And What Have You To Say?
I MIND the days when ladies fair
Helped on my overcoat,
And tucked the silken handkerchief
About my precious throat;
They used to see the poet’s soul
In every song I wrote.
They pleaded hard, but I had work
To do, and could not stay
I used to work the whole night through,
And what have you to say?
’Twas clever, handsome woman then,
And I their rising star;
I could not see they worshipped me,
Because I saw too far.
(’Tis well for one or two, I think,
That things are as they are.)
(I used to write for writing’s sake,
I used to write till day,
I loved my prose and poetry,
And what have you to say?)
I guess if one should meet me now
That she would gasp to think,
She ever knew a thing like me,
As down the street I slink,
And trembling cadge from some old pal
The tray-bit for a drink.
I used to drink with gentlemen
To pass an hour away:
I drink long beers in common bars,
And what have you to say?
But often, in the darkest night
(And ’tis a wondrous thing)—
When others see the devils dance,
I hear the angels sing,
And round the drunkard’s lonely bed
Heaven’s nurses whispering.
I wrote for Truth and Right alone,
I wrote from night till day;
I’ll find a drunken pauper grave,
And what have you to say?
Good night!
Good day!
My noble friends,
And what have you to say?
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
It Is Me
He sat in his own world
writing down the stories
that came to his mind.
He never watched time,
for him there
was no time.
He wrote stories of love,
of mystery and suspense.
He wrote of everything
that popped into his head.
He was not a lonely person
as his characters kept him company.
He wrote things
for every writing sphere,
but there was one thing
he could not write
which may come as a surprise
to everyone.
He could not write a letter
no matter how hard he tried.
His mind went completely blank
whenever he tried.
Yet he could write
just about everything else.
He could write songs,
he could write stories at will.
He could write poems
on everything,
but writing a letter
was something he could not do.
Now all who read this
might take it as a joke,
but it is very true
every word I have spoke,
and how would I know that.
The answer is simple it is me.
19 April 2008
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Not a Poem Poem
A Not a Poem Poem
I will not write a poem
For I am not a poet
I cannot makes things rhyme
I’ve tried for quite some time
So will I write a poem?
NO!
I can’t write poetry
I’ve tried to all my life
Once, I tried to write a poem
About a husband and his wife
It sounded really silly
So I crumbled it up into a ball
That’s why I decided
That I couldn’t write poetry at all
Am I gonna write a poem?
NO!
Well, I’ll try to write a poem
But it will be really bad
It will be absolutely lousy
It will be completely horrible
It won’t be up to snuff
People will say, “Who wrote this stuff? ”
Will my poem be good?
NO!
Can I write a poem?
NO!
Will I write a poem?
NO!
Well, what do you know! ? !
I wrote a poem!
And it’s a pretty good poem, too!
I guess I can write poetry if I try
The next time I’m asked to write a poem,
Will I say no?
NO!
The Treasure Digger
ALL my weary days I pass'd
Sick at heart and poor in purse.
Poverty's the greatest curse,
Riches are the highest good!
And to end my woes at last,
Treasure-seeking forth I sped.
"Thou shalt have my soul instead!"
Thus I wrote, and with my blood.
Ring round ring I forthwith drew,
Wondrous flames collected there,
Herbs and bones in order fair,
Till the charm had work'd aright.
Then, to learned precepts true,
Dug to find some treasure old,
In the place my art foretold
Black and stormy was the night.
Coming o'er the distant plain,
With the glimmer of a star,
Soon I saw a light afar,
As the hour of midnight knell'd.
Preparation was in vain.
Sudden all was lighted up
With the lustre of a cup
That a beauteous boy upheld.
Sweetly seem'd his eves to laugh
Neath his flow'ry chaplet's load;
With the drink that brightly glow'd,
He the circle enter'd in.
And he kindly bade me quaff:
Then methought "This child can ne'er,
With his gift so bright and fair,
To the arch-fiend be akin."
"Pure life's courage drink!" cried he:
"This advice to prize then learn,--
Never to this place return
Trusting in thy spells absurd;
Dig no longer fruitlessly.
Guests by night, and toil by day!
Weeks laborious, feast-days gay!
Be thy future magic-word!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
All Night Long
Well, my friends, the time has come
To raise the roof and have some fun
Throw away the work to be done
Let the music play on
(play on, play on)
Everbody sing, everybody dance
Lose yourself in wild romance
Were going to party
Karamu, fiesta, forever
Come on and sing along!
Were going to party
Karamu, fiesta, forever
Come onand sing along!
Were going to party
Karamu, fiesta, forever
Come on and sing along!
All night long! (all night)
All night long! (all night)
All night long! (all night)
People dancing all in the street
See the rhythm all in their feet
Life is good wild and sweet
Let the music play on
(play on, play on)
Feel it in your heart
And feel it in your soul
Let the music take control
Were going to party
Liming, fiesta, forever
Come on and sing my song!
All night long! (all night)
All night long! (all night)
All night long! (all night)
All night long! (all night)
Yeah, once you get started
You cant sit down
Come join the fun
Its a merry go round
Everyones dancing
Their troubles away
Come join our party
See how we play!
Oh, yes
Were going to have a party!
All night long! (all night)
All night long! (all night)
All night long! (all night)
All night long!
Everyone you meet
Theyre jamming in the street
All night long1
Yeah, I said, everyone you meet
Theyre jamming in the street
All night long!
Yeah, I said, everyone you meet
Theyre jamming in the street
All night long!
Feel good! feel good!
song performed by by Lionel Richie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Linda Song
Music: Barry Manilow
Lyrics: Enoch Anderson
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He never wrote a song for Linda
He wrote as though he lived alone
He wrote of dreams that end
And of sad brave men
Inventing worlds he'd never known
But he never wrote a song for Linda
And she was right there all along
Loved him back to life
When his luck ran low
But he never wrote a Linda song
He nearly broke his heart at writing
Linda kept him from despair
Standin' by his side
through the hungry days
But he hardly seemed to see her there
And he never wrote a song for Linda
And she was right there all along
The one real thing in his crazy world
And he never wrote a Linda song.
When the bills piled up
He couldn't pay
He couldn't dream no more
So he hitched a ride and he rode away
And he left a note for Linda by the door
By the door
When times got rough he'd phone her
Once or twice she took the call
Then she changed her number and she turned her head
And Linda never looked back at all
He'll never write a song for Linda
And she was right there all along
All he knows is no one understands
And he never wrote a Linda song
No he never wrote a Linda song
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
All Night Long
We get up early and we work all day
We put our time in cause we like to stay up
All night long
We keep on grinnin till the weekend comes
Just a pinch between your cheek and gum
All night long, all night long
Start in the morning and get the job done
Take care of busness and we have some fun
All night long, all night long
We like a long neck and a good old song
Turn it up and then we sing along
Sing along
Were all stayin up all night long
All night long
All night long
All night long
All night long
song performed by by Eagles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Lovely Poem For You
once I peep inside
on a deep shadow night
and we must
keep it like a cock drink
and we never love it
but once you hate it katee
I feel you a dancing mood
and that night
I walk out of her shadow light
and want to keep you be free
you may steal my heart katee
and I guess it to read and your sweet look
and I wish to write my poem again here
you drink this night and we share it... free...
this must not be of our lov
I steal your drink and peep your door
You may guess it to write.......
''What does it mean what does it mean''
you shiver at night
Your wallet not holds my slim photo?
You not come each place I may not go
and seems to have much better if we are share again
We light one candles and like to stay up night
and wish to kiss
and I write this for you dear
poem by Thampi KEE
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Written Out [1]
Sing the song of the reckless, who care not what they do;
Sing the song of a sinner and the song of a writer, too—
Down in a pub in the alleys, in a dark and dirty hole,
With every soul a drunkard and the boss with never a soul.
Uncollared, unkempt, unshaven, sat the writer whose fame was fair,
And the girls of the streets were round him, and the bullies and bludgers there;
He was one of themselves and they told him the things that they had to tell—
He was studying human nature with his brothers and sisters in hell.
He was neither poor nor lonely, for a place in the world he’d won,
And up in the heights of the city he’d a thousand friends or none;
But he knew that his chums could wait awhile, that he’d reckon with foes at last,
For he lived far into a future that he knew because of the past.
They remembered the man he had been, they remembered the songs he wrote,
And some of them came to pity and some of them came to gloat:
Some of them shouted exulting—some whispered with bated breath
That down in a den in the alleys he was drinking himself to death.
Thus said the voice of the hypocrites—and the true hearts sighed with pain,
‘Oh! he never will write as he used to write! He never will write again;’
A poet had written his epitaph in numbers of sad regret,
And the passing-notice was pigeon-holed, and the last review was set.
But the strength was in him to rise again to a greater height, he knew,
For the sake of the friends who were true to him and the work that he had to do;
He was sounding the depths that he had to know, he was gathering truths for his craft,
And he heard the chatter of little men—and he turned to his beer and laughed.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
No Poem Is An Original
No poem is an original
everyone who writes
poetry thinks their poem
was an original, it just so
happens that their poem just
surfaced to the top
of their mind first, so they
were able to write it.
Everyone has love, hate
compassion buried deep
in their soul.
Poets are able to bring
all of this to the surface,
to construct, add the words,
but it is not an original
idea, for the poet because
they wrote it now, it
becomes an original for them.
Who has not heard a song,
read a poem, story or book,
seen a movie and said,
to themselves, hey I had
that same idea.
Only thing is, someone else
brought it to the surface
of the mind, and wrote it first.
Even this poem I'm writing
now is not an original
someone out there
has this idea buried
deep in their soul.
So if you have an idea
for a poem, get busy
write it, don't wait,
or you won't write an original
start today,
don't delay.
wrote 2-2-07
The Scottish Dance
I once had myself a Scottish Lassie
She then became my joy and pride
Then one-night she gave me Scottish ale
Then she became my Scottish bride
~We then danced around the table
We danced across the floor
We danced and danced all night long
And then we drank a little more~
She enjoyed to go out clubbing
Her family and mates I would meet
She was so exciting and loving
And when I grabbed her she said I was cheek...
I once had myself a Scottish Lassie
She was also my Scottish bride
She fed me Scottish eggs and Haggis
I got so sick I thought I had nearly died.
~So we danced around the table
We danced across the floor
We danced and danced all night long
And then we ate a little more.~
She took me out dancing
Where I would meet her friends and mates
She would drink and dance all night long
How I wished to go back to the states...
I once had myself a Scottish Lassie
She was also my Scottish wife
She told me she loved me with all of her heart
And together we would share the same life.
~So we danced around the table
We danced across the floor
We danced and danced all night long
And then we loved a little more~
I would take her out drinking
Every Friday and Saturday night
One thing she loved more than drinking or singing
My lassie she loved to argue and fight...
I once had myself a Scottish Lassie
But that was many years ago
I will always remember my Scottish Lassie
And the places that we use to go
~We would dance around the table
We would dance across the floor
We would dance and dance all night long
And then we would dance a little more~
Now I am alone and single
But her memories and thoughts I do keep
I remember the good-times and not the bad
So now I smile and I never weep
~So I dance around the table
I dance across the floor
I dance and dance all night long
And then I drink and dance a little more~
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Old Town Types No. 26 - Dr. Andy Deveraux
Some saw in him a Scottish wreck; some said that he was mad;
A few proclaimed his genius, but all agreed 'twas sad
That Doctor Andy Deveraux had let things slide so far.
'A mighty clever cove,' they said, 'but weak, and - there you are.'
For down at Paddy Clancy's bar you find him night or day,
A silent and sardonic man, who went his bitter way.
'Last night,' some housewife would exclaim, 'I thought I'd seen a ghost;
'Twas that awful Doctor Deveraux, going home by post.'
'Going home by post,' they said. A sorry township jest;
Long since had Clancy tackled him, and had to give him best.
''Tis under this 'Blackfeller's Act' I'll put yeh! Not a sup!'
But the bitter tongue had lashed him till he gladly gave it up.
So Deveraux would drink alone, brooding, till wits grew dense,
Then sought his own home, late at night, along the three-wire fence;
From post to post, in staggering spurts, he made his shameful way.
'Doc's going home by post,' men sneered. 'Broke out again today.'
None knew his story in the town nor, clearly, whence he came;
Nor yet what foul thing rode him - what sorrow or what shame -
To cause a once fine, brilliant mind (as his degrees inferred),
Its urge to brief forgetfulness. And Deveraux spoke no word.
Long since, kind Doctor Littlejohn had sought to play the friend,
To meet a wall of fierce reserve, and get snubbed in the end.
So age and drink took Deveraux, and he sank down and down,
To be a thing for men's contempt, the butt of half the town.
Some say it was a drunken freak; some say a hero's act,
An epic of self-sacrifice. Yet there remains the fact
That there's a tale in that old town men tell until today,
And I have gained thro' hearsay, for I'd been long away.
The details are a little vague - a garbled tale and wild,
Of how the drunken Deveraux died to save a stricken child.
And whether by the truth or by tradition 'twas devised,
I only know that there today he has been canonised.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
'Til I Get It Right
Well I spent all my money at the record store
Bought a copy of "Revolver" and some Gang of Four
Singles Going Steady
Billie Holliday
They had it all on vinyl
And I was blown away
Then I walked around the corner to my favorite bar
I do a lot more walkin' since I wrecked my car
They all know my name here
I feel right at home
I just might spend the night here
Since I know you're not alone
And then they play that song I love
And I feel like I just can't loose
I feel like I should call you up
But I'll stay here all night
'Till I get it right
Well I wrote you a letter but I tore it up
Then I wrote another letter and I tore it up
Stare up at the ball game
On the TV screen
If you care to find me
You'll know where I'll be
And then they play that song I love
And I feel like I just can't loose
I feel like I should call you up
But I'll stay here all night
'Till I get it right
I'm down
I'm down
I'm down
I'm down
And then they play that song I love
And I feel like I just can't loose
I feel like I should call you up
But I'll stay here all night
'Till I get it right
And then they play that song I hate
And I feel like I just can't win
I'm breakin' down
The room begins to spin
I'll stay here all night
'Till I get it right
song performed by by Fastball
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
One Woman's Memory
Here is a lock of his soft, dark hair,
And here are the letters he wrote to me.
And the ring of gold that I used to wear
Is here in the casket-see!
I put them away ten years ago.
'What is it,' you ask, 'did I love in vain?
Was my lover unfaithful?' No, oh! no.
My heart was spared that pain.
He died in the bloom of his manhood's youth.
You say I have his memory, friend;
That he is not dead, but lives, in truth;
Wait till you hear the end.
Death in itself is a little thing,
It is only passing from here to there;
But a death of shame has a bitter sting
That makes it hard to bear.
He was good and true as a man could be,
Noble and pure, when I loved him first;
But all of his race were cursed, you see,
With a fiery, craving thirst.
And the tempter, morning and noon and night,
Was placed in his path by a mother's hand.
The woe of wine, and its blasting blight,
She did not understand.
I did not know, or I did not think,
Of the awful shame that was hidden there
When I saw him lift the glass, and drink
To the health of his 'lady fair.'
I knew and I thought when it was too late.
I reached out my hands, but I could not save.
He hurried on to his fearful fate,
And sank in a drunkard's grave.
He was good, and kind, and true, but weak
When the ruby wine danced o'er the brim.
And woe is me that I did not speak
One warning word to him!
If I had but told him to cast away,
To touch not and taste not the mocker, wine,
I need not have felt as I feel to-day
That blood stains these hands of mine.
O ye who have friends on the awful brink
That hangs o'er the river of ruin and death!
When you see them lift the glass, oh! think
Of the jaggèd rocks beneath.
Reach out a hand ere the deed is done.
Send forth a cry in the dear Lord's name.
Oh! stand not aloof while a precious one
Speeds down to a grave of shame.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
So Good So Right
This one is special for all the ladies
You never know I was that type of man
So good so right so good so, so good so
right so good so
So good so right so good so, so good so
right so good so
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
But you keep on watching the time,
Wondering what's on my mind
So you say you can't stay too long, cause
You know what I'm all a...
What I'm all about, what I'm all about
I don't have to sing and shout, what I'm
All about
You know what I'm all about
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Yes it's the truth it's the fact, I'm coming
To you straight from
The back in a mastering room style
Don't be shy, don't you lie, look into my
Eye
I'll tell you why, I'll teach you about
Feeling high
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Never before have you seen this, so I say
This feeling sink within my head, oh yea,
Oh yea
Never before have you believe it, so I mean
What I say
You just got to be yourself
Feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
Yea, feel so good about something so
Right could it last another night
A feel so good about something so right
A feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
So good so right so good so, so good so
Right so good so
So good so right so good s, so good so
Right so good so
Yes it is the strife of my life, to explain
What's in my brain
If you believe what I say, baby, baby
A check in, check in, check check, check in
Check in
Check in, check in, check in, a check in,
Check in, check into my hotel
A feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
A feel so good about something so right
Could it last another night
So good, so right, so good, so right, so
Good, so right
So right, I feel so good could it last
Another night
A feel so right could it last another
Night
A feel so good something so right, so
Good
Lord, I said I feel so right
A feel so good, oh could it last another
Night
A feel so right, oh could it last another
Night
A feel so good oh could it last another
Night
A feel so right oh could it last another
Night
So good, o right, so good, so right, so
Good, so good, so right
song performed by by Ziggy Marley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Another Good Reason
(harley allen/carson chamberlain)
I woke up the other night
Lying on the floor
Right beside someone
Ive never seen before
She said my names juliet
And romeo you aint
Thats another good reason not to drink
Thats another good reason not to drink
When Im sober Im almost a saint
If I keep going on like this
Ill end up like ole hank
Thats another good reason not to drink
I cant go see my best friend
He said stay away
Just because of what I said
On his wedding day
He oughta call a sherman
Cause she looks just like a tank
Thats another good reason not to drink
Thats another good reason not to drink
When Im sober Im almost a saint
If I keep going on like this
Ill end up like ole hank
Thats another good reason not to drink
Im gonna sue to city
About that policeman
Last night as I left the bar
He stepped right on my hand
He said are you drunk or blind?
I said let me think.
Thats another good reason not to drink
Thats another good reason not to drink
When Im sober Im almost a saint
If I keep going on like this
Ill end up like ole hank
Thats another good reason not to drink
Thats another good reason not to drink
When Im sober Im almost a saint
If I keep going on like this
Ill end up like ole hank
Thats another good reason
Baby let me in Im freezing
Another good reason not to drink
song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
This must not be loved
The Kite....
once I peep inside
and deep shadow day
and we must
keep it like cold drink
never love it
but she hate it katee
I feel a dancing mood of you
and night
I walk out of her shadow
and want to keep you free
you steal my heart katee
and I guess it to read
and I wish to write my poem here
you drink this night and we are free...
this must not be of lov
I steal your drink and peep your door
You guess it to write.......
''What does it mean what does it mean''
Your wallet not holds my photo again
How come each place I not go
and seems to have much better if we are free
We light candles stay up late
wish to kiss and hug...
and I write this for you dear
poem by Thampi KEE
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Anacreontics, Drinking
THE thirsty earth soaks up the rain,
And drinks and gapes for drink again;
The plants suck in the earth, and are
With constant drinking fresh and fair;
The sea itself (which one would think
Should have but little need of drink)
Drinks twice ten thousand rivers up,
So fill'd that they o'erflow the cup.
The busy Sun (and one would guess
By 's drunken fiery face no less)
Drinks up the sea, and when he 's done,
The Moon and Stars drink up the Sun:
They drink and dance by their own light,
They drink and revel all the night:
Nothing in Nature 's sober found,
But an eternal health goes round.
Fill up the bowl, then, fill it high,
Fill all the glasses there--for why
Should every creature drink but I?
Why, man of morals, tell me why?
poem by Abraham Cowley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Two schools of thought.
.
The lady chose to take offence
Although I said she wrote fine prose
She may not know the difference
between poetry and prose
She thought that she wrote poetry
But what she wrote was free form prose.
I offered no apology
It was not my fault that she chose.
Not to learn the basic rules
defining prose and poetry
Two very different writing schools
in which to show your artistry.
The so called experts can’t agree
and coined the term poetic prose.
Though writing cannot possible
be classed as poetry and prose.
If it’s not metered it is prose
no matter how poetical.
But you’re entitled to compose.
Fine prose and call it poetry.
Though I suggest respectfully
you should be proud of writing prose.
As some do most successfully.
But it was poetry I chose
Thursday,11 March 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Why Do I Write
I write from my sadness
I write from the madness
I write because I have something to say
I write to pass the day
I write only from the heart
I write for sometimes I am not that smart
Whatever is in head just comes out on paper (in this case a word document) , and I go with the flow
Write to let my mind go
I follow my hand to where ever it takes me
I write all the things that I can see
I write when I am happy, but not as much
I write from my heart that you can touch
I write because I’d go insane
I am driven to write quell my pain
At times I feel alone so I write what I am feeling
I write for it is self-healing
Confident not so I write it all away
I write and write to pass the day
I write to comfort my soul that cries out in the night
I write for love is always out of sight
I write so I don't have to cry any more
I write for I have no one to adore
I write so someone somewhere will hear my plea
I write for someone is out there for me
I am lost and I the clown
I write to turn my frown upside down
I write to embrace the sadness I hide inside
I write with my heart opened wide
I write to silence the ghost
I write for I’ve been let down by the one I loved the most
I write through the stormy weather
I write for I am light as a feather
I am not a writer nor am I a poet
I write for the grief I do know it
I will write until I draw my last breath
I write because I'll die a lonely death
I have to write for strangers delight
I write because I have to write
I write for my own happiness
I write to relieve my stress
I write because I have no other choice
I write as if I was writing a letter
I write because I can’t do any better
I write because I am afraid not to
I write for this is what I do
I write for I give a damn
I write just because I am
poem by Wilfred Mellers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Picassos Last Words
The grand old painter died last night
His paintings on the wall
Before he went he bade us well
And said goodnight to us all.
Drink to me, drink to my health
You know I cant drink any more
Drink to me, drink to my health
You know I cant drink any more
3 oclock in the morning
Im getting ready for bed
It came without a warning
But Ill be waiting for you baby
Ill be waiting for you there
So drink to me drink to my health
You know I cant drink any more
Drink to me drink to my health
You know I cant drink any more
French interlude
Temp change
Jet... drink to me
Drunken chorus
French (tempo) drink to me... ho hey ho
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!