Cupboard Love
A mouse lived in a dingy cupboard,
Not the cupboard of Old Mother Hubbard,
But a horrid closet, non the less,
Which caused him unrelenting stress,
For it was just so dark in there,
And also it had no fresh air,
Thus these two things, had made him twitch,
Furthermore, he imagined that a nasty witch,
Was coming to find him, any day,
To take his mousy life away.
The silence was so very eerie,
Nothing here was very cheery,
But he felt he wasn't here alone,
And at the moment was very prone,
To think he could sense another being
Creeping around, but he wasn't seeing
Anything is this pitch black.
He thought maybe he would go and pack,
And leave this place, go somewhere new,
Anywhere would be better, than this venue.
When suddenly, he felt a bump,
What had hit him on his rump?
A squeak rang out, and two bodies collided,
And fur met fur, and then subsided,
Into a heap, and clung together,
Hearts beating fast, hell for leather,
'My name is Pru', the body said,
'What's yours? ', 'Oh, Me, I'm simply Fred'.
'Well I'm looking for a place to stay',
'Do you have a room here, that's OK? '
'Oh, Yes indeed, move in with me',
'I think that would suit me to a T'.
'You are so sweet', she sighing said,
'I really like you, Simply Fred'.
And so two mice, went hand in glove,
Together. Is this called 'Cupboard Love? '
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Related quotes
The Cupboard
Mother: What's in that cupboard, Mary?
Mary: Which cupboard, mother dear?
Mother: The cupboard of red mahogany
With handles shining clear.
Mary: That cupboard, dearest mother,
With shining crystal handles?
There's nought inside but rags and jags
And yellow tallow candles.
Mother: What's in that cupboard, Mary?
Mary: Which cupboard, mother mine?
Mother: That cupboard stands in your sunny chamber,
The silver corners shine.
Mary: There's nothing there inside, mother,
But wool and thread and flax,
And bits of faded silk and velvet
And candles of white wax.
Mother: What's in that cupboard, Mary?
And this time tell me true.
Mary: White clothes for an unborn baby, mother..
But what's the truth to you?
poem by Robert Graves
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A Case Of Murder
They should not have left him there alone,
Alone that is except for the cat.
He was only nine, not old enough
To be left alone in a basement flat,
Alone, that is, except for the cat.
A dog would have been a different thing,
A big gruff dog with slashing jaws,
But a cat with round eyes mad as gold,
Plump as a cushion with tucked-in paws---
Better have left him with a fair-sized rat!
But what they did was leave him with a cat.
He hated that cat; he watched it sit,
A buzzing machine of soft black stuff,
He sat and watched and he hated it,
Snug in its fur, hot blood in a muff,
And its mad gold stare and the way it sat
Crooning dark warmth: he loathed all that.
So he took Daddy's stick and he hit the cat.
Then quick as a sudden crack in glass
It hissed, black flash, to a hiding place
In the dust and dark beneath the couch,
And he followed the grin on his new-made face,
A wide-eyed, frightened snarl of a grin,
And he took the stick and he thrust it in,
Hard and quick in the furry dark.
The black fur squealed and he felt his skin
Prickle with sparks of dry delight.
Then the cat again came into sight,
Shot for the door that wasn't quite shut,
But the boy, quick too, slammed fast the door:
The cat, half-through, was cracked like a nut
And the soft black thud was dumped on the floor.
Then the boy was suddenly terrified
And he bit his knuckles and cried and cried;
But he had to do something with the dead thing there.
His eyes squeezed beads of salty prayer
But the wound of fear gaped wide and raw;
He dared not touch the thing with his hands
So he fetched a spade and shovelled it
And dumped the load of heavy fur
In the spidery cupboard under the stair
Where it's been for years, and though it died
It's grown in that cupboard and its hot low purr
Grows slowly louder year by year:
There'll not be a corner for the boy to hide
When the cupboard swells and all sides split
And the huge black cat pads out of it.
Submitted by Andrew Mayers
poem by by unknown author
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My Cupboard
Behind the Welsh Dresser,
fine china,
dinner plates
and an old vase
is a cupboard.
It is a place I store
dark secrets,
shame,
hidden love
and
old memories.
Its walls are shelved
where books
turn towards me
so as to hide their titles.
My jewels
are housed in
cardboard boxes
so as to hide
their worth.
and old photo's,
in black and white
hold my
memories
The cupboard door
is white
and the door
has panels.
You can see the
grain of the wood
through the paint
and even though
I paint it
every year,
the grain
shows through.
I've tried to reveal,
to show
and tell
my secrets,
those unmasked
truths
but somehow
I never can.
I will have to
keep the key
and even when I die
my secrets,
they will die with me.
Here is my cupboard,
my life,
my memories.
Only go there
if you dare
for the truth
will pierce your heart,
challenge your beliefs
change you
rearrange you
and
your ideas
of me.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Song: The Road to Nowhere
To travel the road to nowhere.
The soul's dark amazon.
Eternal peace is anywhere,
the mind might set upon.
To travel the road to nowhere.
To know you're really gone.
And when you finally get there,
to find your god is Ron.
There's something in the cupboard, boy.
There's something in the dark.
There's something in the cupboard, boy,
that leaves a lasting mark.
There's something in the cupboard, boy.
Old secrets gather dust.
There's something in the cupboard, boy,
that reeks decay and must.
To travel the road to nowhere.
Reading signposts from beyond.
As self-deceit completes defeat,
a cold ghost light is shone,
on Ron. On Ron.
He learned to sham at his father's knee.
He knew the power of story.
He lived by lies and fantasies,
and dreamed of fame and glory.
So travel the road but beware,
for he drew an arcane map.
His weak and dismal followers,
could see no fatal trap.
But in his inner circle,
his worth would soon reveal.
To those that rail and cavil,
he'd crush beneath his heel.
There's something in the cupboard, boy.
The sweetest scent of musk.
There's something in the cupboard, boy,
as warm and moist as lust.
To travel the road to nowhere.
It's not the smoothest ride.
To have all faith you must defer,
to a self-referring guide.
To travel the road to nowhere.
To avoid the rush and throng.
Unravel in the space of somewhere,
and sing a specious song.
There's something in the cupboard, boy.
It's got an evil breath.
There's something in the cupboard, boy,
that toys with fear and death.
To travel the road to nowhere.
And wield your magic wand.
A shuffling prisoner of despair,
when fragile hopes abscond.
To travel the road to nowhere.
A funeral dress you don.
All truth is moulded out there,
like a Sci-Fi writer's con.
There's something in the cupboard, boy.
You hear it scratch and whine.
There's something in the cupboard, boy,
both bedevilled and divine.
To travel the road to nowhere.
To follow a different sun.
To travel the road with due care,
not to end as you begun.
To travel the road to nowhere,
to life's grim denouement.
Be sighted by the cross hairs,
released from earthly bond.
To travel the road to nowhere.
Your face is drawn and wan.
Your self-belief masks hidden grief,
while the thief of time moves on.
poem by David SmithWhite
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The Poet Laurie Ate
Laurie was my dog
And he loved to bite
He wasn't very clever
And not at all bright.
He didn't like my friend
A mad poet called Fred
One day Laurie bit him
On the back of his head.
Fred wasn't at all pleased
And bit my dog back
So Laurie retaliated
And went on the attack.
They wrestled on the floor
And Fred got bit a lot
So to get my dog off him
I hit the mutt with a flowerpot.
But Laurie was very tough
And the pot bounced off his head
Then poor old Fred stopped moving
In fact he was now Dead.
I didn't know what to do
The poet didn't deserve to die
Looking down at Laurie
I asked this crazy dog Why?
But he just didn't care
And kept chewing at Fred
This loony dog was eating him
The he swallowed dead Fred's head.
Poor Fred was now all gone
But this must have been his fate
To lose his life to a psycho dog
The poet Laurie ate.
poem by Kevin Halls
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Skeleton In The Cupboard
Sometimes we run away
from things real and imaginary.
It doesn’t matter how far that we run,
a day will come
when the past catches up to you.
We always think
our skeletons in the cupboard
are always very safe.
Then one day in the future
someone will open the wrong door
and our skeleton in the cupboard
will be revealed forever more.
24 January 2008
poem by David Harris
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Fred The Clown
Orange, blue, red, white and brown
The favorite colors of Fred the Clown
A happy and jolly clown he is
But some people he likes to tease
Everyone hates to be with Fred the Clown
But Fred never showed the people a frown
He never felt bad for what he did
The hatred inside the people had hid
The people thought of what to do with Fred the Clown
They decided to talk to the mayor of town
He laughed at what the people said
He laughed until his face gone red
The mayor didn't believe the people
For Fred the Clown gives him a tickle
They always the mayor smiled that way
Ever since Fred came each day
He already knew what Fred was doing
So he decided to call Fred for a meeting
The mayor told him what the people had said
And so left poor little Fred
The people decided to give Fred a chance
So Fred the Clown gave them a dance
The dance was so funny that they laughed all day
Fred the Clown will forever stay
poem by Geneen Meyers
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Fred the Clown
Orange, blue, red, white and brown
The favorite colors of Fred the Clown
A happy and jolly clown he is
But some people he likes to tease
Everyone hates to be with Fred the Clown
But Fred never showed the people a frown
He never felt bad for what he did
The hatred inside the people had hid
The people thought of what to do with Fred the Clown
They decided to talk to the mayor of town
He laughed at what the people said
He laughed until his face gone red
The mayor didn't believe the people
For Fred the Clown gives him a tickle
They always saw the mayor smiled that way
Ever since Fred came each day
He already knew what Fred was doing
So he decided to call Fred for a meeting
The mayor told him what the people had said
And so left poor little Fred
The people decided to give Fred a chance
So Fred the Clown gave them a dance
The dance was so funny that they laughed all day
Fred the Clown will forever stay
poem by Geneen Alyssa Meyers
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All Things Are Simply Possible, Just By God's Saving Grace!
I aimed to accomplish one thing,
But turned to be yet another;
I thought I was unfit in life,
But God brought me out of all strife.
All things are simply possible,
Just by God's saving grace!
I travelled by a road I chose;
It led me to an alien place;
I thought I had a blunder done;
God gave me timely rain and sun!
All things are simply possible,
Just by God's saving grace!
I felt awful and depressed oft,
And life had turned quite meaningless;
To God, I cried in despair, ‘Lord! '
My strength returned reading His Word!
All things are simply possible,
Just by God's saving grace!
I saw the modern world of man,
Afilled by sin and wickedness;
I felt like asking God, ‘But why? '
Hope filled my heart anew from sky!
All things are simply possible,
Just by God's saving grace!
I found all earthly life futile,
And wished from heart to earlier die!
But God renewed my spirits high,
And made my earthly stay worthwhile!
All things are simply possible,
But by God's saving grace!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 17=11-2012
poem by John Celes
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All Of A Sudden
(andy partridge)
What can i say?
Why do we starve a thing thats near extinction?
From day to day,
These weeds of fear,
Are choking our conviction,
Life's like a jig-saw,
You get the straight bits,
But there's something missing in the middle.
All of a sudden,
We find the cupboard's bare.
All of a sudden,
We find heaven's not there.
All of a sudden,
We find the sun's gone cold.
All of a sudden
We find we're more than old.
All of a sudden,
We find that we've lost love,
So please don't push or shove because,
It's too late,
It's too late,
In all your hurry you've accidentally locked the gate
What can we do?
Trying to stem the flow of sand is useless.
It's up to you start holding hands,
And watch the balance redress,
Life's like a firework,
You're only lit once,
And you must stand and radiate correctly.
All of a sudden,
We find the cupboard's bare.
All of a sudden,
We find heaven's not there.
All of a sudden,
We find the sun's gone cold.
All of a sudden
We find we're more than old.
All of a sudden,
We find that we've lost love,
So please don't push or shove because,
It's too late,
It's too late,
In all your hurry you've accidentally locked the gate
Love's not a product you can hoard or pack a suitcase with,
It's more a way you have to give.
All of a sudden,
We find the cupboard's bare.
All of a sudden,
We find heaven's not there.
All of a sudden,
We find the sun's gone cold.
All of a sudden
We find we're more than old.
All of a sudden,
We find that we've lost love,
So please don't push or shove because,
It's too late,
It's too late,
In all your hurry you've accidentally locked the gate your hurry you've accidentally locked the gate.
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Man In A Shed
Well there was a man who lived in a shed
Spent most of his days out of his head
For his shed was rotten let in the rain
Said it was enough to drive any man insane
When it rained
He felt so bad
When it snowed he felt just simply sad.
Well there was a girl who lived nearby
Whenever he saw her he could only simply sigh
But she lived in a house so very big and grand
For him it seemed like some very distant land
So when he called her
His shed to mend,
She said Im sorry youll just have to find a friend.
Well this story is not so very new
But the man is me, yes and the girl is you
So leave your house come into my shed
Please stop my world from raining through my head
Please dont think
Im not your sort
Youll find that sheds are nicer than you thought.
song performed by by Nick Drake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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All Of A Sudden (It's Too Late)
W W W hat can I say? why do we starve a thing that near
W w W w W extinction? from day to day these weeds of fear
W W W are choking our conviction life's like a jig-saw
WWW WWW you get the straight bits but there's something missing
in the middle. all of a sudden we find the cupboard's bare
all of a sudden we find heaven's not there all of a sudden
we find the sun's gone cold all of a sudden we find we're
more than old all of a sudden we find that we've lost love
so please don't push or shove because it's too late it's too late
in all your hurry you've accidentally locked the gate
what can we do? trying to stem the flow of sand is useless.
it's up to you start holding hands and watch the balance redress
life's like a firework you're only lit once and you must stand
and radiate correctly. all of a sudden we find the-
cupboard's bare all of a sudden we find heaven's not there
all of a sudden we find the sun's gone cold all of a sudden
we find we're more than old all of a sudden we find that
we've lost love so please don't push or shove because it's
too late it's too late in all your hurry you've accidentally
locked the gate. love's not a product you can hoard or
pack a suitcase with it's more a way you have to give.
all of a sudden we find the cupboard's bare all of a sudden
we find heaven's not there all of a sudden we find the sun's
gone cold all of a sudden we find we're more than old
all of a sudden we find that we've lost love so please don't
push or shove because it's too late it's too late in all
your hurry you've accidentally locked the gate.
andy - lead and backing vocals, acoustic guitar colin - fretless
bass, backing vocals dave - electric 12-string guitar terry -
drums and percussion composed by a. partridge
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Strange Silence
It's strange how,
She opens every cupboard and drawer,
And hangs from my clothes,
She throws things loudly,
And hounds us all day,
With her boisterous charm.
And it's strange how,
He never stops talking,
We constantly hear,
About his latest invention,
His important ideas,
His grand plans and schemes,
Designed to improve the world.
But the strangest things of all,
Is the silence that ensues,
The very second I mention,
Bedtime,
Homework,
Come and clean up,
There is suddenly,
An eerie silence,
And neither of them,
Can be found,
For miles,
And miles.
poem by Aisha Sherazi
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A grief ago
'There is no grief
which time does not lessen
or soften' -
so said Cicero, a man so often right;
a Stoic, those for whom
all life presents a lesson
to be learned from,
and then, to move on from..
But I wonder about all this:
is grief ever lessened or softened?
Is it not, perhaps, overlaid
in our so various ways?
For some, grief framed and falsified
to ease that grief;
For some, like hyacinths and crocus bulbs,
left in a dark cupboard in the autumn of our grief
to respond to time, and
become at last
themselves?
gently, gently, the covers pulled
over the loving bed,
the true, the pure, the lovely painful grief,
the memory deep cherished,
gently, gently, folded
into the cupboards of the heart
there to be known, without the door disturbed
until the time - 'a grief ago' as Dylan wrote -
the cupboard opened only for love's sake
without grief...:
those carefully folded memories
brought out and loved
and lived a while...
not grief, not grief...but
the pure memory of grief
and behold,
life.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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0165 Ironing
On the top unlooked-at shelf
of the cupboard rarely opened
there it was.
A tidy, self-effacing, neat and ordered pile
of mother's ironing
- after how many years? -
of those seldom used, worn almost to holes, frayed,
white things, for the house and family:
their worn yet serviceable hems and stitching
ironed with a jeweller's perfection...
and suddenly the living and the dead
were intimate and closer than any sought or unsought sentiment,
and I was a child again
silently watching,
taking in without commentary
as children do,
yet in every fine detail,
a mother's love;
a love simply watched, observed;
not, for a change, demanded
or expected
as a matter of course:
the iron nosing with supreme care
across the smell of hot and just-wet cotton
with a little, smooth, smooth swish,
over the warm bed of cloth and blanket,
taken from their special drawer;
the hand and elbow moving with a dancer's grace.
and I knew then,
in the nose, the nub, of that just-rightly-heavy iron,
the whole love of a woman and her life -
repetition and care, duty, love unspoken -
all the emotions raised by family
who'd never dream of thanking Mum
for the ironing...
'Where's my special shirt? ....M-u-mm....? '
No wonder that so many women hate
this incessant, unthanked act
of holy communion.
And I reflected:
every child should have the chance to watch
without commenting - as children do -
but seeing what they will remember all their life,
in every fine detail,
some to imitate it and remember;
some to find it after years,
on the shelf unsought
within the cupboard seldom opened,
(in the rose-garden, beyond time,
and time past is time present; and the time is always now...)
this act, this ritual
of purest love.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Don't Go Down
Her own body outlined in chalk
She had seen
Woke up in shock
She had a dream
Stay with me, baby stay
Don't go down
Don't go down
Stay with me, baby stay
Don't go down
Don't go down
But I knew the sense of worthlessness you have to rise above
I fought him off with my love
Called himself commander-in-chief
And her dad
Her mother called me a thief
Stay with me, baby stay
Don't go down
Don't go down
We can spend eternity
And I said I'll find a better place
Come on and move in with me
And I got her to
And as cracked as the Liberty Bell
She was hard
Snowball in hell
I met a girl
I split the scene
The globe had been spun
And her ghost leaned down to kiss me
With a message from the sun
Don't go down
Don't go down
Stay with me, baby stay
Don't go down
Stay with me, baby stay
Don't go down
Stay with me, baby stay
song performed by by Elliott Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When you wake tomorrow
I will give you a poem when you wake tomorrow.
It will be a peaceful poem.
It won’t make you sad.
It won’t make you miserable.
It will simply be a poem to give you
When you wake tomorrow.
It was not written by myself alone.
I cannot lay claim to it.
I found it in your body.
In your smile I found it.
Will you recognise it?
You will find it under your pillow.
When you open the cupboard it will be there.
You will blink in astonishment,
Shout out, ‘How it trembles!
Its nakedness is startling! How fresh it tastes!’
We will have it for breakfast;
On a table lit by loving,
At a place reserved for wonder.
We will give the world a kissing open
When we wake tomorrow.
We will offer it to the sad landlord out on the balcony.
To the dreamers at the window.
To the hand waving for no particular reason
We will offer it.
An amazing and most remarkable thing,
We will offer it to the whole human race
Which walks in us
When we wake tomorrow.
poem by Brian Patten
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I could feel the hackles on the back of my neck stiffening and I knew he felt the same way. Dog was meeting dog. Nobody knew it but the dogs and they weren't telling. He was bigger than I thought. The suggestion of power I had seen in his photographs was for real. When he moved it was with the ponderous grace of some jungle animal, dangerously deceptive, because he could move a lot faster if he had to. When we were ten feet away he pretended to see us for the first time and a wave of charm washed the cautious expression from his face and he stepped out to greet Dulcie with outstretched hand. But it wasn't her he was seeing. It was me he was watching. I was one of his own kind. I couldn't be faked out and wasn't leashed by the proprieties of society. I could lash out and kill as fast as he could and of all the people in the room, I was the potential threat. I knew what he felt because I felt the same way myself.
quote by Mickey Spillane
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Each day is different
Every day is different
The change is apparent
Daily good messages are sent
New fragrance is felt like scent
Nothing is lost till it is occurred
Vision is till intact as it is not blurred
What we see is sometimes not correct
What we judge is sometimes not bad act
Yet some of the things take place in life
Couples refuse to live as husband and wife
It may not be glorious day but simply a doom’s day
Yet there may remain some chance to find a way
My dream could not stay with me till morning
It proved me a darkest hour in the evening
The night reminded me of some impending danger
I was to become lonely and a mere stranger
I shall be counting stars in night
Everything has gone wrong and nothing right
Well I am desperate but not broken
Some of things may do well if not spoken
I need to move from nervous breakdown
It should not take me to the step down
That may be saddest day if happened
I thought over it as situation hardened
I had strong sense of feeling
I could go to some more steps as willing
I may accommodate my beloved and companion
Even though it has resulted in disunion
I made the situation favorable with window little open
It was systematic calculation to bring here near even
Though she preferred to desert me for some calculation
I was not at all for severance of a relation
I made fatherly move
I tried my level best to remove
All the ill feelings of her mind
And gave a chance for her to find
Her home to be made a holy place
To come back and see her own face
What can be devastating effect in her absence?
To think of reality caused in her absence
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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On The Floor
[verse]
The bed gives
Cupboard might break underneath you
Hard as I try
The table might shake
Could break a leg when I do what I do
I'm all about mine
[chorus]
Consider the love we made
When pleasure can be found
In and all around
The right place is on the floor
Why don't we get down on the floor
I won't leave you wanting for more
If we get down on the floor
On the floor
[verse]
Comfortable spot
When I get you hot
A place to lay your head
Was it Socrates who said
Good to the last drop
song performed by by Brian McKnight from I Remember You
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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