The Preference Declared
Boy, I detest the Persian pomp;
I hate those linden-bark devices;
And as for roses, holy Moses!
They can't be got at living prices!
Myrtle is good enough for us,--
For you, as bearer of my flagon;
For me, supine beneath this vine,
Doing my best to get a jag on!
poem by Eugene Field
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Related quotes
Horace, Book I. Ode XXXVIII.
Boy, I hate their empty shows,
Persian garlands I detest,
Bring not me the late-blown rose,
Lingering after all the rest.
Plainer myrtle pleases me,
Thus outstretch'd beneath my vine;
Myrtle more becoming thee,
Waiting with thy master's wine.
poem by William Cowper
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Horace, Book I. Ode XXXVIII. (2)
Boy! I detest all Persian fopperies,
Fillet-bound garlands are to me disgusting;
Task not thyself with any search, I charge thee,
Where latest roses linger.
Bring me alone (for thou wilt find that readily)
Plain myrtle. Myrtle neither will disparage
Thee occupied to serve me, or me drinking
Beneath my vine's cool shelter.
poem by William Cowper
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Truth, Goodness And Integrity
THE BEARER OF TRUTH COURTS TROUBLE IN THE WORLD OF LIARS,
THE BEARER OF LIES COURTS TROUBLE IN THE WORLD OF THE TRUTHFULL,
WHY DOST MY WORLD DETEST TRUTH?
WHY DOST MY LAND DETEST GOODNESS?
YES, EVEN MINE HOUSE DETESTS INTEGRITY,
THUS I AM BECOME UNWELCOME IN MINE WORLD,
LO AND BEHOLD, I AM NOW BECOME AN ABOMINATION IN MY LAND,
YES, I AM NOW BECOME DETESTED IN MY OWN HOUSE,
YES, I AM BECOME THAT WHICH THEY DETEST,
I AM BECOME TRUTHFULL,
I AM BECOME GOOD,
YES, I NOW GLOW WITH INTEGRITY,
YES INDEED, I AM TRUELY BECOME THAT WHICH THEY DETEST,
GOODNESS, TRUTHFULL, AND FILLED OF INTEGRITY!
poem by Overlord Don Manuel Ihcakeyno
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I Hate Myself
I hate myself for being so rude
I hate myself for watching them nude
I hate myself for crying alone in the dark
I hate myself that i did not made any one to notice my bark
I hate myself for my frantic work
I hate myself for being called defected, outdated, and jerk
I hate myself for distracting the attention
I hate myself for always getting detention
I hate myself for not smiling in my life ever
I hate myself for being so dumb and useless forever.
I hate myself for the manner-less things that I've done
I hate myself because I'm loved by none
I hate myself for losing myself in reading mysteries
I hate myself for not having my name in the book of histories
I hate myself for always over thinking on everything
I hate myself for refraining my thinking
I hate myself for living life stridently
I hate myself for living only in my nightmares particularly
I hate myself for the nobbling
I hate myself for my killing
I hate myself for all the pain that I've caused you mom
I hate myself as your 'son' was the poi-son of the home
I hate myself for everything
I hate myself as I let the stressful wail to sing.
poem by Chitresh Jhawar
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Yule Fever (With apologies to the King's Minstrel)
I must go down to the shops again, to the crowded shops go I
And all I have is a long list of the gifts that I must buy,
And a few bob in the old kick and a mere spot of credit;
For he'll trust me, so the boss said, but I hate the way he said it.
I must go down to the shops again, for the call of Christmastide
Is a stern call and a hard call that may not be denied.
And all I ask is a fair choice at reasonable prices
And a hard heart for bland blokes with blandishing devices.
I must go down to the shops again. There's gifts for Mum and Dad
And Jim's gift and Joe's gift and toy for Peter's lad.
Then all I want are gloves for Clare? And June? I'll send her roses,
And - who's next? The list says - I've lost it! Holy Moses!
But I must go down to the shops again, to the shops and the milling crowd
On a hot day and a fierce day when the skies know ne'er a cloud;
And all I ask is a fair spin 'mid the masses overheating
And the loud bawl of the bored babe, and the toy drums beating.
I must go down to the shops again, for I would be counted still
With the kind ./.. of the free hand in this season of goodwill;
And all I ask is a stout heart to carry on undaunted
While we scour town for the salt-pot that we know Aunt Annie wanted.
I must go down to the shops again, for they'll ply me, sure as fate
With the pink tie and the puce sock, and I must reciprocate.
But all I ask is a long seat when the weary trek is finished
And enough left for the Yule feast ere the bank-roll be dimished.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Holy Rosary (Roses to Mother Mary)
Roses that can never fade;
Roses white and red in shade;
Roses that are heaven-made;
Roses in Mary’s crown laid!
Roses from the hearts that pray;
Roses blossoming night, day;
Roses living all the way;
Roses fit for any Fay!
Roses that will always stay;
Roses brighter than sun’s ray;
Roses everlasting, Aye!
Roses that she can’t say, ’nay’!
The spiritual best weapon,
That brings favors from her son,
That serves to solve problems mundane,
And makes souls fit for life divine!
‘PRAYERS THAT YOU CAN SAY ALL LIFE
TO KEEP AWAY FROM EVERY STRIFE! ’
dedicated to the 'Holy Family Church Grotto' Perundurai
Copyright by Dr John Celes 2-12-10
poem by John Celes
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Of Moses And His Wife
This Moses was a fair and comely man,
His wife a swarthy Ethiopian;
Nor did his milk-white bosom change her sin.
She came out thence as black as she went in.
Now Moses was a type of Moses' law,
His wife likewise of one that never saw
Another way unto eternal life;
There's mystery, then, in Moses and his wife.
The law is very holy, just, and good,
And to it is espoused all flesh and blood;
But this its goodness it cannot bestow
On any that are wedded thereunto.
Therefore as Moses' wife came swarthy in,
And went out from him without change of skin,
So he that doth the law for life adore,
Shall yet by it be left a black-a-more.
poem by John Bunyan
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My dogs
bark at the neighbors,
bark at the UPS man,
bark at cars
and kids on bicycles.
they bark at the television,
the radio
and the stereo.
they bark at
the vacuum cleaner,
the dust mop
and the broom.
they bark at
anyone
who enters the house
uninvited.
and
when they’re not barking,
they’re sitting there
waiting
for something
to bark at.
good dogs.
poem by John Yamrus
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Hate Who Hate
I hate those who hate,
I hate myself for not knowing what to hate,
I hate life,
I hate love,
I hate not knowing of my upcoming strife
I hate not know of my oncoming love,
I hate those who hate,
I hate myself
I'd stop to hate for gold of my weight,
I hate all those with wealth,
I hate those who harm,
I hate those who hurt,
I hate those who use their charm,
To put others in the dirt,
I hate living as I ache,
I hate living in earth wake,
I hate people who hate,
I being the one who must be to forsake
Those who hate, must hate me
Because of thou hate I hate thee,
The point i must make,
Leaving myself without this weight
Is that I love to hate,
And all love hate when you hate what they hate.
poem by chris Hamilton
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Now Moses
Now Moses, what makes you so strange and forgetful?
How is it you heed what I tell you no more?
Just look at your picture -- who would not be fretful?
Your great muddy boots on my clean kitchen floor.
And there you are smoking -- Oh dear, 'tis provoking!
To tease and torment me it is your desire;
I'll throw your old-- no sir! indeed I'm not joking --
I'll throw your old meerschaum right into the fire!
Now Moses, you'll catch it! Now Moses, don't touch it!
Now Moses, don't you hear what I say? (don't you hear it?)
'Tis thus without stopping, the music keeps dropping,
For night after night, and for day after day.
Now Moses, do tell me now what are you doing
Off there in the pantry so still and so sly?
I know very well there is some mischief brewing --
Ha! that's what you're after, a whole cherry pie,
Stop! stop! you are taking the last of my baking,
The very last pie that was left on the shelf;
If ever one did, you deserve a good shaking,
And I've a great notion to try it myself.
Now Moses, come let us be pleasant and clever!
We must not in future lead such a sad life;
Come, you be my dear noble husband forever,
And I'll be forever your sweet loving wife.
Of course, some supposes that life is all roses,
But really I think that -- well now I declare!
You rascal! you villain! you stupid thing, Moses!
You laid your old currycomb right in my chair!
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Hate You.....finally
I hate that for so long you had me so fooled
I hate that I defended you
I hate that I tried for as long as I did
I hate that I ever made you feel good
I hate the time I spent worrying about you
I hate the life I gave up because I loved you
I hate that you let me settle for you
I hate that I didn’t speak up for myself
I hate that I let you believe we were ok
I hate living with so much anger
I hate thinking of you in quiet times
I hate knowing you never really cared
I hate that I can’t pretend that you ever loved me really
I hate that I let you make me feel guilty
I hate that I ever blamed myself
I hate that I loved you when I was young
I hate the way you lie so easily
I hate that you use me to make yourself feel better
I hate that you use me so you don’t have to be alone
I hate that you never considered me first
I hate that you use everyone until they are used up
I hate that you take your kids for granted
I hate that they will love you in spite of that
I hate that I have to watch you hurt them
I hate the way I tell them you’re a good guy
I hate that they are young enough to believe it
I hate that someday they will see you for what you are
I hate that despite all that you won’t change
I hate that I have wasted so much of my life believing in you.
When you ask why I don’t love you anymore…………..I wonder why I ever loved you at all.
poem by Laura Craig
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Andy Veto
Andy Veto never slept a wink last night;
Darkeys, he's your Moses!
Andy had to take us extra drink last night;
Darkeys, he's your Moses!
There was one who led you thro' the sea, you know,
He who paid his life, and left you free, you know;
But Andy V. receipts the bill, so he, you know--
Why, darkeys, he's your Moses!
Come! Come! Joshua, come!
Don't you think it's time the journey closes?
For you kwow we'll never stand in the promised land
While Andy Veto's our Moses.
Moses can't afford to let his people vote;
Darkey's, he's your Moses!
He must watch his little flock, his own scapegoat,
For, darkeys he's your Moses!
Thinking of you brings him wakeful nights, you know;
You might up and take your "civil rights," you know,
And make a "war of roses" with the whites, you know;
So, darkeys, he's your Moses!
Andy Veto thought he wore a crown last night;
Darkeys, he's your Moses!
When the people spoke, it tumbled down last night;
But, darkeys, he's your Moses!
Were it not a pretty sight--methinks I see
Thirty million loyal people, proud and free,
Around the throne of Andy Veto bend the knee;
Oh, darkeys, he's your Moses!
Andy Veto been a fishing for "another term;"
Darkeys, he's your Moses!
Guess that when vacation comes we'll change the firm,
If, darkeys, he's your Moses!
Ev'ry-thing is going wrong while Andy leads;
We must change the diet on which Andy feeds;
Ah! "reconstruction," that is just what Andy needs;
And, darkeys, he's your Moses!
poem by Henry Clay Work
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Hate That Is Not Mine
I hate the way we live
I hate we have to die
I hate the way you want it to be all over
And suddenly change ur mind
I hate you want to hurt yourself
I hate you always cry
I hate I see myself somewhere deep inside your eyes
I hate that I can relate to you
I hate that you cant see
All the good things in your life
I hate you cant see me
I hate when I look in the mirror
Your the person looking back
I hate that every day seems like someone will attack
I hate that I am weak
I hate that you are hear
I hate that I can't change all the things I fear
I hate that I dont hate you
instead I hate myself
for im the one who can't even remember my true self
I hate I let you into my mind
I hate you let me stop living
I hate that I can't stand up to you and understand what im forgiving
I hate I dont talk to you
I hate its not like it use to be
I hate time that makes me change to what you want to see
I hate you couldnt tell this wasn't all my hate
I take your hate into myself and understand my fate
sometimes I dont understand the hate
and still I continue to see
all the hate deep down inside of you
is now inside of me.
poem by Kendra Short
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Sonnet XV: Now, Round My Favour'd Grot
Now, round my favor'd grot let roses rise,
To strew the bank where Phaon wakes from rest;
O! happy buds! to kiss his burning breast,
And die, beneath the lustre of his eyes!
Now, let the timbrels echo to the skies,
Now damsels sprinkel cassia on his vest,
With od'rous wreaths of constant myrtle drest,
And flow'rs, deep tinted with the rainbow's dyes!
From cups of porphyry let nectar flow,
Rich as the perfume of Phoenicia's vine!
Now let his dimpling cheek with rapture glow,
While round his heart love's mystic fetters twine;
And let the Grecian Lyre its aid bestow,
In songs of triumph, to proclaim him mine!
poem by Mary Darby Robinson
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I Hate (pleas read and vote! ! !)
I hate the way you make me feel,
I hate that you think you can read my mind,
I hate crying over you,
I hate that you say you care but you don't,
I hate the way you talk to me,
I hate the way you snap over little thing's,
I hate that you don't trust me more over then
someone who did worse then I,
I hate being a prisoner and a segregate mother,
I hate that I can't breath around you with out getting
yelled at.
I hate being accused of eating to much when I only eat
1 or 2 meals a day,
I hate of thinking of pro's and con's of living with you,
I hate of being a scrub,
I hate that I hate of being in this apartment that I live in,
I hate being so unhappy,
I hate that I'm about to cry right now,
I hate being a closed curtain,
I hate being the least favorite,
I hate that I hate my body because you criticize me about it,
I hate how you feel when you come home,
I hate of being scared of the time when I'm with friends,
I hate that I think your hiding me,
I hate that I love being invisible sometimes,
I hate that I'm sorry for hating,
and I hate that I hate.
poem by Melissa Schreuder
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Twice around the Willow Tree
Twice around the willow tree
that is where you'll find me
A kiss in dark and a knife in light
My hate by day and love by night
Something sweet, something hidden
Something good but forbidden
Twice back around the tree
I hate you and you hate me
That is what all must think
Blind to our loving link
Endure the pain is what we do
You love me and I you
Twice around the willow tree
Where no one will ever see
that roses bloom and doves fly
beneath other's watchful eye
With this mask dawned on my face
I await your loving embrace
poem by Svanhildur Njálsdóttir
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Of course. I favor passive investing for most investors, because markets are amazingly successful devices for incorporating information into stock prices.
quote by Merton Miller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hatrate
I hate you for doing this to me
I hate you for hurting me
I hate you
but I don't want to
I hate myself
I don't know why
I hate this world I'm in it so cruel
I hate the person I am or was
I hate the things I have done
I hate my past
I hate the fact that I did good
I hate you for not believing in me
I hate you for judging me
I hate myself for not believing in myself
For putting myself down for underestimating my power
I hate the fact that I'm gifted
I hate being good sometimes
Cause I feel like I'm wasting my time
But wait!
Why must I hate?
I don't want to hate
I want to forgive and forget
It takes a 24-7 employee to hate
And I can't do that
It's just a burden not worthy of carrying
poem by Vangile Mtyali
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Hate Me
Hate me if you want
hate me if you might
hate me if i'm wrong
or hate me if i'm right.
hate me because i'm good looking
hate me because your not
hate me for whatever reason
hate me with everything you got.
hate me for ignoring you
hate me for walking away
hate me for not sinking to your level
hate me every minute of everyday.
hate me for being stronger than you
hate me because i'm the person you want to be
hate me because your pitiful
like everyone that judges me.
poem by Bobby Kramer Jr.
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Vines of Love
Two hearts beating as one
Entwined like a vine
The many colours of love's curling ends
Rolling fingers on canvas
Like soft gentle flaps of butterfly wings
Toe curling sighs of delight
Eating juiciest fruit from the vine
Creeping crawling whatever the calling
Under the moon's light
Twirling curling consuming
Caressing with words
Touching souls
Vine steadied around pillars of stairway
Love shading the night
poem by Persian Khushi
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