One, Two
One, two, three, four —
find yourself a wife — choose her!
Do not dally, don't be late
or someone else'll get there first.
I myself found me some honey
but it never came to my lips.
Two she had her, this one widow:
one brunette and one had fair hair.
Not girls-pearls,
fillies fine and gorgeous,
the joy of whoever saw their face
and I loved both of them.
But who'll foretell and who'll say
which of them I loved more.
The time went, I don't know how
I dillydallied, dillydallied.
Suddenly a demon came and scarfed them
a demon with a ponytail and handlebar mustache.
And I remained, silly bugger,
an old bachelor ever after.
And from this to all the young men
a moral to the wise and let who learns learn.
One, two, three, four —
find yourself a wife — choose her!
Do not dally, don't be late
or someone else'll get there first.
poem by Hayyim Nahman Bialik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Too Late
Well, its too late for walking in the middle,
Too late to try.
Yes, its too late for sitting in the balance,
No more middle line.
Oh, its too late for walking on fences,
Time to choose your side.
Yes, its too late for flirtin with the darkness,
Make up your mind.
Oh, the time has come for making a decision,
And you say youve found the light.
But the talk is cheap when I see the way youre living,
Walking in the night.
Well, its too late for walking in the middle,
Too late to try.
Yes, its too late for sitting in the balance,
No more middle line.
Oh, its too late for thinking you can walk the middle line...
Better get wise.
You may think that you can live by your feelings,
Different every night.
But an emotional religion will crumble at our feet,
If were made to stand and fight.
Well, its too late for walking on fences,
Time to choose you side.
Yes, its too late for flirtin with the darkness,
Make up your mind.
Well, its too late for thinking you can walk the middle line...
Better get wise.
Well, its too late for walking in the middle,
Too late to try.
Yes, its too late for sitting in the balance,
No more middle line.
Oh, its too late for walking on fences,
Time to choose your side.
Yes, its too late for flirtin with the darkness,
Please make up your mind.
Well, its too late for walking in the middle,
Too late to try.
Yes, its too late for sitting in the balance,
No more middle line.
Oh, its too late for walking on fences,
Time to choose your side.
Yes, its too late for flirtin with the darkness,
Please make up your mind.
song performed by by Amy Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Little Demon
Written by lindsey buckingham.
My little demon, cominon down.
My little demons turnin me around.
All of my friends keep on tellinme
That I just aint the man I used to be.
I really dont like it...aint nothing I can do.
I really dont like it...Im leaving it to you.
My little demon, making me choose.
Making me an offer I cant refuse.
Hard as a rock,dry as a bone...
Big or little,know that I will take you home.
I really dont like it...aint nothini can do.
I really dont like it...Im leaving it to you.
Why try to hide it?
Fight it...fight it!
I really dont like it...aint nothini can do.
I really dont like it...Im leaving it to you.
My little demon is coming after me.
My little demon...
Its all that I can do to keep that little demon...
To keep that little demon...
Just to keep that little demon away from you!
song performed by by Fleetwood Mac
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Beginning
Some day I shall rise and leave my friends
And seek you again through the world's far ends,
You whom I found so fair
(Touch of your hands and smell of your hair!),
My only god in the days that were.
My eager feet shall find you again,
Though the sullen years and the mark of pain
Have changed you wholly; for I shall know
(How could I forget having loved you so?),
In the sad half-light of evening,
The face that was all my sunrising.
So then at the ends of the earth I'll stand
And hold you fiercely by either hand,
And seeing your age and ashen hair
I'll curse the thing that once you were,
Because it is changed and pale and old
(Lips that were scarlet, hair that was gold!),
And I loved you before you were old and wise,
When the flame of youth was strong in your eyes,
- And my heart is sick with memories.
poem by Rupert Brooke (1906)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Beginning, The
Some day I shall rise and leave my friends
And seek you again through the world's far ends,
You whom I found so fair
(Touch of your hands and smell of your hair!),
My only god in the days that were.
My eager feet shall find you again,
Though the sullen years and the mark of pain
Have changed you wholly; for I shall know
(How could I forget having loved you so?),
In the sad half-light of evening,
The face that was all my sunrising.
So then at the ends of the earth I'll stand
And hold you fiercely by either hand,
And seeing your age and ashen hair
I'll curse the thing that once you were,
Because it is changed and pale and old
(Lips that were scarlet, hair that was gold!),
And I loved you before you were old and wise,
When the flame of youth was strong in your eyes,
-- And my heart is sick with memories.
poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Day In Day Out
in the morning you work
the work is dull till you see her
with hair as golden as the sun
a face that only compairs to the gods
the day gose quickly and you go home
though you only think of her
the worker known as the boss
you see her in the dark and
in the light but you are sleeping
next to your wife
the next day you go to work
though you find know one
that has a face that more
gorgeous as a god
or hair as golden as the sun
insted you find that the goddess
with the hair as golden as the sun
the face that makes even the god jelouse
never egsisted but in your mind
though when you get home
your eye go as wide as tho sun
when you see the face that make god jelouse
is the one that you married shes your wife
so you see her every night with flower in hand
for the ladie with the golden hair
poem by Daniel Thompson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sway
Did you ever wake up to find
A day that broke up your mind
Destroyed your notion of circular time
It's just that demon life has got you in its sway
It's just that demon life has got you in its sway
Ain't flinging tears out on the dusty ground
For all my friends out on the burial ground
Can't stand the feeling getting so brought down
It's just that demon life has got me in its sway
It's just that demon life has got me in its sway
There must be ways to find out
Love is the way they say is really strutting out
Hey
song performed by by Rolling Stones from Sticky Fingers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Seasons of My Love
I loved a maid as fair as summer, with sunrise in her hair
There lived no other in the world could in my heart compare
Her eyes were stars of midnight bliss, her laugh a meadow breeze
I would have done all that she asked, so quick was I to please
I loved a maid as red as autumn, with sunset in her hair
Embraced in velvet lullabies, such sweetness did we share
We were all we ever had but we were wild and free
And in the lands you would not find a soul as lark as me
I loved a maid as white as winter, with snowflakes in her hair
The seasons of our love had both a beauty and despair
Two hearts that beat as one were we, our song was meant to be
And in the skies you would not find a dove as spry as she
I loved a maid as bright as spring, with blossoms in her hair
I loved her fierce, I loved her true, we were doomed; we did not care
The hands of time would take from me, even she was not to spare
In the whispers of my dreams, I still see my maiden fair
poem by Leonard Snow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Woman Called
A woman called for you today said Max’s wife.
Oh said Max who was she?
She didn’t say Max’s wife replied.
Well dames that don’t leave names
Aren’t worth worry over Max said
Lighting up a cigarette and sitting
In a chair by the window.
She seemed to know you Max’s wife stated stiffly
Seemed quite put out when I told her I was your wife.
Dames are always put out over something or other
Max said noticing his wife’s beauty spot
And how it moved as she spoke.
She was a brunette.
Ah a brunette huh?
Yes a brunette his wife said.
Well? She said after a minute’s pause.
New York’s full of brunettes.
This one came to the apartment and rang our bell
And stood at the door asking for Max.
There are plenty of men called Max in New York Honey he said
Comparing in his mind his wife and the brunette
He’d met at a bar the other night.
She seemed your type his wife said sulkily
The type that sways her hips and sticks out their ass.
Yes I know the type Max said and sighed
They can never leave me alone.
I tell them I am happily married to the best dame in New York
But they seem not to hear Max said
Watching smoke rise upwards.
Best dame in New York huh? His wife said.
Sure you are he said taking in his wife’s plump ass
Hanging over the side of the chair like melted cheese.
She smiled and said must have been a mistake
On her part coming here and asking for Max.
Sure it was Max said dames sometimes make mistakes
They have no sense of direction.
His wife smiled at him sexily hoping.
Max smiled back and hoped for erection.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fine Pearls
To the flute players,
To the professional mourners,
Don't cast your pearls before the swine;
What kind of man is this that i have to touch his tallit?
Fine pearls, fine pearls!
What kind of woman is this?
She who had been the wife of Uriyah.
To sit down with Abraham,
To sit down with Isaac,
TO sit down with Yaaqob,
Your eyes will see this and more;
For i am the one with the fine pearls.
Was Cain not Abel's brother?
Was Esau not Yaaqob's brother?
Outwitted by the wise men when,
The fine pearls were laid bare.
Meek and lowly in heart,
Where are you lovely ones?
He who is not with me is against me,
But my mind will always write.
To be trained like a bird,
To be trained like a pilot,
Like a young child and his father;
Peace to the heavens with the fine pearls when,
My mind do the writing.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I'm My Own Grandpa
It was many many years ago when I was twenty-three,
I was married to a widow, she's as pretty as can be.
This widow had a grown-up daughter who had hair of red,
my father fell in lover with her, and soon these two were wed.
I'm my own grandpa, I'm my own grandpa.
It sounds silly, I know, but it really is so, oh
I'm my own grandpa.
This made my dad my son-in-law and changed my very life:
My daughter was my mother 'cause she was my father's wife.
And then to complicate the matter, though it brought me joy,
I soon became the father of a bouncing baby boy.
This bouncing baby then became a brother-in-law to dad,
and so became my uncle, though it made me very sad,
for if he was my uncle then he also was the brother
of the widow's grown-up daughter, who, of course, was my step-mother.
I'm my own grandpa, I'm my own grandpa.
It sounds silly, I know, but it really is so, oh
I'm my own grandpa.
Father's wife then had a son who kept them on the run.
And he became my grandchild, for he was my daughter's son.
My wife is now my mother's mother, and it makes me blue,
because although she is my wife, she's my grandmother, too.
Now if my wife is my grandmother, then I am her grandchild.
And every time I think of it, it nearly drives me wild.
For now I have become the strangest case you ever saw.
Husband of my grandmother, I am my own grandpa.
I'm my own grandpa, I'm my own grandpa.
It sounds silly, I know, but it really is so, oh
I'm my own grandpa.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Demon
I fell on my knees to pray, found a demon in my safest haven.
Hideous deformation of some craved being from which I'm fleeing.
Footsteps behind me, torture my mind, wondering if a remedy I'll find.
Doesn't matter where I am, this monster still finds me, inside me is he.
Screaming, smashing my head on the bricks, cause I'm so strong yet weak.
Can't kill what I can't find, but I've still found something I can't kill!
Claws, they dig into my flesh, I'm tormented each day, slowly wasting away.
Enemies, all around, but I've got one deep inside, just one - who's almost done.
God, how do I get this demon out? It's driving me insane, cause I'm a dying man.
It's choking the life out of me, from inside out, filling me with doubt.
I went looking for the enemy, found him already in.
Story behind the poem:
The greatest enemy that we face is ourselves. Sometimes it's like there's this demon inside who just won't get out. Forget about the enemies outside, we've got one inside, ourselves, and that's more than enough to bring us down.
poem by Joses Tirtabudi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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For Those Who Say It Is Never Too Late, It Is!
For those who say it is never too late,
It is!
The only thing those who choose to procrastinate do,
Is use more time to make excuses.
And this they do from the experience of it!
Doing so to abuse someone's time.
For those who say it is never too late,
It is!
With thoughtlessness attached.
And at the expense of getting attention.
Since their comprehension is only used to waste.
In celebration of their own hesitation.
For those who say it is never too late,
It is!
With an aspiration to agitate those exasperated,
To heights of exacerbation unnecessarily created.
And pleasing no one but those who choose to bait,
Disrespect and neglect achieved.
For those who say it is never too late,
It is!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Honey is to taste
Honey is sweet to any one to taste
But its confinement, alas, is its fate.
Others, suited, are forbidden to taste.
When that one is lost honey goes naked
And seems sweeter to many wicked,
For which must it find soon a safe pocket.
Otherwise, it may turn sour in neglect,
Or may dry out in long disuse,
Or, perhaps, lies bare for someone’s abuse.
Honey, when orphaned by the host,
Be reclaimed by any one worth it,
Before it is too late, and thus be it blest.
Youth is honey,
Be she a a virgin or a widow,
With the same flow.
[About a young beautiful widow]
12.04.2000, Palakkad Lady Airly
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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How Do You Stop?
By dan hartman and charlie midnight
Hard bodies
Soft emotions
So fast
So smart
The world is at your feet
But what about your heart?
Fame and fortune cant hold you tight
In the late late hours of the night
How do you stop
Before its too late?
You choose and you lose
If you hesitate
How do you stop
Before its too late?
You think love will wait
So you dont hold on
And then its gone
Youve had success-
Lots of fancy friends
Youve tasted the good life
You thought it would never end
One day youre too young
Then youre in your prime
Then youre looking back at the hands of time
How do you stop
Before its too late?
You choose and you lose
If you hesitate
How do you stop
Before its too late?
You think love will wait
So you dont hold on
And then its gone
How do you stop a runaway train?
How do you stop the driving rain?
How do you stop the ripening corn?
How do you stop a baby being born?
How do you stop
Before its too late?
You choose and you lose
If you hesitate
How do you stop
Before its too late?
How do you stop?
Youre lost if you hesitate ...
How do you stop
Love from slipping away?
How do you stop
Before its too late?
song performed by by Joni Mitchell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Life is a short journey.
Life is a short journey
It may be bitter
It may be honey
Life is a short journey
Choose your way
Choose your mate
You won't be early
You won't be late
Our ways may differ
But our end is there
Go by car or by train
Go on foot or by plane
Go on horseback or by rocket
Go by bike or by boat
Life is a short journey
All of us will be on time
All of us will be the same
All of us will have a luggage
Choose what to leave
Choose what to take
Choose what to build
Choose what to break
Life is a short journey
Whether you like it
Or you don't
You try to change it
But you can't
Life is a short journey.
poem by Bouche Cousue
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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He loved beauty
He loved beauty
Impressed
Every lady he met
His sweet tongue
Suave manners
Won him
Lot of friends regularly
When time came
For him to marry
He could not decide
Who his life partner
Should be?
He kept on promising
Left every lady waiting
Only to find
All of them
Decided to marry
Somebody else
Leaving him lonely
It was too late
From him to realize
Friends can be many
You can
Laugh and make merry
Heart can be given to
One and only
He
Remained a bachelor
Throughout his life
Lived in old memories
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My past is my demon
my demon, it haunts me everyday,
never doing what best for me,
i please others before myself,
i let it become me,
my demon,
never lets me love myself,
always telling me what not to love,
its always there when i'm turned on,
reminding me of painful memories,
i don't wish to remember,
that's my demon,
paing don't go away,
it knocks at my front door waiting to be let in,
how can i?
it what holding me back from having a life,
from trusting people,
my deamon it don't play by the rules,
if it did,
it will know it is not welcome,
but my demon is what i have to face,
so i opened the door to let it in,
my demon is now apart of me,
it what makes me who i am.
poem by Mona Martinez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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One Night with You
Within your arms
I find myself.
The hour late,
the house asleep.
Lips conjoined
In fair affection
No need for sleep,
We’ve reached perfection.
Within your eyes
I lose myself.
The hour late,
the house asleep.
Hips conjoined
In fair affection.
How fortunate I
brought protection..
Within your room
We find ourselves.
one hour later,
the house asleep.
My gorgeous Flautist
Hums a selection
In present hope
of the resurrection.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When will I be Loved
I’m in my late thirties now and in all these years I have never felt loved.
Which has me now asking the question when will I be loved?
Will I be loved before all my hair turns completely grey?
Will I be loved before the sun sets this very day?
When will I be loved?
Will I be loved while I can still remember what love means?
Will I be loved tonight while I dream?
When will I be loved?
At times love has seemed close enough that I could reach out and grab it, but as I reached I realized love was not as close as it seemed.
Love is my white whale and just like Ahab the chase is driving me mad.
When will I be loved?
Pierrot
I work all day,
Said Simple John,
Myself a house to buy.
I work all day,
Said Simple John,
But Pierrot wondered why.
For Pierrrot loved the long white road,
And Pierrot loved the moon,
And Pierrot loved a star-filled sky,
And the breath of a rose in June.
I have one wife,
Said Simple John,
And,faith,I love her yet.
I have one wife,
Said Simple John,
But Pierrot left Pierrette.
For Pierrot saw a world of girls,
And Pierrot loved each one,
And Pierrot thought all maidens fair
As flowers in the sun.
Oh, I am good,
Said Simple John,
The Lord will take me in.
Yes, I am good,
Said Simple John,
But Pierrot's steeped in sin.
For Pierrot played on a slim guitar,
And Pierrot loved the moon,
And Pierrot ran down the long white road
With the burgher's wife one June.
poem by Langston Hughes
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