,
If you lend me a hundread
You'll
song performed by by Violent Femmes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When I depart the realm
of the terrestrial,
for the splendour of the celestial,
do not bury my remains in the
valley of the kings.
For robbers would move my
bones in search of gold rings.
I detest sharing the glory of
the blue-bloods with them
in death.
But I would like my molded
clay buried in the worm
infested earth,
where it would nourish both
worm and field,
and help moisture give life
to mother earth's withered
yield.
Joseph C Ogbonna (1 May 2020)
Submitted by Joseph C Ogbonna
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‘A worm fed on the heart of Corinth
A worm fed on the heart of Corinth,
Babylon and Rome:
Not Paris raped tall Helen,
But this incestuous worm,
Who lured her vivid beauty
To his amorphous sleep.
England! Famous as Helen
Is thy betrothal sung
To him the shadowless,
More amorous than Solomon.
poem by Isaac Rosenberg
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Another Conversa Mi Amiga....
i am proud to say, i do not hide my ignorance and lapses 7: 06 AM
but i always hide my eggs 7: 06 AM
Me
h ehehe 7: 06 AM
for fear that it may get burned 7: 07 AM
Me
but 7: 07 AM
it is because uv got confidence 7: 07 AM
ur ignorance is minimal hehehe 7: 07 AM
compared to us 7: 07 AM
confidence is the flower of ignorance 7: 07 AM
Me
so nasa taas gihapon ka 7: 07 AM
safe up there 7: 07 AM
u can still be naked 7: 08 AM
it is cold up there 7: 08 AM
lonelier 7: 08 AM
because there only a few of me here 7: 08 AM
(har har har) 7: 08 AM
'few of me' 7: 08 AM
Me
t ht's confidence hehehe 7: 08 AM
few og u 7: 08 AM
looking down the cliff and asking the ant 7: 08 AM
Me
of u 7: 08 AM
Hey mr. ant what's breakfast? 7: 08 AM
what is the weather down there? 7: 09 AM
and the ant said 7: 09 AM
You worm, why are you up there? 7: 09 AM
you will die when the sun comes up? 7: 09 AM
Me
h ehehehe 7: 09 AM
wow 7: 09 AM
and i said, how dare you call me worm? 7: 09 AM
i am a caterpillar 7: 10 AM
and the ant said: caterpillar is a worm, idiot! 7: 10 AM
Me
h ahahaha 7: 10 AM
and the caterpillar said: watch out when i become a butterfly 7: 10 AM
i will ride the sun 7: 10 AM
Me
s unog 7: 10 AM
and the ant said: try it mr. butterfly, sting like a bee and be 7: 11 AM
that dead boxer of the world 7: 11 AM
Me
n ice story 7: 11 AM
and the worm said: (yucks, this ants knows many things 7: 11 AM
Me
h ahahah 7: 11 AM
how come does he know about muhamad?) 7: 11 AM
Me
h umble ant 7: 11 AM
and the ant said: hey worm, i can hear you? i have feet with ears 7: 12 AM
Me
b ecause the ant is grounded hehehe 7: 12 AM
she knows and she sees 7: 12 AM
and the worm said: with ears or not, you are still the ant that feed on morsels and dead leaves 7: 12 AM
ant: well, at least i feed myself from honest means 7: 13 AM
worm: i did not say that you are dishonest, and what's honesty got to do with our conversation? 7: 13 AM
Me
h ahaha 7: 13 AM
true 7: 13 AM
ant: (ugma na lang ta maghuman kay magsulat pag balak si alis kweng ka) 7: 14 AM
ha ha 7: 14 AM
nadalahig ka hinoon sa akong ka buang 7: 14 AM
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Kinderfeld
He lives inside my mouth
And tells me what to say
When he turns the trains
On he makes it go away
The hands are cracked and dirty and
The nails are beetle wings
When he turns the trains on he
Unties all of the strings
The worm: tell me something beautiful,
Tell me something free,
Tell me something beautiful
And I wish that I could be.
(then I got my wings and I never even knew it,
When I was a worm, thought I couldnt get through it)
Jack: (not spoken) come, come
The toys all smell like children
And scab-knees will obey
Ill just have to kneel on broomsticks
Just to make it go away
[the inauguration of the worm]
(then I got my wings and I never even knew it,
When I was a worm, thought I couldnt get through it)
A voice we have not yet heard: because today
Is black/because there is no turning back.
Because your lies have watered me/
I have become the strongest weed weed...
Through jacks eyes:
The taste of metal
Disintegrator
Three holes upon the leather belt
Its cut and swollen
And the age is swollen
Boy: theres no one here to save ourself.
The disintegrator: (to himself)
This is what you should fear
You are what you should fear
song performed by by Marilyn Manson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fishing With Daddy
One day I walked with Daddy
Down by a little brook.
There he placed a big red worm
Upon my fishing hook.
We sat together 'neath a tree
And did some fishing there.
Daddy told me wondrous stories
Of hunting elk and bear.
He talked of when he was a boy -
Of roads and tunnels he would build.
How he would dream his day away
As he worked in the cotton field.
He spoke of foreign lands he'd seen -
How big ships come and go.
Of giant derricks, gushing oil,
And making angels in the snow.
He talked of Mom, his only love; How proud he was of me.
Of our country - as it was -so rich and wild and free.
When the sun was setting across the little brook,
We started homeward, hand in hand, with a worm still on my hook.
poem by Gloria H. Koplin
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The Grave Yard
My heart grows sick before the wide-spread death,
That walks and speaks in seeming life around;
And I would love the corse without a breath,
That sleeps forgotten 'neath the cold, cold ground;
For these do tell the story of decay,
The worm and rotten flesh hide not nor lie;
But this, though dying too from day to day,
With a false show doth cheat the longing eye;
And hide the worm that gnaws the core of life,
With painted cheek and smooth deceitful skin;
Covering a grave with sights of darkness rife,
A secret cavern filled with death and sin;
And men walk o'er these graves and know it not,
For in the body's health the soul's forgot.
poem by Jones Very
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It's Not Fair
I am the worm that never sleeps.
My given name is jealously.
I live within the twisted deeps
of human minds: Wait patiently.
I won’t attack you openly
for that would lead to my defeat
I nurture envy secretly.
I know how hard you must compete
For the success you hope to gain
and when it’s rudely snatched away
I will exacerbate your pain
and make you think a different way.
Why should they have what I cannot.
There is no reason I can see
Injustice makes your blood run hot
and you are wracked with jealousy
I am the worm who slumbers not
residing in the hearts of men
who are unhappy with their lot.
The wakeful worm has won again.
(29-Jun-07)
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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In Winter in my Room
1670
In Winter in my Room
I came upon a Worm—
Pink, lank and warm—
But as he was a worm
And worms presume
Not quite with him at home—
Secured him by a string
To something neighboring
And went along.
A Trifle afterward
A thing occurred
I'd not believe it if I heard
But state with creeping blood—
A snake with mottles rare
Surveyed my chamber floor
In feature as the worm before
But ringed with power—
The very string with which
I tied him—too
When he was mean and new
That string was there—
I shrank—"How fair you are"!
Propitiation's claw—
"Afraid," he hissed
"Of me"?
"No cordiality"—
He fathomed me—
Then to a Rhythm Slim
Secreted in his Form
As Patterns swim
Projected him.
That time I flew
Both eyes his way
Lest he pursue
Nor ever ceased to run
Till in a distant Town
Towns on from mine
I set me down
This was a dream.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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