A Rough Sketch
I caught, for a second, across the crowd--
Just for a second, and barely that--
A face, pox-pitted and evil-browed,
Hid in the shade of a slouch-rim'd hat--
With small gray eyes, of a look as keen
As the long, sharp nose that grew between.
And I said: 'Tis a sketch of Nature's own,
Drawn i' the dark o' the moon, I swear,
On a tatter of Fate that the winds have blown
Hither and thither and everywhere--
With its keen little sinister eyes of gray,
And nose like the beak of a bird of prey!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Related quotes
Roys Keen
(go on !)
Hes romancing you
And chancing his arm
Hell be here
Smiling on time
Hes romancing you
And chancing his arm
Hell be here
Smiling on time
Roys keen oh roys keen
Roys keen oh roys keen
Weve never seen a
Keener window-cleaner
Back up the ladder
Into each corner
Dunking the chamois
Just think of the goodwill
The ladders a planet
Roy is a star, and
I am a satellite
(but thats alright)
He can hold a smile for as long
As you require (even longer)
He can hold a smile for as long
As you require (even longer)
Roys keen oh roys keen
Roys keen oh roys keen
Weve never seen a
Keener window-cleaner
Back up the ladder
Into each corner
Dunking the chamois
Just think of the goodwill
The ladders a planet
Roy is a star, and
I am a satellite
I will be set alight
Dont say youll hold it steady
Then you let it go
Dont say youll hold it steady
Then you let it go
Oh ...
Youre up the ladder
Into each corner
Foot in a bucket
We trust you to wreck it
Even when its under your nose
Well, you just cant
See it, can you ?
Well, its here
Right under your nose
And you just cant
See it, can you?
La la la la ...
Roys keen, roys keen
La la la la ...
Roys keen, roys keen
La la la la ...
Roys keen, roys keen
La la la la ...
Roys keen, roys keen
Weve never seen a
Keener window-cleaner
Oh ...
La la la la ...
song performed by by Morrissey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What The Hyena Said
The moon is but a golden skull,
She mounts the heavens now,
And Moon-Worms, mighty Moon-Worms
Are wreathed around her brow.
The Moon-Worms are a doughty race:
They eat her gray and golden face.
Her eye-sockets dead, and molding head:
These caverns are their dwelling-place.
The Moon-Worms, serpents of the skies,
From the great hollows of her eyes
Behold all souls, and they are wise:
With tiny, keen and icy eyes,
Behold how each man sins and dies.
When Earth in gold-corruption lies
Long dead, the moon-worm butterflies
On cyclone wings will reach this place—
Yea, rear their brood on earth’s dead face.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Be Glad Your Nose is on Your Face
Be glad your nose is on your face,
not pasted on some other place,
for if it were where it is not,
you might dislike your nose a lot.
Imagine if your precious nose
were sandwiched in between your toes,
that clearly would not be a treat,
for you'd be forced to smell your feet.
Your nose would be a source of dread
were it attached atop your head,
it soon would drive you to despair,
forever tickled by your hair.
Within your ear, your nose would be
an absolute catastrophe,
for when you were obliged to sneeze,
your brain would rattle from the breeze.
Your nose, instead, through thick and thin,
remains between your eyes and chin,
not pasted on some other place--
be glad your nose is on your face!
poem by Jack Prelutsky
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Red Browed Firetails
One can't mistake them for their scratchy song
To small seed eating family of birds they belong
Some call them red browed finches others the red browed firetails
And the females hard to distinguish from the males.
With red bill and brows and neck and unders gray
And red rump, dark tail and greenish wings I see them every day
They perch on fence wire near where paddocks are
And to get their food they don't have to fly far.
They live in small flocks on a diet of seeds
And I see them often amongst grasses and weeds
Of the human kind they do seem rather shy
And from the paddock to the fence they fly.
On sapling tree or creeper they build their globe nest of dried grass or hay
Where they lay up to six eggs of white to gray
And their nests hard to find and well hidden away
From currawong and other birds of prey.
Red browed firetails or finches birds I often see
On paddock fence wire or on branch of tree
Of human kind they have a healthy fear
And they fly away if to them you come near.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Nose
No one cares for the nose
To go nose straight is the tao
If there were no eyes
You could see better with your nose
If there were no nose
you wouldnot distinguish the sweet from the bitter
And there would be no value judgements in the world
And it is the nose that keeps you hot in the cold
And that keeps you cold in Jakodabad
The nose is the vigilant customs officer
That does not allow any drug to your lungs
And the nose cannot be bribed
Oh Nose! the customs officer of the body
And the pivot of value judgement in the world
If that name thou love
Remain with us and teach the noseless world
That it must have a nose in this wartorn world
He who knows the greatness of nose
Surely goes to the realm of rose
In the life to come
Hurrah Let us compose hymns to nose
poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
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Tantalizing
I have seen that her eyes are sharp.
Her eyes are sharp and attentive
But still I dare not encounter them.
They hold my head captive.
I have seen that her nose is stern.
Her nose is stern and aiming
But still that nose I cannot pinch.
It torments my eyes, straining.
I found that her lips are of flesh.
Her lips are fleshy and amorous
But still the very lips I cannot caress.
They render my lips nervous.
I like her face being slim and slender.
Her face is slim and passionate
But still I cannot claim that of her.
It keeps my brain desolate.
I wonder how nimble her limbs are.
Her limbs are nimble and at hand
But still to touch them I don’t dare.
They set my belly to grind.
I understand that her vibes is strong.
Her vibes is strong and resonant
But still me she chose to tantalize.
She left my soul poignant.
Total reticence from her
Might have been better
Rather than raising hope
And then belying it.
05.05.99
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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An Edge Is Keen
Moments agone thy golden scripts
aye! mine beseech, thine spoken rede
avaunt yon them notorious non-wist
certes, mine gracias to our corrade
In wreath, seized I; in mine total yammer
philosophunculist-I am reviled
Neither I nor you're ne'er flammifer
Neither I nor you could've kindle
forby time, o'er thither mine shade
was I tomnoddy for mimicry of puissance
Mine yede thither, the drums it'd raid
sith I yclept naught; my deed's accordance
Aghast I towards in thine character
yet Sought I hindrance in absolute hid
thus I dig anon apace to gather
mine lobes conscious amiss it leads
Thy bower, thy bower in bossom within
in chimes winds blew; aye edge is keen!
In concourse, thine weird, thine genuine
thine wile I caught none could've seen
Indeed, Edge was keen! aye! Edge was keen!
eynes filled naught mere but filled full
sunder real to unreal lies 'line so thin
wayward am I? aye-thus youth yields fool
My thralldom to thee; mine poetry
hath built no shame nor agony
shun the light at times to me
yet know after rain, I'll be free
Gates, its key be brought by comrade
forby time, o'er thither mine shade
roses and daffodils on me be laid
to misanthropes I'll be never frayed.
poem by Ellirie Aviles
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This is my sorrow...
The women of your age I train my eyes on
Remind me of you through some resemblances
And some violent contrasts now and then.
Nose studs and ear drops I see in the shops
Catch my eyes and bring to my view your face.
I imagine the stud worn on your nose
And with that how your nose would tempt my lips.
I imagine the drops hung from your ears
And with that how your ears would prompt me.
When I am lonely you are in my thought;
I dream of passing my hand through your hair
And gazing into your eyes full of love.
To bring this about, I must conquer Fate
As I accuse myself of cowardice.
I have no courage nor propriety
Even to let you know my feelings.
This is my sorrow that cripples my mind.
This is my agony underlining.
02.11.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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This is my sorrow
The women of your age I train my eyes on
Remind me of you through some resemblances
And some violent contrasts now and then.
Nose studs and ear drops I see in the shops
Catch my eyes and bring to my view your face.
I imagine the stud worn on your nose
And with that how your nose would tempt my lips.
I imagine the drops hung from your ears
And with that how your ears would prompt me.
When I am lonely you are in my thought;
I dream of passing my hand through your hair
And gazing into your eyes full of love.
To bring this about, I must conquer Fate
As I accuse myself of cowardice.
I have no courage nor propriety
Even to let you know my feelings.
This is my sorrow that cripples my mind.
This is my agony underlining.
02.11.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Neutral Tones
WE stood by a pond that winter day,
And the sun was white, as though chidden of God,
And a few leaves lay on the starving sod,
--They had fallen from an ash, and were gray.
Your eyes on me were as eyes that rove
Over tedious riddles solved years ago;
And some words played between us to and fro--
On which lost the more by our love.
The smile on your mouth was the deadest thing
Alive enough to have strength to die;
And a grin of bitterness swept thereby
Like an ominous bird a-wing....
Since then, keen lessons that love deceives,
And wrings with wrong, have shaped to me
Your face, and the God-curst sun, and a tree,
And a pond edged with grayish leaves.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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Eyes Of Green And Gray
Eyes of green and gray
i wish you'd look my way
smile for me today
O eyes of green and gray
Eyes of black and white
of sorrow and delight
i behold every sight
through eyes of black and white
Eyes as hard as stone
so cold and all alone
lost without a home
with eyes as hard as stone
Eyes of green and gray
it's here i want to stay
and never look away
from eyes of green and gray
poem by Sergey Sibikovsky
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Sea Slant
On up the sea slant,
On up the horizon,
The ship limps.
The bone of her nose fog-gray,
The heart of her sea-strong,
She came a long way,
She goes a long way.
On up the sea slant,
On up the horizon,
She limps sea-strong, fog-gray
She is a green-lit night gray.
She comes and goes in sea-fog.
Up the horizon slant she limps.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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The Veil
I think and think: yet still I fail —
Why must this lady wear a veil?
Why thus elect to mask her face
Beneath that dainty web of lace?
The tip of a small nose I see,
And two red lips, set curiously
Like twin-born berries on one stem,
And yet, she has netted even them.
Her eyes, 'tis plain, survey with ease
Whate'er to glance upon they please.
Yet, whether hazel, gray, or blue,
Or that even lovelier lilac hue,
I cannot guess: why — why deny
Such beauty to the passer-by?
Out of a bush a nightingale
May expound his song; from 'neath that veil
A happy mouth no doubt can make
English sound sweeter for its sake.
But then, why muffle in like this
What every blossomy wind would kiss?
Why in that little night disguise
A daybreak face, those starry eyes?
poem by Walter de la Mare
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A Portrait
LIKE the sway of the silver birch in the breeze of dawn
Is her dainty way;
Like the gray of a twilight sky or a starlit lawn
Are her eyes of gray;
Like the clouds in their moving white
Is her breast's soft stir;
And white as the moon and bright
Is the soul of her.
Like murmur of woods in spring ere the leaves be green,
Like the voice of a bird
That sings by a stream that sings through the night unseen,
So her voice is heard.
And the secret her eyes withhold
In my soul abides,
For white as the moon and cold
Is the heart she hides.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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No Distrust
Then the eyes distrusted the other parts,
The solution was that the eyes could see,
Then ready were the ears to be sweethearts,
Tomorrow our nose desired an ability.
When sentences are made to offer new meaning,
I decide so many are given to the face,
To submit them I see how I am cleaning
My nose and eyes, and my ears in case.
Tense are the breaths we command,
To disregard the pleasure and demand.
poem by Naveed Akram
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A Picture
The Sun burns fiercely down the skies;
The sea is full of flashing eyes;
The waves glide shoreward serpentwise
And fawn with foamy tongues on stark
Gray rocks, each sharp-toothed as a shark,
And hiss in clefts and channels dark.
Blood-purple soon the waters grow,
As though drowned sea-kings fought below
Forgotten fights of long ago.
The gray owl Dusk its wings has spread;
The sun sinks in a blossom-bed
Of poppy-clouds; the day is dead.
poem by Victor James Daley
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Old Town Types No. 9 - Long John, The Snob
Long John McDougal, the wax-end and leather man,
Solon of the main street, full of curious lore,
Keen-eyed and frugal, politician, weather man,
Pegging there, or stitching by his shop front door;
Keen-eyed and frugal, Long John McDougal
Talked as he toiled there, or harked to others' woes,
With his tousled old grey head and steel-rimmed spectacles,
His old steel spectacles perched on the end of his nose.
Long John the leather man: boots, bridles any a thing
Fashioned out of leather, could his wise hands mend.
'Cease your foolish blether, man! For I have cobbled many a thing
Cobbled it and cured it wi' me strong wax-end.
Cease your foolish blether, man. 'Tis Long John, the leather man
Has shod the feet of half the town, an' no complaints from those.'
And his old head would waggle and his steel-rimmed spectacles
His smeared old spectacles perched on the end of his nose.
Long John, the cobbler, sets aside his sowing owl,
Sets aside his apron and gives his hands a rub,
And trots off for his nobbler, just as he has been going all
These long years for his whisky at the Railway pub.
Long John, the cobbler, calling for his nobbler:
One I'll tak', or two I'll tak', but I'm content wi' those.'
And he gazes e'er so wisely thro' his steel-rimmed spectacles
His bent old spectacles perched on the tip of his nose.
Long John McDougal sat to have a crack there,
Just within his shop door the day I left the town,
Keen-eyed and frugal. And if I ever went back there
I know I'd find him fadeless, his wise law laying down
Kind-eyed and frugal, Long John McDougal,
Spouting weather prophesies, downing fiscal foes,
Peering, with his head back, thro' grime-dimmed spectacles
His old steel spectacles perched on the tip of his nose.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Febbraio fogs
Winds are blowing a grievous fate,
it's cold upon our fingers and dark,
ghosts prey howling on lone hark,
we came in life, one verse too late.
Winds are barking like stray dogs,
alone I wait for your icon to appear,
from our deserted (once alive) Pier,
where you smiled in Febbraio fogs.
And it is strange to feel you there,
you never left the winds' lone call;
I feel the flow in my veins to haul,
a string of fables on nostalgic fare;
And you appear - half on my mind,
'n' half in distance, to fill my eyes,
gray clouds snow from low skies,
doleful turns our dusk and twined.
Night denotes the silence of snow,
so much quietness falls like death,
regales me in solitude of an eighth
oracle to elongate, our time's tow.
Harbinger moon will Spring to fore,
if you appear, my hope will shine,
a conferred love will wave to mine,
imparted winds will reach Pier Four.
poem by Giorgio Veneto
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Small Things Bother Me
He wore dark glasses I could not see his eyes
And the mirror to his soul he did disguise
He hid from the World his personality
Without the eyes a face you only see.
Perhaps his eyes from the bright sun he shade
The main reason why dark glasses are made
And though he lives nearby him I shall never get to know
As he wears dark glasses rain or sun shine or snow.
Any acknowledgement of me he never seems to show
And we pass each other by without saying hello
Through his dark glasses into my soul he peer
And he's still a stranger though to me he lives near.
Perhaps I'm small in ways and small things get to me
But it bothers me when others eyes I cannot see
Whether their eyes be blue, brown, green or grey who can say
As the mirror to their soul behind dark glasses hidden away.
I see him often though not every day
And his eyes behind dark glasses always hidden away
The mirror of his soul is well hidden from me,
Perhaps I'm small and small things bother me.
poem by Francis Duggan
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O! What a nose!
People talk about a running nose
I'm talking about a long facial cargo
She’s got a nose longer than my longest toes
With a mission of being nosy as time goes
Please don’t get close
When she discloses
Her loud snoring doze
Don’t be like the heroes
Goodness gracious
O! What a nose!
Goodness gracious
What a precious nose pose!
Painted as red as a romantic rose
Standing long like my garden pipe hose
And as she sniffs, sneezes and exposes
I cannot help thinking of Pinocchio’s nose
Goodness gracious
O! What a nose!
Goodness gracious
Red and long when it snows
And this nose is nosy
She can smell a rat, cat or a bat
When you are getting cozy
In your one bedroom flat
O! What a nose!
In and out juice flows
And when she smells the air
They all cannot help but stare
Copyright 2008 - Sylvia Chidi
poem by Sylvia Chidi
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