En.Citatepedia^®.ro

To Love

If, Cupid, Heaven is your home, you
are the child of Venus, Nectar and
Ambrosia are your food, then why
do you spend days and nights with
me? Why burn me with your flame,
and quench my thirst with tears?
Why destroy me? You are indeed
descended from wild beasts. Are you
worthy of such descent and of
heaven? But I, I am merely
a shadow, why do you torture me?

Ad amorem.

Si coelum patria est puer beatum,
Si vero peperit VENUS benigna,
Si Nectar tibi Massicum ministrat;
Si sancta Ambrosia est cibus petitus,
Quid noctes habitas, diesque mecum?
Quid victum face supplicemque aduris?
Quid longam lachrimis sitim repellis?
Quid nostrae dape pasceris medullae?
O vere rabidum genus faerarum:
O domo stipe patriaque digne:
Jam levis sumus umbra, quid lacessis?

poem by Giles Fletcher The Elder
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The Quids

The little quids, the million quids,
The everywhere, everything, always quids,
The atoms of the Monoton—
Each turned three essences where it stood
And ground a gisty dust from its neighbors' edges
Until a powdery thoughtfall stormed in and out,
The cerebration of a slippery quid enterprise.
Each quid stirred.
The united quids
Waved through a sinuous decision.

The quids, that had never done anything before
But be, be, be, be, be,
The quids resolved to predicate
And dissipate in a little grammar.
Oh, the Monoton didn't care,
For whatever they did—
The Monoton's contributing quids—
The Monoton would always remain the same.

A quid here and there gyrated in place-position,
While many essential quids turned inside-out
For the fun of it
And a few refused to be anything but
Simple, unpredicated copulatives.
Little by little, this commotion of quids,
By threes, by tens, by casual millions,
Squirming within the state of things—
The metaphysical acrobats,
The naked, immaterial quids—
Turned inside on themselves
And came out dressed,
Each similar quid of the inward same,
Each similar quid dressed in a different way—
The quid's idea of a holiday.

The quids could never tell what was happening.
But the Monoton felt itself differently the same
In its different parts.
The silly quids upon their rambling exercise
Never knew, could never tell
What their pleasure was about,
What their carnival was like,
Being in, being in, being always in
Where they never could get out
Of the everywhere, everything, always in,
To derive themselves from the Monoton.

But I know, with a quid inside of me,
But I know what a quid's disguise is like,
Being one myself,
The gymnastic device
That a quid puts on for exercise.

And so should the trees,
And so should the worms,
And so should you,
And all the other predicates,
And all the other accessories
Of the quid's masquerade.

poem by Laura Riding
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Ad Quintium. Cat. Ep. 83

AD QUINTIUM. CAT. EP. 83.

Quinti, si tibi vis oculos debere Catullum,
Aut aliud si quid carius est oculis,
Eripere ei noli, multo quod carius illi
Est oculis, seu quid carius est oculis.

TO QUINTIUS.

Quintius, if you'l endear Catullus eyes,
Or what he dearer then his eyes doth prize,
Ravish not what is dearer then his eyes,
Or what he dearer then his eyes doth prize.

poem by Richard Lovelace
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Old Joe was Bingo mad

I once knew a bloke called Joe
who was addicted to playing Bingo
he played nearly every day of his life
which cost him his marriage and his wife.
But Joe just could never pack it in
even though he hardly ever did win
as soon as he got out of his bed
the thought of Bingo came into his head.
The biggest win he ever had was sixty quid
and even then he shared it with his pal Sid
but Joe said one day he'd win the jackpot
and then he'd go and live somewhere hot.
But his long suffering wife called Flo
said she'd had enough of his silly Bingo
she shouted to Joe so what's it going to be,
your stupid addiction to playing Bingo or me?
But sadly Joe was now too far gone to care
when Bingo was on he just had to be there.
But alas Joe never won the Bingo jackpot
and he never ended living somewhere hot
the most he won was that sixty quid
and even worse Flo went off with his mate Sid.
I heard that Joe passed away playing Bingo
but I know that's how he would have wanted to go
I bet old Joe died with a smile on his face
because at least to Joe he was in the right place!

poem by Kevin Halls
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Economy

"There's nothing like economy,"
I heard a chap remark,
Who, judging by his tout ensemble,
Had issued from the ark.
He was a most peculiar man,
With visage wan and thin,
And liquid drops of amber hue
A-trickling down his chin.
"They tell us it's extravagant,"
He added with a shrug,
As he deposited a quid
Within his spacious "mug," —
"They tell us it's extravagant,
This ' chewing of the weed;'
But only use ' economy,'
You'll never be in need.
"And this is how to practise it:
Chew your tobacco well,
Using a little at a time,—
It nat'rally will swell;
"Then take the quid and dry it, sir!"—
'Twas thus the fellow spoke,—
"And, when you want a quiet whiff,
Put in your pipe, and smoke.
"And, stranger, after doing this,
If you are fond of snuff,
The ashes that are left behind
Will serve you well enough.
"And thus," said this peculiar man
(I fear he did but joke,)
"If you will follow my advice,
It will not end in smoke."

poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A woman with a mask

Asks for your name
Don’t give any

She has no right
For true names

She has no face.
She is nameless.

Quid pro quo.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Hard Luck

I left the course, and by my side
There walked a ruined tout --
A hungry creature, evil-eyed,
Who poured this story out.
"You see," he said, "there came a swell
To Kensington today,
And, if I picked the winners well,
A crown at least he's pay.

"I picked three winners straight, I did;
I filled his purse with pelf,
And then he gave me half-a-quid
To back one for myself.

"A half-a-quid to me he cast --
I wanted it indeed;
So help me Bob, for two days past
I haven't had a feed.

"But still I thought my luck was in,
I couldn't go astray --
I put it all on Little Min,
And lost it straightaway.

"I haven't got a bite or bed,
I'm absolutely stuck;
So keep this lesson in your head:
Don't over-trust your luck!"

The folks went homeward, near and far,
The tout, oh! where is he?
Ask where the empty boilers are
Beside the Circular Quay.

poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Acting for me is not that quid pro quo.

quote by Tom Wilkinson
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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I mean, I wouldn't pay more than a couple of quid to see me, and I'm me.

quote by Terry Prachett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Quid-pro-quo

Quid-pro-quo!
Ask it from me and,
I will give it to you when it is in my possession;
For, a woman in love needs only one man.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Fiduciary Friendship

'E 'ad spragged me before for the loan of a quid.
But I told 'im straight out I was broke.
Still 'e would 'ang around me, wotever I did.
'E's a regiler obstinit bloke.

'E'd tapped me for dollars an' bit me for bobs;
An' I ain't too finanshil meself.
Wot with times like they are an' not too many jobs;
So a bloke 'as to 'ang to 'is pelf.

But this Mister Theodore give me a lead
'E's a genius all on 'is own
'E put me wise yestidy - jist wot I need,
When a bloke comes along for a loan.

I rekin this Theodore's out on 'is pat
As a shrewd an' a far-seein' bloke,
Wot can 'and out the patter an' deal with a flat,
'Fore 'e's time to make up to the joke.

So today, when this cove puts the 'ard word on me,
I tells 'im straight out I'm 'is friend,
An' I'm goin' to 'elp 'im from sheer sympathy
With a few quid I'm goin' to lend.

It 'urts me, I tells 'im, to ark at 'im moan,
An' I 'aven't the 'eart to refuse.
So I gives the poor coot a fidoosary loan
In the shape of some nice I.0.U.'s.

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Wilderness designations should not be the result of a quid pro quo. They should rise or fall on their own merits.

quote by Nick Rahall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Birthday Greetings

may you love
till another birthday
comes again

as i have loved
you too
last birthday
of mine

quid pro qou

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Simple Sister Goes To Sydney

When Flo resolved to go to town from brothers three a yell went up,
Predicting ruin and distress. Bill in his horror dropped a cup.
“Gorstruth!” he said, “in Sydney there what is a simple girl to do?
They took me down. I lost me watch and seven quid. What ‘ope for you?”

Ben turned on her in pale dismay. “Look here, me girl, ain’t you bin told
How one iv them there spieler blokes done me for twenty pound in gold?
He was as nice a gentleman as any in the blessed shops:
He got away with all I had, and took a luner at the cops.”

“Me, too,” said Dave, “that time I went to Sydney town to see the Show
One trimmed me for me bran’ new suit. You stay where we can watch you, Flo.”
Flo packed. “If spieler comes at me his finish will be sharp,” she said;
And when the boys next heard of her she’d got a bloke, and then was wed.

She wrote: “He’s rather nice, I think, and I am putting him to work.
Next Chrissmiss we are comin’ up to see yous people back o’ Bourke.”
And when he came he brought for Bill a silver watch and seven quid,
For Dave a bran’ new suit of check, a ruby tie-pin and a lid.

To Ben he handed twenty pounds, in nice new minted sovereigns, too.
And still the brothers gaped at him, and still their great amazement grew.
He was a natty kind of chap, with gentle manners, small and slim.
And when they spoke ‘twas as one man. “So ‘elp me cat,” they said, “it’s ‘im!”

poem by Edward George Dyson
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Poem

And if it snowed and snow covered the drive
he took a spade and tossed it to one side.
And always tucked his daughter up at night
And slippered her the one time that she lied.
And every week he tipped up half his wage.
And what he didn't spend each week he saved.
And praised his wife for every meal she made.
And once, for laughing, punched her in the face.

And for his mum he hired a private nurse.
And every Sunday taxied her to church.
And he blubbed when she went from bad to worse.
And twice he lifted ten quid from her purse.

Here's how they rated him when they looked back:
sometimes he did this, sometimes he did that.

poem by Simon Armitage
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De Puero Et Praecone. Catul.

DE PUERO ET PRAECONE. CATUL.

Cum puero bello praeconem qui videt esse,
Quid credat, nisi se vendere discupere?

CATUL.

With a fair boy a cryer we behold,
What should we think, but he would not be sold?

poem by Richard Lovelace
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Scrooge's Number One Fan!

What, me? On Summer holiday? Take time off, fly abroad?
Passport renewed, then on my way! Sunshine as my reward?
Romance, perhaps and clubbing late! Cocktails with umbrellas?
Find true love there, as if by fate, like a million fellas!
Suppose I stay at home instead! I'll have more cash at hand!
Why spend it while I'm on the Med? Love's magic's in each land!
Love works as well in Nottingham, in Birmingham and Bath -
Abroad it's golden glitz and glam and then you tip the staff!
I think I'd rather save my dosh for rainy days at home
Than visit Venice! Oh, my gosh! Or lose it all in Rome!
Call me a skinflint! Miser, too! Call me Ebenezer!
But Scrooge was wise, I'm telling you! Cool dude frugal geezer!
There's bound to be a babe in town to spend a few quid on...
If not, then there's no need to frown! My money won't be gone!
In my old age, when money's tight, I'll have some dosh to spare...
To pay for food, for heat and light and physiotherapy care...

poem by Denis Martindale
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The Proposal

Who will marry me, said the flea,
Why ever should I, said the fly,
I would willingly give you a hug, said the bug,
That would be nice, said the wood lice,
I could sit down beside her, said the spider,
Well I certainly can't, said the ant,
Well of course you can't, that's absurd, said the ladybird,
Whoever does will come a cropper, said the grasshopper,
I think one should take heed, said the centipede,
I wouldn't for a thousand quid, said the aphid,
She's got a tongue like a rasp, said the wasp,
Oh, I shall remain free, said the bee,
I think you're probably right, said the mite,
All I can say is, she's a killer, said the caterpillar,
She'll suck you dry!

poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Lingothatweuze

I metabloke in Collun-street
A cove I yustano
When I wus workin Southoss,
A yeerertwo ago.

Sezzi, 'Well, owye kumminup?
I spose yehnomee still?'
'E grabsme betha 'andansiz,
'W'y owsheegoinbil?'

'Well, wotchadoinow?' sizzi,
Alludin' to 'is work.
'I aven gotakop,' sezee,
'At presen'. Wot's your lurk?'

'I'm upagenit pritty bad,
An' lookin' furra job,'
I answers. Then I bytsiz lug:
'Say, kinyeh lensa bob?'

'E anzitover. Then Isiz,
'Well, wotsbekumaflo?'
Referrin' to a tartuviz
But eesiz, 'Idunno.

'She yusta gimmelip,' eesiz,
'Anso we ata paht.
Ixceptin fere mag,' eesiz,
'Shewuza boshtataht.'

'Shewuz orright piece,' sizzi,
'Althoer tongue wus free.'
An then I springsa traponim:
'I seener yestadee.'

'Gostrooth!' sizee. 'I didunno
Thet shewuz ovareer!
I 'ope she izen chasinmee;
Buttit looks bloominqueer.'

'Orright,' sizzi, 'don't loosyerblock,
You'll meeter byunbye.
But she won'trubble you bekos
I've marrider,' sizzi.

'Well, sparemedays, it beatstha band
'Ow these things workeround!
But after wotcha say,' sizzee,
'I'll standja ina pound.'

'A quid's orright,' sizzi, 'but still
I dunnowota think.'
'Don't chewitover now,' sizzee,
'But cumanavadrink.'

We adabeer an' didagit;
An' I've dunnin the Quid.
Ewuza tofter giime it.
I wunnerwye edid?

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Milingo

I want to ask and i want to know,
And like an info without a room;
But my views are like that of others around me!
For, i know what i am looking for from you.

I know how you love me and,
I am waiting for you in Missouri! !
Oh, my sweet Milingo;
So, come and take me inot your sweet arms of love.

Milingo my lover,
You are the sweetest thing that occurred to me in this life;
Quid-pro-quo!
Alacrity to the minor;
But, a woman in love needs only one man.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Gutted

Now where did I put it
it must be here somewhere
could it be down the sofa
or the back of that big chair?
Maybe it slipped out of my jeans
when I was tending the flowerbed
I know I'll look around the garden
but did I leave it in the shed?
I've looked all over the place
searched every cupboard and drawer
I hope the dog hasn't chewed it up
he'll eat anything that's left on the floor.
EUREKA! I've found my Euro millions ticket
And I'm so happy and glad that I did
because I've got all of the winning numbers
I've won twenty million quid!
So why then aren't I really happy
and jumping about in a wild and crazy state?
well I did have all the correct numbers
but alas, it was for the wrong bloody date!

poem by Kevin Halls
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