Twas such a little—little boat
107
'Twas such a little—little boat
That toddled down the bay!
'Twas such a gallant—gallant sea
That beckoned it away!
'Twas such a greedy, greedy wave
That licked it from the Coast—
Nor ever guessed the stately sails
My little craft was lost!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Fundamental of Liar Chapter CXXXV: Greedy
I'm not hopeless
I'm not obsessed
I'm just greedy
I know I should stop
I know my limit
I'm just greedy
I don't want to lose anything
I refuse to release something
I'm just greedy
Even it drains me dry
Even it wears me down
I'm just greedy
I'm not crazy
I'm not dangerous
I'm just greedy
I'm not in manic depression
I'm under a perfect control
I'm just greedy
I depending on that look
I clinging for that hope
I'm just greedy
If compared to the evil mind
If compared to the cruel traitor
I'm just greedy
I'm possessive
I'm territory man
I'm just greedy
I will clutch tighter
I will sink deeper
I'm just greedy
I never have enough
I always demand more and more
I'm just greedy
Though you should hate me
Though I should not be forgiven
I'm just greedy
I'm not only egoist
I'm not only aggressive
I'm just greedy
I am not getting tired
I will still move forward
I'm just greedy
I'm not monster
I'm not fearless either
I'm just greedy
You could call me over confidence
You could call me irresponsible
I'm just greedy
I'm insatiable
I'm a gaping hole
I'm just greedy
I'm sneaky
I'll steal every chance
I'm just greedy
I'm addicted to warmth
I need undivided attention
I'm just greedy
Don't worry about me
Don't put your guard on me
I'm just greedy
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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To G. C. And R. L.
'TWAS you, or I, or he, or all together,
'Twas one, both, three of them, they know not whether;
This, I believe, between us great or small,
You, I, he, wrote it not--'twas Churchill's all.
poem by Oliver Goldsmith
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I Had No Need
I had no need to be awake.
'Twas better in my bed.
The thought of facing life without him
was a thought better dead.
I had no need to open my eyes.
'Twas better not to see.
The thought of seeing the sun without him
was devastating to me.
I had no need to know the time.
'Twas better that time slip away.
The thought of time lingering now
is endless time each day.
There are no needs that now are mine.
'Twas a time I had them all.
We woke, we saw and knew the time,
now too hurtful to recall.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Body Of God!
forgive me, i erred,
i thought God contained
in the wind.... but twas
only one breath of infinity!
i thought i saw God
in the starving child's eyes,
but twas only one heartbeat
of compassion!
i thought i heard God
in the cries of the dying
on the battlefields of greed...
but twas human despair!
i thought i found God
down in the homeless shelter,
but twas only the faces
of my brothers and sisters!
so i walked away,
thinking God didnt care....
then a voice startled me...
'but you're my body! '
poem by Eric Cockrell
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November's Chill
For 'twas in November's month
the change of guards took place
the month my heart fell to sleep
For 'twas in that darken time
our Love slowly faded away
and in passing, our words were few.
And I am left lonely an' oh so cold.....
For 'twas in November's month
we became two ships in passing
entering port's harbour at separate times
For 'twas in that lonely state
two hearts screamed of Love
and the sheets never warmed again.
And I am left lonely an' oh so cold.......
For 'twas in Novembers month
we tasted Love once again
and like the first time I know home
For 'twas in that lonely bed
separately we lay our heads
yet in dream, you are near as am I
No longer left lonely an' oh so cold...........
poem by Geoff Warden
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Greed..
Greed will make you hurngry
you'll never get enough...
it can tear a life apart
Greed is nasy stuff..
don't get greedy - don't be greedy
once you let yoursef be greedy
you can't go back again...
(i'm telling ya man...)
i know a man named Jessy
his Grandma was sitting good..
he set out to win her turst
and take everything he could..
he got greedy
he was greedy..
Jessy let himself get greedy
And He can't go back again...
Greed turns family on family
makes a friend the enemy
it can turn you on your Grandma
blinding you so you can't see..
it will turn you on your parents..
and tear your world apart..
there's no way you can change it
once you let it in your heart..
don't be greedy
don't get greedy..
once you let yoursef be greedy
you can't go back again...
once someone has been cheated
or swindeled it's a shame
greed will leave them cold and Angry
with only You to blame....
no one will ever trust you
trust gets burried in the past..
you're better of financialy'
but money it won't last..
don't get greedy don't be greedy
once you let yourself be greedy
you can't go back again...
once greed becomes a partner
and all is said and done..
when your lookin down at a grave...
can you really feel you won?
you now have more than others
you worked hard to steal it all..
others may have earned it but
your the one who made that call..
no one thought you'd do it
it never crossed their mind..
they trusted that you would be fair
but that was once upon a time...
you let yoursef get greedy,
you got greedy
And once you let yourself be greedy
you can't go back again....
someday you'll miss your sister
your parents and cousins too..
the black sheep of the family
will turn a lonesome blue...
don't be greedy, don't get greedy
once you let yourself be greedy
you can't go back again...
poem by Connetta Jean
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A 'Mass' Meeting
It was a solemn rite as e'er
Was seen by mortal man.
The celebrants, the people there,
Were all Republican.
There Estee bent his grizzled head,
And General Dimond, too,
And one-'twas Reddick, some one said,
Though no one clearly knew.
I saw the priest, white-robed and tall
(Assistant, Father Stow)-
He was the pious man men call
Dan Burns of Mexico.
Ah, 'twas a high and holy rite
As any one could swear.
'What does it mean?' I asked a wight
Who knelt apart in prayer.
'A mass for the repose,' he said,
'Of Colonel Markham's'--'What,
Is gallant Colonel Markham dead?
'Tis sad, 'tis sad, God wot!'
'A mass'-repeated he, and rose
To go and kneel among
The worshipers-'for the repose
Of Colonel Markham's tongue.'
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Tinker Dick
Good Parson Dickson preached, I'm told,
A sermon-ah, 'twas very old
And very, very, bald!
'Twas all about-I know not what
It was about, nor what 'twas not.
'A Screw Loose' it was called.
Whatever, Parson Dick, you say,
The world will get each blessed day
Still more and more askew,
And fall apart at last. Great snakes!
What skillful tinker ever takes
His tongue to turn a screw?
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Twas Love—not me
394
'Twas Love—not me—
Oh punish—pray—
The Real one died for Thee—
Just Him—not me—
Such Guilt—to love Thee—most!
Doom it beyond the Rest—
Forgive it—last—
'Twas base as Jesus—most!
Let Justice not mistake—
We Two—looked so alike—
Which was the Guilty Sake—
'Twas Love's—Now Strike!
poem by Emily Dickinson
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To my small Hearth His fire came
638
To my small Hearth His fire came—
And all my House aglow
Did fan and rock, with sudden light—
'Twas Sunrise—'twas the Sky—
Impanelled from no Summer brief—
With limit of Decay—
'Twas Noon—without the News of Night—
Nay, Nature, it was Day—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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September Days
'Twas the last time that I need you
'Twas the last time that I love you
'Twas the last I'm gonna say your name
Now you're begging for forgiveness
Sorry boy I can't forgive you
'Coz you've now broken my emo heart
Pre Chorus:
The sunlight's already gone down
The roses already wilted up
But sometimes...
Chorus:
I miss your loving ways
That I lost during
Those September days
I hope that
You'll be back someday
I want you to be the same
September's day is dying cold
The days are coming back to me now
Ring out the grief that saps your heart
And let yourself run Into my arms again
poem by Jas Andrada
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Lines In A Letter To His Lady Cousin, Honor Driden, Who Had Given Him A Silver Inkstand, With A Set Of Writing Materials, 1655
For since 'twas mine, the white hath lost its hue,
To show 'twas ne'er it self but whilst in you,
The virgin wax hath blushed it self to red
Since it with me hath lost its maidenhead.
You, fairest nymph, are wax: O, may you be
As well in softness as in purity!
Till fate and your own happy choice reveal
Whom you shall so far bless to make your seal.
poem by John Dryden
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The Way I Treated Father [A Bush Song]
I WORKED with father in the bush
At splitting rails and palings.
He never was unkind to me,
Although he “had his failings:”
And now his grave is old and green,
And now at times I’m rather
Inclined to think ’twas very mean
The way I treated father.
The mother had for years been dead,
And Dad and I and Stumpy
Were living in a little shed—
What bushmen call a humpy;
And now I think when day began,
And it was cold and chilly,
’Twas mean to see a grey old man
Get up and boil the billy.
And though my lazy limbs were stiff;
And though ’twas winter weather.
And though my eyes were shut as if
The lids were glued together,
I think ’twas mean to lie in bed;
I think that I was silly,
Because I growled if father said,
“Git up and bile the billy!”
I didn’t help the cooking much
For I was always “tired”—
’Twas strange that I could eat with such
An appetite as I had;
But now I mind I never growled
When father shouted, “Willie!
It’s gittin’ on for dinnertime;
Go home and bile the hilly.”
His grave is growing old and green
And things have altered rather;
But still I think ’twas mighty mean
The way I treated father.
He left a tidy sum to me,
But I’d give all the money
To hear him say, “Will you get up
And bile the billy, Sonny?”
poem by Henry Lawson
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'Twas but my tongue, 'twas not my soul that swore.
Night of Nights
‘Twas deep; so deep of night,
When I saw what I had seen -
So truly deep of night,
When I went where I had been,
And really deep of night,
When I heard what I had heard:
Perhaps a fox or badger,
Or a sort of night-time bird.
‘Twas late that night of nights,
When something there was there -
So very late that night of nights,
Where that thing was where -
'Twas deep of night of nights,
When it ran to where it ran:
Perhaps a stoat or Billy goat,
Or ghostly little man.
‘Twas in the night of night of nights,
When something scary caused a scare -
So late of night of night of nights,
When something hairy raised my hair -
The deep of night of night of nights…
So don't you wonder what it was?
Well I never really truly saw it -
Why? Because because!
‘Twas in the night of night of night of nights
Oh I've had enough!
Night night.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
Night night, night night
Night night, night night
Night night
night
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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My Dream About You
My grief 'twas unendurable
Suffocating each instant in my breaths sigh
Ne'er to forget the reality that 'twas you
Forever as the Benediction of light in the sky;
Oh, that final moment still tarrys too long
All the flowers burned in a pyre of despair
I looked for a book of answers or an anthem
Suffering 'twas almost too much to bear;
I chose to praise your inner beauty and balance
Loosing myself in the immortal life stream
Recalling your face in a fragment of sweet memory
Oh, how blessed, are those who can still dream;
poem by Theodora Onken
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The Way of Wooing
A maiden sat at her window wide,
Pretty enough for a Prince's bride,
Yet nobody came to claim her.
She sat like a beautiful picture there,
With pretty bluebells and roses fair,
And jasmine-leaves to frame her.
And why she sat there nobody knows;
But this she sang as she plucked a rose,
The leaves around her strewing:
"I've time to lose and power to choose;
'T is not so much the gallant who woos,
But the gallant's WAY of wooing!"
A lover came riding by awhile,
A wealthy lover was he, whose smile
Some maids would value greatly -
A formal lover, who bowed and bent,
With many a high-flown compliment,
And cold demeanour stately,
"You've still," said she to her suitor stern,
"The 'prentice-work of your craft to learn,
If thus you come a-cooing.
I've time to lose and power to choose;
'T is not so much the gallant who woos,
As the gallant's WAY of wooing!"
A second lover came ambling by -
A timid lad with a frightened eye
And a colour mantling highly.
He muttered the errand on which he'd come,
Then only chuckled and bit his thumb,
And simpered, simpered shyly.
"No," said the maiden, "go your way;
You dare but think what a man would say,
Yet dare to come a-suing!
I've time to lose and power to choose;
'T is not so much the gallant who woos,
As the gallant's WAY of wooing!"
A third rode up at a startling pace -
A suitor poor, with a homely face -
No doubts appeared to bind him.
He kissed her lips and he pressed her waist,
And off he rode with the maiden, placed
On a pillion safe behind him.
And she heard the suitor bold confide
This golden hint to the priest who tied
The knot there's no undoing;
With pretty young maidens who can choose,
'T is not so much the gallant who woos,
As the gallant's WAY of wooing!"
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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The Day that I was crowned
356
The Day that I was crowned
Was like the other Days—
Until the Coronation came—
And then—'twas Otherwise—
As Carbon in the Coal
And Carbon in the Gem
Are One—and yet the former
Were dull for Diadem—
I rose, and all was plain—
But when the Day declined
Myself and It, in Majesty
Were equally—adorned—
The Grace that I—was chose—
To Me—surpassed the Crown
That was the Witness for the Grace—
'Twas even that 'twas Mine—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink
566
A Dying Tiger—moaned for Drink—
I hunted all the Sand—
I caught the Dripping of a Rock
And bore it in my Hand—
His Mighty Balls—in death were thick—
But searching—I could see
A Vision on the Retina
Of Water—and of me—
'Twas not my blame—who sped too slow—
'Twas not his blame—who died
While I was reaching him—
But 'twas—the fact that He was dead—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Upon The Sherrifs Beere
The Sheriffe of Oxford late is grown so wise
As to repreive his Beere till next assize:
Alas! twas not so quick, twas not so heady,
The Jury sate and found it dead already.
poem by William Strode
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