The Bench-Legged Fyce
Speakin' of dorgs, my bench-legged fyce
Hed most o' the virtues, an' nary a vice.
Some folks called him Sooner, a name that arose
From his predisposition to chronic repose;
But, rouse his ambition, he couldn't be beat -
Yer bet yer he got thar on all his four feet!
Mos' dorgs hez some forte - like huntin' an' such,
But the sports o' the field didn't bother him much;
Wuz just a plain dorg, an' contented to be
On peaceable terms with the neighbors an' me;
Used to fiddle an' squirm, and grunt "Oh, how nice!"
When I tickled the back of that bench-legged fyce!
He wuz long in the bar'l, like a fyce oughter be;
His color wuz yaller as ever you see;
His tail, curlin' upward, wuz long, loose, an' slim -
When he didn't wag it, why, the tail it wagged him!
His legs wuz so crooked, my bench-legged pup
Wuz as tall settin' down as he wuz standin' up!
He'd lie by the stove of a night an' regret
The various vittles an' things he had et;
When a stranger, most likely a tramp, come along,
He'd lift up his voice in significant song -
You wondered, by gum! how there ever wuz space
In that bosom o' his'n to hold so much bass!
Of daytimes he'd sneak to the road an' lie down,
An' tackle the country dorgs comin' to town;
By common consent he wuz boss in St. Joe,
For what he took hold of he never let go!
An' a dude that come courtin' our girl left a slice
Of his white flannel suit with our bench-legged fyce!
He wuz good to us kids - when we pulled at his fur
Or twisted his tail he would never demur;
He seemed to enjoy all our play an' our chaff,
For his tongue 'u'd hang out an' he'd laff an' he'd laff;
An' once, when the Hobart boy fell through the ice,
He wuz drug clean ashore by that bench-legged fyce!
We all hev our choice, an' you, like the rest,
Allow that the dorg which you've got is the best;
I wouldn't give much for the boy 'at grows up
With no friendship subsistin' 'tween him an' a pup!
When a fellow gits old - I tell you it's nice
To think of his youth and his bench-legged fyce!
To think of the springtime 'way back in St. Joe -
Of the peach-trees abloom an' the daisies ablow;
To think of the play in the medder an' grove,
When little legs wrassled an' little han's strove;
To think of the loyalty, valor, an' truth
Of the friendships that hallow the season of youth!
poem by Eugene Field
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Related quotes
Horse Play
Four gallant horses
galloped forth.
One was white, one was black,
one was red, one was brown.
One had four legs,
one had three,
one had two,
and the fourth had one leg.
The one-legged horse
said to the others :
the time for dance has come,
sweet friends,
let's dance on a single hoof !
All of them liked the idea,
and the dance began.
The four-legged horse fainted outright,
the three-legged horse slipped and fell,
the two-legged horse limped to a fall :
only the one-legged one
danced on and on.
poem by Ayyappa Paniker
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A Place To Sit
Smoochers and snoggers, and resting joggers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Ramblers and walkers, and street hawkers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Mini’s and Roller’s, and lady strollers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Old folk and young folk, and dogs with no folk
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Market traders and cavers, and money savers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Children that play who meet everyday
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Students and teachers, and lay preachers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Loose women and boys the ‘for sale’ toys
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Addicts and dealers, and police squealers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Dogs out for a pee who can’t find a tree
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Drunks in the night who like to fight
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Spray painters and doodlers, and bench abusers
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Vandals and hooligans, and booted ruffians
all seem to stop at this concrete bench.
Demolishers and breakers, and obliterators
never stopped until they destroyed this concrete bench.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Daley's Dorg 'Wattle
"You can talk about yer sheep dorgs," said the man from Allan's Creek,
"But I know a dorg that simply knocked 'em bandy! -
Do whatever you would show him, and you'd hardly need to speak;
Owned by Daley, drover cove in Jackandandy.
"We was talkin' in the parlour, me and Daley, quiet like,
When a blow-fly starts a-buzzin' round the ceilin',
Up gets Daley, and he says to me, 'You wait a minute, Mike,
And I'll show you what a dorg he is at heelin'.'
"And an empty pickle-bottle was a-standin' on the shelf,
Daley takes it down and puts it on the table,
And he bets me drinks that blinded dorg would do it by himself -
And I didn't think as how as he was able!
"Well, he shows the dorg the bottle, and he points up to the fly,
And he shuts the door, and says to him - 'Now Wattle!'
And in less than fifteen seconds, spare me days, it ain't a lie,
That there dorg had got that insect in the bottle."
poem by William Thomas Goodge
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Lonely
There was an old man
sat on a park bench,
his trousers were baggy,
his hair was unkempt.
It flowed long and white
right down to his shoes
and children would pass by
looking bemused.
A glint in his eye
and a glow on his cheek
he sat all day long
not a word did he speak,
but should you have asked him
why he was there
he'd had given you reasons, I'm sure
with a stare.
He sat on the park bench
eating some berries,
he didn't look sad
and he didn't look merry,
then just when the church clock
struck quarter to four
the old man got up
and he fell to the floor
Nobody noticed him tumble
nobody even passed by
and as sunshine hid behind a cloud
that lonely old man, he did die.
But sometimes as I pass that bench
I have a strange feeling inside
that someone is eating a berry or two
and watching the people go by
poem by Ruth Walters
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The Old Man
The old man sat on a park bench
just watching the people pass by.
He did it day after day
alone in everyone's eyes.
He would smile occasionally
but no one ever knew why.
Everyone who saw him
wondered why he sat so still
and just looked out
at everyone who passed him there.
The old man sat in repose
from dawn until dusk fell.
He sat there in the summer sun
and as winter's bleakness fell.
He looked for some face
he might remember from his past
so they could reminisce for a while.
Sadly, the years slipped away.
Everyone spoke about him,
but no one ventured to talk.
Then one day the old man
wasn't on the park bench
and he was nowhere to be seen.
Now a different question was asked.
Day after day, the bench was empty.
Where had the old man gone?
Had he simply passed away?
The questions remained unanswered
because no one ever stopped
to enquire of his name.
I would like to think
that in the dying hours
on the park bench one day
that he had found
what he was waiting for
and then happily he faded away.
12 July 2012
poem by David Harris
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Invisible
Did you spot the girl
Who sat all alone,
On a bench in a playground
Outcast and unknown? ......
The mates meet up early
To recall and recite
From the programmes they watched
On the previous night
The girl on the bench
Her eyes dart pensively
She doesn't join in
As she has no tv
The mates meet for break
Strong opinions they share
On what clothes they like
Trends in labels to wear
The girl on the bench
Turns away in her shame
She doesn't join in
Shabby clothes on her frame
The mates meet for lunch
The school rings with loud prattle
The alpha females
Choose a cage they can rattle
The girl on the bench
muted through her own choice
She doesn't join in
scared of her own small voice
The mates have a moan
At their parents restrictions
Loving guardian's angst
They interpret as friction.
The girl on the bench
Knows the deal she's been dealt
She doesn't join in
Little love has she felt
The mates gather up
Final bell has been rung
The school empties out
All except one...........
The girl on the bench
Sadly stands and walks home
How she longs to fit in
And not feel so alone.
poem by Stevie Taite
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Long Legged Girl
(words & music by mcfarland - scott)
All right
I've been thumbin' rides travellin' light
Walked the streets till past midnight
Trampin' roads, trails and lanes
Scaling cliffs fields and plains
Searchin' till the early dawn
For that long legged girl with the short dress on
Riding trucks, bikes and skis
Sailing lakes and brooks and seas
Driving wagons, cars and jeeps
Walking stilts in ten foot leaps
Searchin' till the early dawn
For that long legged girl with the short dress on
And everywhere i go she's been and gone
She's fine, it's just too bad she's the travellin' kind
So fine, i just can't rest till i make her mine
I've been from maine to tennessee, mexico from wahkiki
Rain or shine, sleet or snow
Searchin' high, searchin' low
Everything depends upon
That long legged girl with the short dress on
She's fine, it's just too bad she's the travellin' kind
So fine, i just can't rest till i make her mine
I've been from maine to tennessee, mexico from wahkiki
Rain or shine, sleet or snow
Searchin' high, searchin' low
Everything depends upon
That long legged girl with the short dress on
The long legged girl with the short dress on
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Just A Friendly Small Dog
Just a small brown and white jack russell with a stub for a tail
Yet when it comes to trust and loyalty his master he never fail
One who will never know of canine renown
Yet to his mentor he is the best dog in the town
With a ball or a stick he loves for to play
Just a friendly terrier friendly in every way
Yet his master with his life he'd defend
'Tis true what is said of a four legged friend
Respect for his master in love and devotion he does pay
At the gate to greet him home from work every day
With wagging stumpy tail and an excited bark
As if to say master take me to fetch ball in the park
Just a friendly small dog with a stump of a tail
But when it comes to devotion and loyalty he never does fail.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Bench
Sitting on a bench watching people go by.
Smiles and frowns, Stares and glares
Wondering what they are thinking?
Is it me greeting them one by one
Or me sitting on a bench.
The seat of comfort and distractions
a place to think and read
Feed the birds, Friendly chats
Surprising hellos, A lot of old fellows
wanting the seat, for they are beat!
Everyone's favorite seat
The bench of life
poem by Michael Peterson
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A Strange Day
A storm broke at dawn
Trees on the power lines
Buildings were falling on the track
I was accused of raising Cuba
I never talk of Cuba
Let the Cubans take it back
A small two-legged man
Walked a big three-legged dog
He was whistling a canine master's blues
I looked down at his feet
I noticed I was wearing
Two very different kinds of shoes.
That strange kind of day -
Let it happen, let it flow
It's bound to leave you stranded anyway.
poem by Frank Bana
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My Four-Legged Soul
my four-legged soul,
running wild through the night,
gnashing, gnawing, tearing,
and howling...
baying at the moon.
my four legged soul
can taste the feel,
can feel the raw....
inside the blood,
inside the flesh.
soul devours darkness,
darkness devours light.....
running wild, and free,
drenched in the moment!
my four-legged soul....
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Happening 1961
Greenfield said
where you from?
London you replied
I don’t like Londoners
he said as a bee
buzzed in the greenhouse
where the rural science teacher
Gable had sent you.
Greenfield pushed you
against the potting bench
and you pushed him
against begonia plants
which fell to the floor
and he punched
your arm
and you punched
his jaw
and he grabbed you
around the waist
and you both
fell to the floor.
You smelt his sweat
and saw blood
drip from his lips.
Get up you gits
another boy said
Old Gable’s coming
and so you pulled
Greenfield up
by the hand
and he brushed off
your school jacket
and you pushed
your fingers
through your hair
and he wiped blood
from his lips
and in came Gable
and said
what’s happening here?
And why are the begonias
on the floor?
My fault you said
I knocked them
with my elbow
and Greenfield
was going to
pick them up
when he banged his jaw
on the bench by accident.
Gable glared
at you both
and said
well bloody well
pick them up
and clean up the mess
and left.
Greenfield held
his handkerchief
to his lip.
You picked up
the begonias
one by one
and put them
on the bench.
Greenfield put them
tidy and neat
and kicked
the spilt earth
under the bench
with his feet.
Gable’s a toss
Greenfield said
and put out
his hand for
you to shake.
You shook his hand
and smiled
and he laughed
and said
I guess Londoners
aren’t all bad
and the bee buzzed
out the open window
and you watched it go
and was glad.
poem by Terry Collett
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Gone young
I stopped for some minutes
Looked away from my scribbles, littered
Pieces of papers on the table and
A glass of water that fattens the thumb
Only time knows how long;
As I glazed through the window
At the orange sun
Hanging on the west side
Little Jamie was kicking football around
With the others
He was only five,
Bare, tiny mosquito legs
On tiny rocks, stones and silt
Dogs frolic around the corner
With their undefined business
After a moment in time
I turned back
At the future soccer mockery
Jamie was gone
Like the fading light in April
That was the last I saw him
My tiny, mosquito legged star player
News came few days later
Stray bullet went through him
As hot knife through butter;
My tiny mosquito legged player
With reverie and ambition
Fizzled like smoke in the wind
I remember you Jamie;
My mosquito legged star
Faded dreams
On rocks, stones and silt
On my scribbles and poetic rubbish
Fit for publication
Adieu!
poem by Chika Nwokeoma
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I respect people who feel things passionately. I do. But when someone is a judge, that is not what they should bring to the bench. It is not really passion, except in rare instances, that serves the bench well. It is, rather, an ability to understand the law and follow it.
quote by Charles Schumer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Three-Legged Man
Well now friends you'll never guess it so I really must confess it
I just met the sweetest woman of my long dismal life.
But a friend of mine said, 'Buddy, just in case your mind is muddy,
Don't you know that girl you're fooling with is Peg-Leg Johnson's wife.
And that man is big and rough and mean and grim,
And he'll brain you with his artificial limb.
But next morning bright and early I stole old Peg-Leg's girlie,
And I also took his wooden leg just to play it safe.
But there weren't no time for laughter 'cause he started hopping after,
And I keep on running faster but he won't give up the chase.
And I'm running through the mountain with his bride,
And I got his wooden leg here by my side.
I'm a three-legged man with a two-legged woman
Being chased cross country by a one-legged fool.
Though he's huffing and he's puffing and he shows no sign of stopping,
I tell you, boys, this life is hard and cruel.
'Cross the deserts and the valleys and the dark Chicago alleys
'Cross the mighty Mississippi to the hills of Caroline.
Through the mountains of Montana and the swamps of Louisiana
Everytime that I look back he's JUST one foot behind.
And I know he must be cold and wet and sick,
But in spite of all his woes he can kick.
Now he's ragged and he's filthy, and I'm feeling mighty guilty
'Specially in the evenings when I hear him plead and beg.
He says 'In spite of all your stealing friend, I bear you no hard feelings.
You can keep that darned old woman but please give me back my leg.'
'Cause although the one you meant to take was wooden
In the dark by mistake you took my good'un.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Memories On A Park Bench
He sat on a park bench
just to pass the time away
when he saw her there
from the corner of his eye.
She was older now,
but her beauty had not faded.
She turned in his direction
and he smiled at her.
At first, she looked at him strangely
until there was recognition.
She smiled back
and then joined him.
They sat there on the park bench
the sun smiling down on them
as the daffodils swayed in the breeze.
For both of them came a flood
of memories of when they were young
before the world spirited them away.
Both had walked down many roads,
had some hard knocks along the way.
Both recalled them now
the way old friends meeting do.
As they sat there
recalling memories from happier days.
All too soon they would be parting
and as they would go,
they would take with them
a little of each other
in the form of memories
that they acquired on a park bench.
5 April 2009
poem by David Harris
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Jim
He was jes a plain ever'-day, all-round kind of a jour.,
Consumpted-Iookin'-- but la!
The jokeiest, wittiest, story-tellin', song-singin', laughin'est, jolliest
Feller you ever saw!
Worked at jes coarse work, but you kin bet he was fine enough in his talk,
And his feelin's too!
Lordy! Ef he was on'y back on his bench ag'in to-day, a- carryin' on
Like he ust to do!
Any shopmate'll tell you there never was, on top o' dirt,
A better feller'n Jim!
You want a favor, and couldn't git it anywheres else--
You could git it o' him!
Most free-heartedest man thataway in the world, I guess!
Give up ever' nickel he's worth--
And ef you'd a-wanted it, and named it to him, and it was his,
He'd a-give you the earth!
Allus a reachin' out, Jim was, and a-he'ppin' some
Pore feller onto his feet--
He'd a-never a-keered how hungry he was hisse'f,
So's the feller got somepin' to eat!
Didn't make no differ'nce at all to him how he was dressed,
He ust to say to me--,
'You togg out a tramp purty comfortable in winter-time, a huntin' a job,
And he'll git along!' says he.
Jim didn't have, ner never could git ahead, so overly much
O' this world's goods at a time--.
'Fore now I've saw him, more'n onc't, lend a dollar, and haf to, more'n
likely,
Turn round and borry a dime!
Mebby laugh and joke about it hisse'f fer awhile-- then jerk his coat,
And kindo' square his chin,
Tie on his apern, and squat hisse'f on his old shoe-bench,
And go to peggin' ag'in!
Patientest feller too, I reckon, 'at ever jes natchurly
Coughed hisse'f to death!
Long enough after his voice was lost he'd laugh in a whisper and say
He could git ever'thing but his breath--
'You fellers,' he'd sorto' twinkle his eyes and say,
'Is a-pilin' onto me
A mighty big debt fer that-air little weak-chested ghost o' mine to pack
Through all Eternity!'
Now there was a man 'at jes 'peared-like, to me,
'At ortn't a-never a-died!
'But death hain't a-showin' no favors,' the old boss said--
'On'y to Jim!' and cried:
And Wigger, who puts up the best sewed-work in the shop--
Er the whole blame neighborhood--,
He says, 'When God made Jim, I bet you He didn't do anything else that day
But jes set around and feel good!'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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And You Don’t Remember Me
I sat on the park bench
pen and notebook in hand.
I watched all the people
as they passed on by.
I wondered how in life
each one of them had fared
with their happiness
and their sorrows.
I looked for inspiration
for something to write.
She looked at me and smiled,
I smiled back
thinking that was that.
“You don’t remember me? ”
She said and sat down.
I looked at her again
as memories swirled
around in my mind.
She was right
I didn’t remember her
Her hair was mousey colour
with flecks of grey
starting to appear here and there.
There were thick lines
across her forehead,
crow feet lines
near the corners of her eyes.
The corners of her mouth
drooped just slightly.
Her blues eyes were striking
and I knew I had seen them before,
but they were with a younger face
a long time ago.
A face that lit up
whenever she spoke.
“You still don’t remember me? ”
She asked once again.
I shook my head,
but unfortunately, I did.
I could remember
all the beauty
she had had in her youth,
before time had ravaged her
and taken away her beauty
and her youth.
She looked so sad.
I wanted to reach out
like I always wanted to,
but something deep inside,
a little voice you could call it,
kept telling me no.
My urge to hold her
was trying to win out,
but I couldn’t do it.
She was no longer
a part of my life.
All she was now
was a memory I clung to,
a memory of my youth
so long, long ago.
With notebook and pen,
I smiled and bit her farewell.
I whispered her name
as I said a last goodbye.
I didn’t look back
or I would have looked back with regret.
She was a past,
something none of us can ever relive.
poem by David Harris
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Human's Soul Never Freeze
In snow on a bench a poor man sat,
He was frozen, so cold it was,
He didn't have any shelter,
But shared the bench with a dog.
His mustache and eyebrows were coated with snow,
His legs were numb, looking the color blue,
Although it was so cold, he didn't wear his warm coat,
Feeling for the dog he used his warm coat to cover the dog.
That poor man gave his coat,
To save and protect the dog's life,
Not caring for his own health, in the freezing cold,
He offered warmth and care to a dog.
People found them and took them to the shelter,
Gave them food and warmth to treat,
One sure thing from this is certain,
That a human's soul never freeze.
.................................. .......................
(This poem is inspired from a true story i saw on TV news)
poem by Cristina Teodor
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Going To The Goddess
Going to the bench of wonder brings joy,
A familiar goddess springs up for the country.
We see employment of the years all in a flash,
Oil has remarked on the gold out there in civilisation.
The bench has been wondrous, far too small
A little piece of furniture, as if golden objects.
The going of a business man carries on
Far into the setting of the sun, where we arise
For the innocence is present in our hearts.
poem by Naveed Akram
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