Das Meter is running
Bonn Prostitutes working the streets
now pay twice for displaying their treats.
They already pay substantial income tax,
for plying the world's oldest profession.
Now Politicans, also whores of a sort,
want more money despite the recession.
Now to make the sin tax yield sweeter
Certain streets now have Prostitute meters.
Six Euros a night is the rate
for these girls who have more than one “date”
So if your “dame des abends” says “Antreiben! ”
as the clocks ticking down on the evening.
She has a legitimate worry
in telling her patron to hurry.
In Bonn, the meter is running
and only the meter maid’s coming!
(The city of Bonn, Germany has installed street meters for Prostitutes. They must purchase (and display? ?) a ticket to solicit on the street. Meter maids enforce payment and collection. I envision the meter maids being like the 400 pound female gorillas Mayor Bloomberg employs here in New York. It's like easy pass for an easy lass.
There is a smattering of German in the poem
Dame des Abends= Lady of the Evening
Antreiben= hurry(up))
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Related quotes
Lovely Rita
Lovely rita meter maid.
Lovely rita meter maid.
Lovely rita meter maid.
Nothing can come between us,
When it gets dark i tow your heart away.
Standing by a parking meter,
When i caught a glimpse of rita,
Filling in a ticket in her little white book.
In a cap she looked much older,
And the bag across her shoulder
Made her look a little like a military man.
Lovely rita meter maid,
May i inquire discreetly,
When are you free,
To take some tea with me.
Took her out and tried to win her,
Had a laugh and over dinner,
Told her i would really like to see her again,
Got the bill and rita paid it,
Took her home i nearly made it,
Sitting on the sofa with a sister or two.
Oh, lovely rita meter maid,
Where would i be without you,
Give us a wink and make me think of you.
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Weeping Meter
If you're on a weeping meter,
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.
If you're on a weeping meter,
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.
The more you get some pity you sit and solicit it.
With a drive you started in campaign,
And aimed to have a perfect pity party trip.
You've got your buckets ready to collect the slightest drip.
Like an attention getting kitten,
Being petted as it purrs and licks!
That's what you need!
A boost to benefit.
Like the petting of a kitten getting enjoyment out of it.
To get a little bit of stroking before it leaves...
To meander off and drift.
Satisfied and pleased.
If you're on a weeping meter,
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.
Maybe you just need some petting,
And some stroking too?
Oooo...
If you're on a weeping meter,
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.
Maybe you just need some petting,
And some stroking too?
Oooo...
If you're on a weeping meter,
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.
You may need a boost.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A Shilling In The Meter (Fun Poem 76)
Quick
put a shilling in the meter
let the sun come out to play.
The sun being expensive
that shilling won’t last that long
and soon the rain will come back
and the sun will fade away.
I searched my pockets,
and hunted high and low
for another shilling for the meter,
but there wasn’t one there.
So we are stuck with rain
from Monday and Sunday now,
unless someone out there
has another shilling for the meter
somewhere.
28 April 2008
poem by David Harris
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I practised in London for Olympic Heats?
A beggar like old man once read my palm in a city Railway station and he predicted: You'll be a Pilot or a constant runner in your whole life.
Yes, It's getting closer the date,27th of July.
And I practised outside the Olympic stadium
on a lonely street for the 800 meters Relay?
Suddenly I was caught by a police officer
and he questioned me of my valid papers.
Then I said; 'Don't worry Sir!
I am one of your colonial cousins
and I never forget the hospitality.
I have participated the Royal Wedding
and the Queen's Diamond Jubilee
with my old Gabardine suit.
Don't you remember once you arrested me
under suspicion of stealing the Big Ben? '
They handcuffed me and I was awake
to the jerk & batton beating in the police car.
I asked my wife where my running shoes?
'O sorry darling! I left them in the police car.'
She's worried and brought the Sugar-meter
'Don't know whether you're getting the coma again? '
She looked embarassed!
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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My Mind Is In a Poetic Meter
Lit with verse and profound imaginings.
Clear of limits and in boundless flight.
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Fixed within rhythmic thoughts combined.
And racing to attach themselves to the proper lines.
Picked with a selected taste to find,
Just the right mixture to release at the right time.
To capture a comprehension that is mutually shared.
And creating an understanding that before was not there.
Until it was produce to seduce,
To make aware.
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Lit with verse and profound imaginings.
Clear of limits and in boundless flight.
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Fixed within rhythmic thoughts combined.
And racing to attach themselves to the proper lines.
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Picked with a selected taste to find,
Just the right mixture to release at the right time.
To capture a comprehension that is mutually shared.
And creating an understanding that before was not there.
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
Can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
Can you can you feel it?
My mind is in a poetic meter.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Neater meter for Mr Earley
Neater meter?
I have to write a sonnet in free verse.
I must stick to Iambic pentameter.
A meter that I do not often use.
Pentameter is my more usual style.
A Sapphic meter would be so much worse.
I am more comfortable with the latter.
I find that some odd metres can confuse
a simple rhymester like me for a while.
I’m quite convinced that pentameter
makes my presentations appear neater.
It may be that you think I am obtuse
and that my simple verses make you smile.
You are entitled to your point of view.
Naturally I won’t agree with you!
11-Apr-08
Free verse sonnet
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Disbelief Is High On Your Meter
Even though you're numb,
By that which has been done...
More is coming.
More is coming!
You're in it thick or thin,
But keep your faith within...
'Cause more is coming.
More is coming!
A disbelief is high on your meter.
But don't you give up hope.
Keep your hope afloat!
A disbelief is high on your meter.
But don't you give up hope.
Keep that hope afloat!
Even though you're numb,
By that which has been done...
More is coming.
More is coming!
A disbelief is high on your meter.
But don't you give up hope.
Keep your hope afloat!
A disbelief is high on your meter.
But don't you give up hope.
More is coming.
More is coming!
You're in it thick or thin,
But keep your faith within...
'Cause more is coming.
More is coming!
A disbelief is high on your meter.
More is coming.
More is coming!
A disbelief is high on your meter.
More is coming.
More is coming!
Even though you're numb,
By that which has been done...
More is coming.
More is coming!
A disbelief is high on your meter.
You're in it thick or thin,
But keep your faith within.
A disbelief is high on your meter.
You're in it thick or thin,
But keep your faith within.
'Cause more is coming.
More is coming.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Behind The Clouds...
the old man who
lived by himself down
by the highway...
died this morning in his sleep.
passing cars never even slowed down,
and the mailman left another faceless bill.
the meter reader stopped to read his meter,
and the hands on the clock
continued their crawl....
yet the stray dog walked up
on the porch and howled,
and the trail of ants stopped to weep.
the wind seemed to stop,
for just a moment...
and the sun went behind the clouds.
poem by Eric Cockrell
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On Yonge Street
See the people walkin up and down
See the people movin all around
On the streets of my hometown on yonge street
Longest street in the world they say
Summertime soon slips away
I hope Ill see you one fine day on yonge street
Everywhere you go in a city by the lake
Back there in the flow you may give a hand a shake
Everyone you pass seems to wanna say hello
Even late at night on the freshly fallen snow
See the children jumpin all around
See the parents looking up and down
Upon the streets of my hometown on yonge street
Its a mean street if you choose
Its a lean street when you lose
An in-between street when you cruise on yonge street
Everywhere you go in a city by the lake
Youll be sure and find its a case of give and take
Everyone you pass seems to want to say hello
Even late at night when the streets are all aglow
Its the longest street in the world
With the most feet in the world
Another street where boy meets girl on yonge street
See the people walkin up and down
See the people movin all around
Those are the streets of my hometown on yonge street
Everywhere you walk people almost say hello
Even late at night when the streets are all aglow
On yonge street
On yonge street
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poetics
You know the old story Ann Landers tells
About the houseife in her basement doing the wash?
She's wearing her nightie, and she thinks, "Well, hell,
I might's well put this in as well," and then
Being dripped on by a leaky pipe puts on
Her son's football helmet; whereupon
The meter reader happens to walk through
and "Lady," he gravely says, "I sure hope your team wins."
A story many times told in many ways,
The set of random accidents redeemed
By one more accident, as though chaos
Were the order that was before the creation came.
That is the way things happen in the world:
A joke, a disappointment satisfied,
As we walk through doing our daily round,
Reading the meter, making things add up.
poem by Howard Nemerov
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Shakened And Awaiting On A Meter
I am not going to bide my time,
Shakened and awaiting on a meter!
To watch it eat up a clock...
With time I think,
That I've got.
I am not going to bide my time,
Shakened and awaiting on a meter...
'Cause,
I've never had it like that...
With time to sit back,
And to waste.
When Winter melts...
A new season comes to start.
When Spring arrives...
The budding on the trees are seen.
Flowers begin to bloom.
Birds begin to sing.
When Summer comes,
Humid and bringing on a sticky heat.
This is followed by Autumn...
And the leaves then fall from trees.
Blowing everywhere on the streets.
And forgetting all the beauty of the colors.
Mixed and drifting with each other.
When Winter melts,
A new season comes to begin.
The budding on the trees are seen.
Flowers begin to bloom.
Birds begin to sing.
And...
People mingling with each other.
No matter what the skin or the color.
I am not going to bide my time,
Shakened and awaiting on a meter...
'Cause,
I've never had it like that...
With time to sit back,
And to waste.
With people mingling with each other.
No matter what the skin or the color.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Take The Stone and Throw! Are You Ready?
Abandoned, battered and alone,
A few small mouths and old relations,
She owns nothing, not even her respect,
She has a spring that can be sold,
Day and night, the buyers are ready,
No need advertisement, the dogs can smell,
The most abused helpless profession,
Where the commodity is repeatedly auctioned,
Not the baby chasers at home,
Chase these babies of their neighbors,
When men are useless and helpless,
Women resort to prostitution.
When men are spineless and voiceless,
Women work as prostitutes.
When men are ignorant and violent,
Women are forced to be prostitutes,
When men fail to work with their brains,
Women lift their skirts for public display.
Prostitutes were everywhere in Europe and America,
Even in Japan when they were poor and destitute.
Prostitute are there in Singapore in Holland,
Where this profession is legal,
Prostitution in Indian cities,
Is not bloomed out of prosperity,
It is the deepen wound of poverty.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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The Real American Folk Song
Near barcelona, the peasant crooned
The old traditional spanish tunes
The neapolitan street song sighs
You think of italian skys
Each nation has a creative vein
Originating a native strain
With folk songs plaintive and others gay
In their own peculiar way
American folk songs, I feel
Have a much stronger appeal
The real american folksong is a rag
A mental jag
A rhythmic tonic for the chronic blues
The critics called it a joke song but now
Theyve changed their tune, and they like it, somehow
For its innoculated with a syncopated sort of meter, sweeter
Than a classic strain, boy you cant remain, still or quiet, for its a riot
The real american folksong
Is like a fountain of youth
You taste, and it elates you, and then, invigorates you
The real american folksong, the masses coaxed on, is a rag
(instrumental break)
The real american folksong is a rag
A mental jag
A rhythmic tonic for the chronic blues
The critics called it a joke song but now
Theyve changed their tune, and they like it, somehow
For its innoculated with a syncopated sort of meter, sweeter
Than a classic strain, boy you cant remain, still or quiet, for its a riot
The real american folksong
Is like a fountain of youth
You taste, and it elates you, and then, invigorates you
The real american folksong, is a rag
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A hospital bed is a parked taxi with the meter running.
quote by Groucho Marx
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A lot of people run a race to see who is fastest. I run to see who has the most guts, who can punish himself into exhausting pace, and then at the end, punish himself even more. Nobody is going to win a 5,000 meter race after running an easy 2 miles. Not with me. If I lose forcing the pace all the way, well, at least I can live with myself.
quote by Steve Prefontaine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Please don't ask me to do that which I've just said I'm not going to do, because you're burning up time. The meter is running through the sand on you, and I am now filibustering.
quote by George H. W. Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Keep Driving
Another new york waltz at four a.m.,
In the canyons lost at night
The citys just a jail for me, full of high rise prison walls
And Im riding through this darkness,
cause I know theres life within
And Im searching through the shadows,
Just to find that light again
Keep driving (keep driving),
Let the meter run
Keep driving (keep driving),
Oh the nights not really done
Keep driving
And Im hanging on a memory, and I feel it in the air
Im a prisoner of these lonely streets,
But I know Ill find you there
And oh lord, you look so pretty,
But you can see it in my eyes
And just before my tear will fall, oh you smile and get inside
It seems so real until the light turns green
Dont wake me up, dont ruin this dream, dont take me from my scene
Keep driving, keep driving,
Keep driving, keep driving,
I cant go home, dont take me home, I cant go home alone
They dont tell you when the music stops,
Or how the movie ends
Is it too late once the feelings gone,
To back it up and start it all again?
Oh lord you look so pretty,
And you can see it in my eyes
And just before that tear will fall, oh you smile and get inside
(keep driving) keep driving, driving
I cant go home, dont take me home, I cant go home alone
(keep driving) let the meter run,
(keep driving) dont take me home
(keep driving) ooh, the nights still young
(keep driving) I gotta find someone,
(keep driving) I gotta find someone,
(keep driving) I gotta find someone,
(keep driving) I gotta find someone,
(keep driving) ooh find someone,
(keep driving) I gotta find someone,
(keep driving) find someone,
(keep driving) find someone,
(keep driving, keep driving, keep driving, keep driving, keep driving)
song performed by by Meat Loaf
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Who stands with me?
True poets write in meter.
Not because they think it’s neater
but because the flow is sweeter
When their words are read aloud
as they perform before the crowd.
Their poems pass the acid test.
Prose writers do not choose to rhyme.
They see it as a waste of time.
Although their word choice is sublime.
Without meter it is prose,
not poetry as they suppose.
Their definition I contest.
Poetic prose it’s plain to see.
Can not be classed as poetry.
I can accept you disagree.
I know I have a biased view
I think I am entitled to
Decide which one I like the best.
I choose meter every time
Preferably with lines that rhyme.
I find such poetry sublime.
Though I enjoy well written prose.
Each to his own I must suppose
So write the way that suits you best.
I am old fashioned I admit
and not one whit ashamed of it.
I do not find rules inhibit.
Free expression of my views
They merely mean I have to choose
the words that will express them best
Free form, free verse, poetic prose.
Are methods other writers chose
as being fit for their purpose.
To rebel against fixed form.
Which was regarded as the norm.
Just to be different from the rest.
But fashions change and now free form
Must be regarded as the norm.
I see no reason to conform.
I choose to write my poetry
In the old way that pleases me.
A lonely voice raised in protest.
The wheel of fate will slowly turn
Metered poetry will return
and well deserved plaudits earn.
I hope I live to see the day.
when classic poets can display.
That fixed forms can outshine the rest.
Monday,06 December 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Stealthily, free verse
You sit on my desk,
Your legs, a sonnet's couplet,
Perfect in meter and rhyme.
You look at me and smile;
Your dimples brighten my room
Lit only by glitched browser's light.
You puff your cigarette, blow
Smoke that wafts soothing incense
On my face, weary of weaving
Words into flawless lines.
From the other room, we hear
Carefree soles pounding on the floor
In perfect jibe with the sensual beat
Of percussion and drums.
For one brief moment we stare
Deep into each other's eyes... then
Stealthily, we exchange verses
From the depths of our own souls
Passionately free of meter and rhyme.
poem by Fidel Arcenas
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Ben Franklin may have discovered electricity- but it is the man who invented the meter who made the money.
quote by Earl Warren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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