In Grandmamma's Kitchen
In grandmamma's kitchen, things got in a riot-
The cream in a pot on the shelf,
Where everything always seemed peaceful and quiet,
Got whipped, for I heard it myself.
And grandmamma said-such a queer thing to say,
That it made some things better to whip them that way.
Some bold naughty eggs that refused to be eaten,
On toast with their brothers may be,
Were stripped of their clothing and cruelly beaten
Right where all the dishes could see.
And grandmamma said though the poor things might ache,
The harder the beating, the lighter the cake.
The bright golden butter was petted and patted
And coaxed to be shapely and good.
But it finally had to be taken and spatted
Right hard with a paddle of wood.
When grandmamma carried the round balls away,
The buttermilk sulked, and looked sour all day.
The water declared that the coffee was muddy,
But an egg settled that little fuss.
Then the steak and the gridiron got in a bloody
And terrible broil! Such a muss!
And a flat-iron spat at grandma in the face,
And I ran away from the quarrelsome place.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Meddlesome Matty
One ugly trick has often spoil'd
The sweetest and the best;
Matilda, though a pleasant child,
One ugly trick possess'd,
Which, like a cloud before the skies,
Hid all her better qualities.
Sometimes she'd lift the tea-pot lid,
To peep at what was in it,
Or tilt the kettle, if you did
But turn your back a minute.
In vain you told her not to touch,
Her trick of meddling grew so much.
Her grandmamma went out one day,
And by mistake she laid
Her spectacles and snuff-box gay
Too near the little maid;
"Ah! well," thought she, "I'll try them on,
As soon as grandmamma is gone. "
Forthwith she placed upon her nose
The glasses large and wide;
And looking round, as I suppose,
The snuff-box too she spied:
"Oh! what a pretty box is that;
I'll open it," said little Matt.
"I know that grandmamma would say,
'Don't meddle with it, dear;'
But then, she's far enough away,
And no one else is near:
Besides, what can there be amiss
In opening such a box as this? "
So thumb and finger went to work
To move the stubborn lid,
And presently a mighty jerk
The mighty mischief did;
For all at once, ah! woful case,
The snuff came puffing in her face.
Poor eyes, and nose, and mouth, beside
A dismal sight presented;
In vain, as bitterly she cried,
Her folly she repented.
In vain she ran about for ease;
She could do nothing now but sneeze.
She dash'd the spectacles away,
To wipe her tingling eyes,
And as in twenty bits they lay,
Her grandmamma she spies.
"Heyday! and what's the matter now?"
Says grandmamma, with lifted brow.
Matilda, smarting with the pain,
And tingling still, and sore,
Made many a promise to refrain
From meddling evermore.
And 'tis a fact, as I have heard,
She ever since has kept her word.
poem by Ann Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolf
As soon as Wolf began to feel
That he would like a decent meal,
He went and knocked on Grandma's door.
When Grandma opened it, she saw
The sharp white teeth, the horrid grin,
And Wolfie said, 'May I come in?'
Poor Grandmamma was terrified,
'He's going to eat me up!' she cried.
And she was absolutely right.
He ate her up in one big bite.
But Grandmamma was small and tough,
And Wolfie wailed, 'That's not enough!
I haven't yet begun to feel
That I have had a decent meal!'
He ran around the kitchen yelping,
'I've got to have a second helping!'
Then added with a frightful leer,
'I'm therefore going to wait right here
Till Little Miss Red Riding Hood
Comes home from walking in the wood.'
He quickly put on Grandma's clothes,
(Of course he hadn't eaten those).
He dressed himself in coat and hat.
He put on shoes, and after that,
He even brushed and curled his hair,
Then sat himself in Grandma's chair.
In came the little girl in red.
She stopped. She stared. And then she said,
'What great big ears you have, Grandma.'
'All the better to hear you with,'
the Wolf replied.
'What great big eyes you have, Grandma.'
said Little Red Riding Hood.
'All the better to see you with,'
the Wolf replied.
He sat there watching her and smiled.
He thought, I'm going to eat this child.
Compared with her old Grandmamma,
She's going to taste like caviar.
Then Little Red Riding Hood said, '
But Grandma, what a lovely great big
furry coat you have on.'
'That's wrong!' cried Wolf.
'Have you forgot
To tell me what BIG TEETH I've got?
Ah well, no matter what you say,
I'm going to eat you anyway.'
The small girl smiles. One eyelid flickers.
She whips a pistol from her knickers.
She aims it at the creature's head,
And bang bang bang, she shoots him dead.
A few weeks later, in the wood,
I came across Miss Riding Hood.
But what a change! No cloak of red,
No silly hood upon her head.
She said, 'Hello, and do please note
My lovely furry wolfskin coat.'
poem by Roald Dahl
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I have wondered sometimes if there are not perhaps some disadvantages in having really blue blood in one's veins, like grandmamma and me.
quote by Elinor Glyn
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Grandmama at 89
Grandmamma so healthy and at eighty nine
It was so nice and seemed to be very fine
I was not under the influence of wine
Struck to mind that it was out of line
It was happy news to find elderly woman
I did not feel amused but elated as true man
“Can address you as grandmamma” I parried
“Certainly not “looked as if she was worried
Don’t take away my honour of addressing
I am still not sure of and assessing
I may prefer to be your honest admirer
She relented to request as good listener
I learnt little later that it was simple craze
Good women considered I as delicate phase
Concealment of age made it little easy
No disturbance when they were busy
It is easy to make joke or laugh it out
Dignity and personal honour is all about
One should be cautious and guard it at any cost
After all it is pride that is counted most
We tend to cause embarrassment one line
Spoil the relation as if blasting the mine
Why not support women’s cause in general?
Simply not rendering lip service or words oral
Many women prefer to be anonymous
Though their work may be so famous
They continue to suffer the male domination
Face discrimination even for nomination
I couldn’t stop laughing at age factor
Women are at helms in every sector
Work hand to hand and rise to the occasion
Must resist or thwart any privacy invasion
I loved the adoption of cautious approach
To win the race not necessarily you need a coach
First thing you need is simple protection
Matters less what will be action or reaction
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Sermon in the Stocking
The supper is over, the hearth is swept,
And in the wood-fire's glow
The children cluster to hear a tale
Of that time so long ago,
When grandmamma's hair was golden brown,
And the warm blood came and went
O'er the face that could scarce have been sweeter then
Than now in its rich content.
The face is wrinkled and careworn now,
And the golden hair is gray;
But the light that shone in the young girl's eyes
Has never gone away.
And her needles catch the fire's light
As in and out they go,
With the clicking music that grandma loves
Shaping the stocking's toe.
And the waking children love it too,
For they know the stocking song
Brings many a tale to grandma's mind
Which they shall hear ere long.
But it brings no story of olden time
To grandma's heart tonight,--
Only a ditty quaint and short
Is sung by the needles bright.
'Life is a stocking,' grandma says,
'And yours is just begun;
But I am kniting the toe of mine,
And my work is almost done.
'With merry hearts we begin to knit,
And the ribbing is almost play;
Some are gay-colored, and some are white,
And some are ashen gray.
'But most are made of many a hue,
With many a stitch set wrong,
And many a row to be sadly ripped
Ere the whole is fair and strong.
'There are long plain stretches without a break,
That in youth are hard to bear;
And many a weary tear is dropped
As we fashion the heel with care.
'But the saddest, happiest time is that
We court and yet would shun,
When our Heavenly Father breaks the thread,
And says our work is done.'
And the children come to say good-night,
With tears in their bright young eyes;
While in grandma's lap, with broken thread,
The finished stocking lies.
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Peach Tree On The Southern Wall
The peach tree on the southern wall
Has basked so long beneath the sun,
Her score of peaches great and small
Bloom rosy, every one.
A peach for brothers, one for each,
A peach for you and a peach for me;
But the biggest, rosiest, downiest peach
For Grandmamma with her tea.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
English Eclogues II - The Grandmother's Tale
JANE.
Harry! I'm tired of playing. We'll draw round
The fire, and Grandmamma perhaps will tell us
One of her stories.
HARRY.
Aye--dear Grandmamma!
A pretty story! something dismal now;
A bloody murder.
JANE.
Or about a ghost.
GRANDMOTHER.
Nay, nay, I should but frighten you. You know
The other night when I was telling you
About the light in the church-yard, how you trembled
Because the screech-owl hooted at the window,
And would not go to bed.
JANE.
Why Grandmamma
You said yourself you did not like to hear him.
Pray now! we wo'nt be frightened.
GRANDMOTHER.
Well, well, children!
But you've heard all my stories. Let me see,--
Did I never tell you how the smuggler murdered
The woman down at Pill?
HARRY.
No--never! never!
GRANDMOTHER.
Not how he cut her head off in the stable?
HARRY.
Oh--now! do tell us that!
GRANDMOTHER.
You must have heard
Your Mother, children! often tell of her.
She used to weed in the garden here, and worm
Your uncle's dogs, and serve the house with coal;
And glad enough she was in winter time
To drive her asses here! it was cold work
To follow the slow beasts thro' sleet and snow,
And here she found a comfortable meal
And a brave fire to thaw her, for poor Moll
Was always welcome.
HARRY.
Oh--'twas blear-eyed Moll
The collier woman,--a great ugly woman,
I've heard of her.
GRANDMOTHER.
Ugly enough poor soul!
At ten yards distance you could hardly tell
If it were man or woman, for her voice
Was rough as our old mastiff's, and she wore
A man's old coat and hat,--and then her face!
There was a merry story told of her,
How when the press-gang came to take her husband
As they were both in bed, she heard them coming,
Drest John up in her night-cap, and herself
Put on his clothes and went before the Captain.
JANE.
And so they prest a woman!
GRANDMOTHER.
'Twas a trick
She dearly loved to tell, and all the country
Soon knew the jest, for she was used to travel
For miles around. All weathers and all hours
She crossed the hill, as hardy as her beasts,
Bearing the wind and rain and winter frosts,
And if she did not reach her home at night
She laid her down in the stable with her asses
And slept as sound as they did.
HARRY.
With her asses!
GRANDMOTHER.
Yes, and she loved her beasts. For tho' poor wretch
She was a terrible reprobate and swore
Like any trooper, she was always good
To the dumb creatures, never loaded them
Beyond their strength, and rather I believe
Would stint herself than let the poor beasts want,
Because, she said, they could not ask for food.
I never saw her stick fall heavier on them
Than just with its own weight. She little thought
This tender-heartedness would be her death!
There was a fellow who had oftentimes,
As if he took delight in cruelty.
Ill-used her Asses. He was one who lived
By smuggling, and, for she had often met him
Crossing the down at night, she threatened him,
If he tormented them again, to inform
Of his unlawful ways. Well--so it was--
'Twas what they both were born to, he provoked her,
She laid an information, and one morn
They found her in the stable, her throat cut
From ear to ear,'till the head only hung
Just by a bit of skin.
JANE.
Oh dear! oh dear!
HARRY.
I hope they hung the man!
GRANDMOTHER.
They took him up;
There was no proof, no one had seen the deed,
And he was set at liberty. But God
Whoss eye beholdeth all things, he had seen
The murder, and the murderer knew that God
Was witness to his crime. He fled the place,
But nowhere could he fly the avenging hand
Of heaven, but nowhere could the murderer rest,
A guilty conscience haunted him, by day,
By night, in company, in solitude,
Restless and wretched, did he bear upon him
The weight of blood; her cries were in his ears,
Her stifled groans as when he knelt upon her
Always he heard; always he saw her stand
Before his eyes; even in the dead of night
Distinctly seen as tho' in the broad sun,
She stood beside the murderer's bed and yawn'd
Her ghastly wound; till life itself became
A punishment at last he could not bear,
And he confess'd it all, and gave himself
To death, so terrible, he said, it was
To have a guilty conscience!
HARRY.
Was he hung then?
GRANDMOTHER.
Hung and anatomized. Poor wretched man,
Your uncles went to see him on his trial,
He was so pale, so thin, so hollow-eyed,
And such a horror in his meagre face,
They said he look'd like one who never slept.
He begg'd the prayers of all who saw his end
And met his death with fears that well might warn
From guilt, tho' not without a hope in Christ.
poem by Robert Southey
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Grandma
When you died
it was as if I lost,
my whole family.
All other relations,
but my mother
and brother faded
away into oblivion,
at your grave, Grandmamma.
Maybe it was that you
was the only one of them,
that really cared for me
and that they valued things
above and beyond integrity.
At times destiny strikes the clock
and death takes her own,
but I was far away at University
and although our relationship
was great and special
there was no last goodbye.
Every one but I,
got a last blessing from you
and still I wonder
what your last words
would have been.
At times I wonder
if you would smile,
at the mistakes that I make
and at times
be proud to know my name.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I love tea
I love tea
and when I was a boy,
my grandmother made me some.
Her tea was better,
than any other tea
and she told her secret to me.
At eleven in the morning,
or four in the afternoon
we used to chat,
my grandmother and me
and we shared
a lovely pot of tea.
She taught me to respect
and grant dignity,
to those from whom my ancestors came.
But mostly she taught me
about integrity
and how to live right in the eyes of the Lord.
I really miss my grandmamma
and her love still spreads over me,
when I make that special tea.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Last Leaf
I saw him once before,
As he passed by the door,
And again
The pavement stones resound,
As he totters o'er the ground
With his cane.
They say that in his prime,
Ere the pruning-knife of Time
Cut him down,
Not a better man was found
By the Crier on his round
Through the town.
But now he walks the streets,
And he looks at all he meets
Sad and wan,
And he shakes his feeble head,
That it seems as if he said,
"They are gone!"
The mossy marbles rest
On the lips that he has prest
In their bloom,
And the names he loved to hear
Have been carved for many a year
On the tomb.
My grandmamma has said--
Poor old lady, she is dead
Long ago--
That he had a Roman nose,
And his cheek was like a rose
In the snow;
But now his nose is thin,
And it rests upon his chin
Like a staff,
And a crook is in his back,
And a melancholy crack
In his laugh.
I know it is a sin
For me to sit and grin
At him here;
But the old three-cornered hat,
And the breeches, and all that,
Are so queer!
And if I should live to be
The last leaf upon the tree
In the spring,
Let them smile, as I do now,
At the old forsaken bough
Where I cling.
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Things That Dreams Are Made Of
Take time to see the wonders of the world
To see the things youve only ever heard of
Dream life the way you think it ought to be
See things you thought youd never ever see
Take a cruise to china
Or a train to spain
Go round the world
Again and again
Meet a girl on a boat
Meet a boy on a train
And fall in love
Without the pain
Everybody needs love and adventure
Everybody needs cash to spend
Everybody needs love and affection
Everybody needs 2 or 3 friends
These are the things
These are the things
The things that dreams are made of
These are the things
These are the things
The things that dreams are made of
Take a lift to the top of the empire state
Take a drive across the golden gate
March, march, march across red square
Do all the things youve ever dared
Everybody needs love and adventure
Everybody needs cash to spend
Everybody needs love and affection
Everybody needs 2 or 3 friends
These are the things
These are the things
The things that dreams are made of
These are the things
These are the things
The things that dreams are made of
Like fun and money and food and love
And things you never thought of
These are the things
These are the things
The things that dreams are made of
New york, ice cream, tv, travel, good times
Norman wisdom, johnny, joey, dee dee, good times
These are the things
These are the things
The things that dreams are made of
These are the things
These are the things
The things that dreams are made of
These are the things
These are the things
The things that dreams are made of
These are the things
These are the things
The things that dreams are made of
These are the things
These are the things
The things that dreams are made of
These are the things
These are the things
The things that dreams are made of
song performed by by Human League
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Whatever Gets You On
Picked up the paper
flipped through the pages
reached for my coffee cup
yes, I'm still waking up
late in the day now
what can I say now
some folks are morning people
I never was one of those
all the same
I'll get in the game
give me muddy, muddy water
now I'm feeling better
you know whatever gets you on
and keeps you up right past the dawn
I'm feeling good now
I'm feeling great now
let's do the town now
vodka and tonic
a touch of the chronic
I trade my days for nights
I love the city lights
none of your business
who I might sleep with
some things are bad for me
and some things I just can't resist
all the same (I don't worry)
I'll get in the game (I don't worry)
give me muddy, muddy water
now I'm feeling better
you know, whatever gets you on
and keeps you up right past the dawn
I'm feeling good now
I'm feeling great now
let's do the town now
I'm feeling so free-wheelin'
and it's so hard to maintain
fascinate me
medicate me
'cause I can't get over the pain
picked up the paper
flipped through the pages
coffee and cigarettes
turn on the tv set
night time is falling
people are calling
I like to watch them run
round and round and round
you know, whatever gets you on
and keeps you up right past the dawn
I'm feeling good now
I'm feeling great now
let's do the town now
song performed by by Fastball
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Titmarsh’s Carmen Lilliense
LILLE, Sept. 2, 1843.
My heart is weary, my peace is gone,
How shall I e'er my woes reveal?
I have no money, I lie in pawn,
A stranger in the town of Lille.
I.
With twenty pounds but three weeks since
From Paris forth did Titmarsh wheel,
I thought myself as rich a prince
As beggar poor I'm now at Lille.
Confiding in my ample means—
In troth, I was a happy chiel!
I passed the gates of Valenciennes,
I never thought to come by Lille.
I never thought my twenty pounds
Some rascal knave would dare to steal;
I gayly passed the Belgic bounds
At Quievrain, twenty miles from Lille.
To Antwerp town I hasten'd post,
And as I took my evening meal
I felt my pouch,—my purse was lost,
O Heaven! Why came I not by Lille?
I straightway called for ink and pen,
To grandmamma I made appeal;
Meanwhile a loan of guineas ten
I borrowed from a friend so leal.
I got the cash from grandmamma
(Her gentle heart my woes could feel,)
But where I went, and what I saw,
What matters? Here I am at Lille.
My heart is weary, my peace is gone,
How shall I e'er my woes reveal?
I have no cash, I lie in pawn,
A stranger in the town of Lille.
II.
To stealing I can never come,
To pawn my watch I'm too genteel,
Besides, I left my watch at home,
How could I pawn it then at Lille?
'La note,' at times the guests will say.
I turn as white as cold boil'd veal;
I turn and look another way,
I dare not ask the bill at Lille.
I dare not to the landlord say,
'Good sir, I cannot pay your bill;'
He thinks I am a Lord Anglais,
And is quite proud I stay at Lille.
He thinks I am a Lord Anglais,
Like Rothschild or Sir Robert Peel,
And so he serves me every day
The best of meat and drink in Lille.
Yet when he looks me in the face
I blush as red as cochineal;
And think did he but know my case,
How changed he'd be, my host of Lille.
My heart is weary, my peace is gone,
How shall I e'er my woes reveal?
I have no money, I lie in pawn,
A stranger in the town of Lille.
III.
The sun bursts out in furious blaze,
I perspirate from head to heel;
I'd like to hire a one-horse chaise,
How can I, without cash at Lille?
I pass in sunshine burning hot
By cafes where in beer they deal;
I think how pleasant were a pot,
A frothing pot of beer of Lille!
What is yon house with walls so thick,
All girt around with guard and grille?
O gracious gods! it makes me sick,
It is the PRISON-HOUSE of Lille!
O cursed prison strong and barred,
It does my very blood congeal!
I tremble as I pass the guard,
And quit that ugly part of Lille.
The church-door beggar whines and prays,
I turn away at his appeal
Ah, church-door beggar! go thy ways!
You're not the poorest man in Lille.
My heart is weary, my peace is gone,
How shall I e'er any woes reveal?
I have no money, I lie in pawn,
A stranger in the town of Lille.
IV.
Say, shall I to you Flemish church,
And at a Popish altar kneel?
Oh, do not leave me in the lurch,—
I'll cry, ye patron-saints of Lille!
Ye virgins dressed in satin hoops,
Ye martyrs slain for mortal weal,
Look kindly down! before you stoops
The miserablest man in Lille.
And lo! as I beheld with awe
A pictured saint (I swear 'tis real),
It smiled, and turned to grandmamma!—
It did! and I had hope in Lille!
'Twas five o'clock, and I could eat,
Although I could not pay my meal:
I hasten back into the street
Where lies my inn, the best Lille.
What see I on my table stand,—
A letter with a well-known seal?
'Tis grandmamma's! I know her hand,—
'To Mr. M. A. Titmarsh, Lille.'
I feel a choking in my throat,
I pant and stagger, faint and reel!
It is—it is—a ten-pound note,
And I'm no more in pawn at Lille!
[He goes off by the diligence that evening, and is restored to the
bosom of his happy family.]
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A home with grandma
Not all the homes are lucky to have grandmother
Children love grandma even more than mother
They have less attachment with the father
Grandma is all the time there to bother
She is generous and vast sea of affection
Al children are taken of with full care and attention
Grandma is such personality at home that needs no mention
She is there for all practical purpose for any prevention
She may guide us as to how the things are to be passed of or gone
Nothing escapes from her mind as it is practically performed or done
She has no forgone conclusions but with practical remedy
She also offers us stories with so much truth in comedy
Grandmamma remains so much healthy and stout
She has seen the ages with experience and knows all about
She has passed off all the storms at ease
She has now the big task to get it released
It is always nice to find elderly woman in home
She is protective cover for all the times to come
She is there to entertain us with all the dignity
The home is fine place to find her with all the qualities
What else can we expect from lovable grandma?
She moves in home with all her stamina
Sometimes we feel shame to walk with her
She complains about nothing and makes us to bother
It is honor to address her as grandma
She is no less important than papa
It is our luck that we have somebody to look after
The life would have turned us into miser
She is source of towering strength and inspiration
She is sought after by all children and asks for narration
She may have all the stories to be told with great effect
It is her gorgeous part that instills the confidence and will power to act
All the children are good listener
She is preferred to and remains as great admirer
It is easy to make joke or laugh it out
Dignity and personal honor is all about
It is honor and simple craze
Elderly women are considered in good phrase
Concealment of age makes it difficult and not easy
Still grandma remain at help of affairs and makes it rosy
One should be cautious while dealing with elderly person
They are easily offended for no reason
Their honor and dignity must be preserved at all the costs
After all it is pride that has to be counted as sacred most
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Bottom Drawer
In the best chamber of the house,
Shut up in dim, uncertain light,
There stood an antique chest of drawers,
Of foreign wood, with brasses bright.
One day a woman, frail and gray,
Stepped totteringly across the floor--
'Let in,' said she, 'the light of day,
Then, Jean, unlock the bottom drawer.
The girl, in all youth's loveliness,
Knelt down with eager, curious face;
Perchance she dreamt of Indian silks,
Of jewels, and of rare old lace.
But when the summer sunshine fell
Upon the treasures hoarded there,
The tears rushed to her tender eyes,
Her heart was solemn as a prayer.
'Dear Grandmamma,' she softly sighed,
Lifted a withered rose and palm;
But on the elder face was naught
But sweet content and peaceful calm.
Leaning upon her staff, she gazed
Upon a baby's half-worn shoe;
A little frock of finest lawn;
A hat with tiny bows of blue;
A ball made fifty years ago;
A little glove; a tasselled cap;
A half-done 'long division' sum;
Some school-books fastened with a strap.
She touched them all, with trembling lips--
'How much,' she said, 'the heart can bear!
Ah, Jean! I thought that I should die
The day that first I laid them there.
'But now it seems so good to know
That through these weary, troubled years
Their hearts have been untouched by grief,
Their eyes have been unstained by tears.
Dear Jean, we see with clearer sight
When earthly life is almost o'er;
Those children wait me in the skies,
For whom I locked the sacred drawer.'
poem by Anonymous Americas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Missed In Action
Life with you is missed the most.
More than I had imagined.
More than complaining about,
The weak coffee made.
Or the frequency of smelled brunt toast.
Eggs tasteless and too hard to eat.
Or that freshly squeezed orange juice.
Pulpy, bland and not even sweet.
Life with you is missed the most.
More than I had imagined.
Dishes stacked with no one to wash.
Collected bags of garbage,
Stinking up the backyard.
And the leaves have not been raked,
Since you refused in your moodiness...
To act like a child.
And that's when I became irate.
Life with you is missed the most.
More than I had imagined.
I wish you would return to me,
Because I crave that delicious cake you make!
'And not the money I gave you to shop!
So you can tell your girlfriends,
What a lazy husband you've got? '
Honey,
That's what we do!
I had no idea...
The husbands met to lie like we do?
'Lie?
Lie...uh?
Well, I can bet...
Like you,
Their spouses are probably missed in action too!
No thanks.
Move on.
Find a new fool to screw! '
But, baby...
You're my boo!
'Well...
Take that 'boo'
And whatever 'hooin' you do,
Straight to hell! '
(With a dialtone heard...)
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Naughty Girl
It's after 12
Can't face the day
Remind me just how hard it can be
To forget
I said things I didn't mean
You saw things you shouldn't have seen
Been a naughty girl
Real bad so and so
Done too many things a girl shouldn't know
I swear I never knew
I could hurt you so
One too many things a girl shouldn't know
Can't take the sadness
From your eyes
Can't put the truth back in my lies
Oh whoa
Don't make me try and explain
Let's just start over again
Been a naughty girl
Real bad so and so
Done too many things a girl shouldn't know
I swear I never knew
I could hurt you so
One too many things a girl shouldn't know
The more you try to stay
The more I let you go
Done too many things a girl shouldn't know
I swear I never knew
I could hurt you so
One too many things a girl shouldn't know
Won't stop and try to turn the clock back
I won't beg - I'm no good at that
Too late to start and act like a saint
Can't be something that I ain't
Been a naughty girl
Real bad so and so
Done too many things a girl shouldn't know
I swear I never knew
I could hurt you so
One too many things a girl shouldn't know
The more you try to stay
The more I let you go
From one too many things a girl shouldn't know
I swear I never knew
I could hurt you so
One too many things a girl shouldn't know
Been a naughty girl
Been a naughty girl
song performed by by Holly Valance from Footprints
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Silver
Nirvana- Silver
Mom and dad went to a show
They dropped me off at Grandpa Joe's
I kicked and screamed, said please don't go
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Had to eat my dinner there
Mashed potatoes and stuff like that
I couldn't chew my meats too good
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
She said, well, don't you start your crying
Go outside and ride your bike
That's what I did, I killed my toe
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
After dinner, I had ice cream
I fell asleep and watched TV
I woke up in my mother's arms
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
Grandma take me home
I wanna be alone
song performed by by Nirvana
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Sucker For Mystery
And Ive always been a sucker for mystery
And Ive always been a sucker for mystery
And Ive always been a sucker for mystery
And Ive always been a sucker for mystery
So I turn to the left and I turn to the right
But none of the answers are in sight
So I made a mistake maybe once or twice
And I cant even get to paradise
And a priest came up to me and touched my face
He said terrible things happen round this place
Such terrible things happen round this place
Such terrible things happen round this place
No demon, no man has got a clue
But surely son, the end will turn out right for you
cause Ive always been a sucker for mystery
And Ive always been a sucker for mystery
Theres a little boy walking up the stairs
Through a dark hallway that leads nowhere
He comes to a door but hes afraid to knock
And he bends down low and peers throught the lock
And theres a tall man standing with a glistening knife
And hes stooping over something that has no life
With stifled tears he starts to turn away
But a strange little voice seems to whisper
Stay!
Hes always been a sucker for mystery
And hes always been...
(chorus)
I dont want to say good bye
I want to give it one more try
I dont want to say good bye
I want to give it one more try
Wont somebody help
Wont somebody help
Im all alone now with nothing to do
And Im all dressed up with nowhere to go
And Im stuck with two tickets to an awful show
And my mouths full of words but Ive got nothing to say
And Ive been sitting in front of the tv set all day
And my heads in a vice and it wont let up
And my feet wont move and if that aint enough
The telephone rings... hello!
Ive seen children with such angry faces
When you look in their eyes, it makes you want to cry
Theres a time and a place for everything
Theres a time and a place for everything
Now it doesnt seem fair
But who cares theyre someone elses
As long as they dont come close to mine
Theres a time and a place for everything
Theres a time and a place for everything
So we packed our bags and went back to the hotel
In back of the squalor and the living hell
And they sell you this and they sell you that
They sell you their sister for a buck and a half
Such terrible things happen round this place
Such terrible things happen round this place
Such terrible things happen round this place
And people disappear without a trace
And Ive always been a sucker for mystery
And Ive always been...
Well the mystery that intrigues me the most
Is the one that makes men give up hope
The pride and the search for even little things
That might give a meaning, or even a hint
Cause how can a free man not have hope
When he hasnt even reached the end of his rope
I dont want to say good bye
I want to give it one more try
I dont want to close the gate
I still think that its not too late
I know when I reach the end
I want to start all over again
And Ive always been a sucker for mystery...
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Nutritious
That banana cake taste,
Grandma use to bake.
And was loved?
Is gone with the deep dish apple pie.
That smothered blade steak.
Served with black eye peas,
Collard greens and candied yams.
Sometimes with peach cobbler,
With rich vanilla icecream.
That too,
Locks in memories.
Those golden brown biscuits,
Fresh from the oven.
Buttered.
And topped with homemade,
Strawberry jam.
Or that cornbread no one can resist.
That too...
Is gone with the deep dish apple pie.
And today...
As grateful as I am,
To witness the arrival...
Of another Thanksgiving Day to celebrate.
I've never seen so many butts and thighs so wide.
And none of us who ate at grandma's,
Waddled from the table.
No matter what we ate.
Or nibbled all day...
On the honeyed ham,
Turkey sandwiches, potato salad...
Turnips.
Or just to sit to sip on eggnog.
None of us who ate at grandma's,
Waddled from the table.
Or stretched spandex!
Maybe fast food is fast!
But it sure is not nutritious.
Forget delicious.
It's just addictive and quick.
That's it!
And when we ate at grandma's...
We knew something whipped up with love,
Was coming out of the kitchen.
And not to sit too long,
Waiting for a decision made to eat.
And none of us,
Who came to eat to leave...
Did a waddle from the table.
Or stretched spandex!
'Why didn't you mention,
My fried chicken? '
I didn't even get a piece, grandma!
'Next time,
Eat!
And stop running your mouth so much.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!