Dirty Weekend
I took you to a B&B
And signed us in as man and wife,
A cosy guest-house by the sea
For the worst weekend in my life.
All night you moaned and cried aloud
Although I tried to make you shush,
And when we came down for our meal
They stared at us in an awful hush.
I suppose I really should have known
That lust turns quickly into hate.
When everyone can hear you groan
It's better to be celibate! !
poem by John Thorkild Ellison
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Shush Shush
shush shush baby, I shall send you to sleep
shush shush baby, dry your tears
shush shush baby, stop the screams
shush shush baby, I won't let you die
shush shush baby, heal the scars
shush shush baby, I won't leave you
shush shush baby, push away your fears
shush shush baby, I'll kill the demons in your mind
shush shush baby, I love you
shush shush baby, I lie
poem by Leeza Gutierrez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There’s Only The Two Of Us Here
I camped one night in an empty hut on the side of a lonely hill.
I didn’t go much on empty huts, but the night was awful chill.
So I boiled me billy and had me tea and seen that the door was shut.
Then I went to bed in am empty bunk by the side of the old slab shed.
It must have been about twelve o’clock – I was feeling cosy and warm –
When at the foot of me bunk I sees a horrible ghostly form
It seemed in shape to be half an ape with a head like a chimpanzee
But wot the hell was it doin there, and wot did it want with me?
You may say if you please that I had DTs or call me a crimson liar,
But I wish you had seen it as plain as me, with it’s eyes like coals of fire.
Then it gave a moan and a horrible groan that curdled me blood with fear,
And ‘There’s only the two of us here,’ it ses. ‘There’s only the two of us here!’
I kept one eye on the old hut door and one on the awful brute;
I only wanted to dress meself and get to the door and scoot.
But I couldn’t find where I’d left me boots so I hadn’t a chance to clear
And, ‘There’s only the two of us here,’ it moans. ‘There’s only the two of us here!’
I hadn’t a thing to defend meself, not even a stick or stone,
And ‘There’s only the two of here!’ It ses again with a horrible groan.
I thought I’d better make some reply, though I reckoned me end was near,
‘By the Holy Smoke, when I find me boots, there’ll be only one of us here.’
I get me hands on me number tens and out through the door I scoots,
And I lit the whole of the ridges up with the sparks from me blucher boots.
So I’ve never slept in a hut since then, and I tremble and shake with fear
When I think of the horrible form wot moaned, ‘There’s only the two of us here!’
poem by Edward Harrington
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The Shrouding of the Duchess of Malfi
Hark, now everything is still,
The screech-owl and the whistler shrill,
Call upon our dame aloud,
And bid her quickly don her shroud!
Much you had of land and rent;
Your length in clay's now competent:
A long war disturbed your mind;
Here your perfect peace is signed.
Of what is't fools make such vain keeping?
Sin their conception, their birth weeping,
Their life a general mist of error,
Their death a hideous storm of terror.
Strew your hair with powders sweet,
Don clean linen, bathe your feet,
And (the foul fiend more to check)
A crucifix let bless your neck:
'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day;
End your groan, and come away.
poem by John Webster
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hark, now everything is still
HARK, now everything is still,
The screech-owl and the whistler shrill,
Call upon our dame aloud,
And bid her quickly don her shroud!
Much you had of land and rent;
Your length in clay's now competent:
A long war disturbed your mind;
Here your perfect peace is signed.
Of what is't fools make such vain keeping?
Sin their conception, their birth weeping,
Their life a general mist of error,
Their death a hideous storm of terror.
Strew your hair with powders sweet,
Don clean linen, bathe your feet,
And (the foul fiend more to check)
A crucifix let bless your neck:
'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day;
End your groan, and come away.
poem by John Webster
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Death Song
Hark, now everything is still;
The screech-owl and the whistler shrill
Call upon our dame aloud,
And bid her quickly don her shroud;
Much you had of land and rent,
Your length in clay's now competent.
A long war disturbed your mind;
Here your perfect peace is signed.
Of what is't fools make such vain keeping?
Sin their conception, their birth weeping,
Their life a general mist of error,
Their death a hideous storm of terror.
Strew your hair with powders sweet,
Don clean linen, bathe your feet,
And (the foul fiend more to check)
A crucifix let bless your neck;
'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day,
End your groan and come away.
poem by John Webster
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Poor Childs Future
Sister to sister.
The misfortunes of others.
And adoption out of convenience.
But what if the mother never loves the child.
A burden she never wanted.
And she can never have one of her own.
A sickness breeds hate.
A drug attic for a husband.
Her stepfather a wife beater.
Her mother will never leave him.
Her real father a vagrant.
Completely abandon by her family.
And all top of all this a constant reminder of what she can never have.
Something so precious.
An essence of life.
Jealousy turns into hate.
Hate turns into rage screaming at this child non stop everyday.
From morning to night.
Saying all kinds of mean and nasty things.
Destroying what ever self esteem this little one has.
If her sister only knew what she was doing.
She would realize poverty is not a mistake.
Sometimes the easy choices are the hardest ones to make.
Especially when love is involved.
You want to make them quick.
Before you have time to change your mind.
But if you only knew what I do.
You would have thought twice.
But it is not my place.
And what is done is done.
Papers were signed a very long time ago.
Like a blood pack.
Their is just no way of going back.
A retraction would make me happy.
But I do not see it in this poor child's future.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Diary Of a Divorcee
And the words keep ringing in my head
She says she cannot take it anymore
She says she is losing her head
I feel I am the worst of all
We had thought of going from black to grey
But for our guitar strings cut in two
She wants the lines signed again
I think of smiles at the first sign
And hate to have it signed with hate
I feel I am the worst of all
We had thought the merger was till death
But for our guitar strings cut in two
poem by Kenneth Umunna
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The glory of lust
‘Lust, Lust. It’s worst’
Many burst.
Lust is not a ghost,
Nor a devil, nor a peril.
The tender grass on a rocky patch
Is tender to taste for the toothless
Cow, old enough to die.
It is lust. Who can hate.
‘Lust, Lust, It’s the best’
All murmur in secret.
01.05.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Telegraph Operator
I will not wash my face;
I will not brush my hair;
I "pig" around the place--
There's nobody to care.
Nothing but rock and tree;
Nothing but wood and stone,
Oh, God, it's hell to be
Alone, alone, alone!
Snow-peaks and deep-gashed draws
Corral me in a ring.
I feel as if I was
The only living thing
On all this blighted earth;
And so I frowst and shrink,
And crouching by my hearth
I hear the thoughts I think.
I think of all I miss--
The boys I used to know;
The girls I used to kiss;
The coin I used to blow:
The bars I used to haunt;
The racket and the row;
The beers I didn't want
(I wish I had 'em now).
Day after day the same,
Only a little worse;
No one to grouch or blame--
Oh, for a loving curse!
Oh, in the night I fear,
Haunted by nameless things,
Just for a voice to cheer,
Just for a hand that clings!
Faintly as from a star
Voices come o'er the line;
Voices of ghosts afar,
Not in this world of mine;
Lives in whose loom I grope;
Words in whose weft I hear
Eager the thrill of hope,
Awful the chill of fear.
I'm thinking out aloud;
I reckon that is bad;
(The snow is like a shroud)--
Maybe I'm going mad.
Say! wouldn't that be tough?
This awful hush that hugs
And chokes one is enough
To make a man go "bugs".
There's not a thing to do;
I cannot sleep at night;
No wonder I'm so blue;
Oh, for a friendly fight!
The din and rush of strife;
A music-hall aglow;
A crowd, a city, life--
Dear God, I miss it so!
Here, you have moped enough!
Brace up and play the game!
But say, it's awful tough--
Day after day the same
(I've said that twice, I bet).
Well, there's not much to say.
I wish I had a pet,
Or something I could play.
Cheer up! don't get so glum
And sick of everything;
The worst is yet to come;
God help you till the Spring.
God shield you from the Fear;
Teach you to laugh, not moan.
Ha! ha! it sounds so queer--
Alone, alone, alone!
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Weekend
Friday night and everythings right on the weekend
Crazy clothes and anything goes on the weekend
John called in and jim got sue
I made a date with a little ol jew
Off he went to make a date on the weekend
No harm done, just having some fun on the weekend
Cartop down, just a ridin around on the weekend
Took a ride to lookout hill
The view up there was sure a thrill
That was all, we had a big fall on the weekend
There we were just sitting cool and cozy
I just had time to steal a little kiss
A police with a flashlight tried to nose in
He said, holy mackerel there, what is all this?
No harm done just having some fun on the weekend
Took a chance on crashin a dance on the weekend
We were almost inside the place
Then some boy slammed the door in my face
Hey you guys, you gotta wear ties on the weekend
Crazy clothes and anything goes on the weekend
That was all we had a big ball on the weekend
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Party Of God
[ billy bragg and natalie merchant ]
In a busy street
A man sits down
Oblivious to the traffic sounds
No chaos
No frenzied shrieking crowd
Thank God their silence
Walking heads bent down
Come when they saw us
Called it lethargy
The treadmill turns
There down below their feet
Should I pray for an end to come
Quickly (quickly), quickly (quickly)
Or cross the waves of an angry sea
Risking (risking)
And braving (braving)
The shipwreck and the mutiny assailing
Assailing
In a haunted doorway
And from the light of day
See another life fall to ruin in pain
False smiles from even children it seems
Landlocked ground for empty and lost dreams
A league against me
I hear him say
Its not worth half the effort
Or the price you pay
Should I pray for an end to come
Quickly (quickly), quickly (quickly)
Or should I raise my face to the heavens above
And tell God (dear God)
Stop jeering (and jeering)
As our human frailties and all
Our failings
Are we failing?
Pound pound on an endless street
Again and again the nightmare scene
All strained against the tightened rope
Not one with a lasting lingering hope
Theres evidence everywhere you see
Put a quarter down at the newsstand
So that you can read
Should I pray for an end to come
Quickly (quickly), quickly (quickly)
Or should I raise my face to the clouds above
Entreating (entreating)
Their mercy (some mercy)
But as clouds will do
Theyll rain down
First gently (gently) and sweetly (so sweetly)
Until they silence me
With a burst of thunder (thunder) and lightning (and lightning)
And helpless landlocked screaming
I know God must be agreeing
Its the worst part of watching
Its the worst part of watching
Its the worst part of watching
Its the worst part
Landlocked in screaming
God must be agreeing
To be helpless is the worst
Must be the worst part of watching
The worst part of watching
song performed by by 10000 Maniacs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The 11th commandment [A XI-a poruncă]
Hear closely, be watchful and shush!...
Hear closely, and learn how to speak,
Behold the construction technique.
And shush, grasp the things, do not rush...
Hear closely, be watchful and shush!
When sin clings to you like a vine,
And Mermaid's sweet song charms your soul
Shut up and remain in control
And pray to the relics in shrine –
When sin clings to you like a vine!...
When feel that your foe makes you sigh,
And faith slowly withers away,
Be patient, you'll triumph one day,
Don't let your mind's candle to die –
When feel that your foe makes you sigh!
When pain strikes your arms more and more,
Don't think that you start to get old,
Remain what you are and be bold –
The millstone resistant of yore –
When pain strikes your arms more and more!...
And when turn your eyes to the sky
To ask what to do and you blush,
Hear closely, be watchful and shush!...
Like wings stretch your arms and then fly
To reach the majestic blue sky!...
poem by Ion Minulescu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
Submitted by anonym
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Whoa Whoa Whoa Hush That Rush
Traveling with negative activities...
Hear them cuss a lot!
Yes, they cuss a lot.
Nothing that is said by them,
Seems to please.
And they cuss a lot.
Hear them cuss a lot!
No matter where they seem to be.
No matter in whose company.
Whoever is around them,
Never is quite free!
Or alone.
Traveling with negative activities...
Hear them cuss a lot!
Yes, they cuss a lot.
Nothing that is said by them,
Seems to please.
And they cuss a lot.
Hear them cuss a lot!
No matter where they seem to be.
No matter in whose company.
Whoever is around them,
Never is quite free!
Or alone.
No matter what the reason,
Or the season may be...
They rush to cuss,
With a lust to cuss!
Making misery as if a cup of tea.
They rush to cuss,
With a lust to cuss.
And dropping in the Autumn like leaves from trees.
They rush to cuss,
With a lust to cuss.
Traveling with negative activities...
Hear them cuss a lot!
Yes, they cuss a lot.
And dropping in the Autumn like leaves from trees.
They rush to cuss,
With a lust to cuss.
Making misery as if a cup of tea.
They rush to cuss,
With a lust to cuss.
Whoa whoa whoa hush that rush,
With a lust to cuss.
Whoa whoa whoa hush that rush,
With a lust to cuss.
Whoa whoa whoa hush that rush,
With a lust to cuss.
Whoa whoa whoa hush that rush,
With a lust to cuss.
Nothing that is said by them,
Seems to please.
Whoa whoa whoa hush that rush,
With a lust to cuss.
And making misery as if a cup of tea.
They rush to cuss,
With a lust to cuss.
Whoa whoa whoa hush that rush,
With a lust to cuss.
Whoa whoa whoa hush that rush,
With a lust to cuss.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Neath The Shandy And The Light
Away with your poetry and sing a song instead to me, make it real of love and lust, can you perform or turn to dust? Have you ever felt the spice, when the women you love, can turn and smite, and do you know of that great pain, will if you can, then write again.
Be ashamed and write you cried, or am I talking to a man beside, a man so tough he cannot cry, but can write of shite, behind words and hide.
Have you walked out in the streets and cried to strangers you have yet to meet, or are your rhymes just in your mind, you wish for love and wish for time’s, a women’s scorn is an awful dread, I kid you not, you wish for death. For once they hate you and say to go, go sing your song to Allen Poe.
Men are weak and women strong go see it written by poet or in song, they destroy when lust has gone, find the Spartans, and hear their lonesome song.
Women are great and you know its true; they get rid of a fool, a fool like you, you think you own them with your mighty thrust, but the jokes on you, is love like lust?
A women hold’s you through the night, it’s pure and simple like morning light, but do we hold that cherished orb, or do we abscond to a distant whore, she may be a drink, or a horse to bet, the nights great heat we scorn obsessed, no real man will ever heed these lines, for men are men and lost in time.
When a women say’s you are the one, she will hold you and you know it’s done, her beating heart for you alone, will defend your weakness, defend your home, but if you let that beating heart, be alone each night and after dark, she will conjure and she shall plan, you shall cry alone and not be a man, until in the pub and with your brothers, shall say, don’t worry you will find another, and herein lays the path of men, who cry to mothers, moving in again.
poem by Fergus Michael Condron
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Departing : A Script Nameless
'Your face more precious than my spectacle'-
It was the opening dialogue.
She simply spitted on his face
'My love is more precious than your spit'
She cried aloud and
didn't utter a single
I hear only time echoes 'I hate you, I hate you, I hate'
'If hate be the existing trauma
none could bear ones BIG within'
He returned and threw a stone into the sky......
Pranab k c
Edited on 01/08/2012
poem by Pranab K. Chakraborty
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Big Mal
This saturday his team were defeated and after the game in the pub
Big Mal was not in the mood for talking or singing the anthem of his club
Beaten by a point in a thriller but he does not take pride in an honourable defeat
To him victory only matter and winning to him always sweet.
Big Mal he has never played football though football plays a huge part in his life
The football team he supports to him as important as his young son or his beautiful wife
When his team as he calls them win he feels happy but losses he finds hard to take
But after each win he feels happy what a difference a victory can make.
Big Mal is a likeable fellow and so much about him to like
He does not drive his car when he's drinking he cycles to and from the pub on his pushbike
He says I need my driver's licence for work and at the weekend to watch my team play
My wife and son and my football team to me most important he say.
This saturday his team were the losers and Big Mal not happy at all
He feels sad on such an occasion and he never talks of football
But he has next weekend to look forward to and next saturday and sunday night
A win in the pub he may be celebrating and laughing aloud in delight.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When I Watch the Living Meet
When I watch the living meet
And the moving pageant file
Warm and breathing through the street
Where I lodge a little while,
If the heats of hate and lust
In the house of flesh are strong,
Let me mind the house of dust
Where my sojourn shall be long.
In the nation that is not
Nothing stands that stood before;
There revenges are forgot,
And the hater hates no more;
Lovers lying two and two
Ask not whom they sleep beside,
And the bridegroom all night through
Never turns him to the bride
poem by Alfred Edward Housman
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tolerance
[ merchant ]
The still and silence is torn with violence.
A loud breaking sound in the night is made.
Hear it grow, hear it fade.
The sound youre hearing, the sound youre fearing
Is the hate that parades up and down our streets, coming within bounds and within reach.
Now, inside the place we hide away, we hear it near and hope it turns away.
Turn away...
Theres something seething in the air were breathing.
We learn slash and burn is the method to use.
Set a flame, burn it new.
Were overpowered.
We kneel, we cower, we cover our heads.
Feel the threat of blows that will come and the damage that will be done in its wake.
Now, inside this place we hide away, we hear it near although its miles away.
We hear it near and hope it turns away.
Turn away...
This house divided, we live inside it.
Hates dwelling place is behind our door in fitful nights.
Hear it walk the floor and hear it rave as it moans and drags along its ball and chain,
As it moves through this house it cant escape.
Now inside this place we hide away.
We hear it near and hope it turns away.
Turn away....
song performed by by 10000 Maniacs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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One More Weekend
Slippin and slidin like a weasel on the run,
Im lookin good to see you, yeah, and we can have some fun.
One more weekend, one more weekend with you,
One more weekend, one more weekendll do.
Come on down to my ship, honey, ride on deck,
Well fly over the ocean just like you suspect.
One more weekend, one more weekend with you.
One more weekend, one more weekendll do.
Well fly the night away,
Hang out the whole next day,
Things will be okay,
You wait and see.
Well go someplace unknown,
Leave all the children home,
Honey, why not go alone
Just you and me.
Comin and goin like a rabbit in the wood,
Im happy just to see you, yeah, lookin so good.
One more weekend, one more weekend with you,
One more weekend, one more weekendll do (yes, you will!).
Like a needle in a haystack, Im gonna find you yet,
Youre the sweetest gone mama that this boys ever gonna get.
One more weekend, one more weekend with you,
One more weekend, one more weekendll do.
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Don't Know
Monday morning is not Monday morning 'till Taylor has his coffee
Friday night is not Friday night 'till Jessie leaves the room sweaty
Tuesday morning is not Tuesday morning 'till Nick has his talk with his son
Thursday night is not Thursday night 'till Chris has sex with his bass
Come on to the Weekend
'Cause the Weekend I'll get by
Hold off 'till the Weekend
'Cause there's too much time bein' merrily nice guys
Tuesday morning is Wednesday afternoon when you cry all night
Wednesday early we fall into what I'll Phil-a-del-ph-i-a
Thursday morning is not Thursday morning 'till one of us says
How's your life
How's your life?
Yeah how's your life
How's your life?
Come on to the weekend
'Cause the weekend I'll get by
Hold off 'till the weekend
'Cause there's too much time to think and not much time to cry
Hold off 'till the weekend
'Cause the weekend we'll be high
Hold off 'till the weekend
'Cause we may look tired, but we'll get by
What if there were no more mama's boys
What if no one shared their humble appearance
What there were no consequences
What if there were no more arguments
Well that'd be a shame
And that'd be impossible
And you would be bored
'Cause you wouldn't want it any other way
Hold on 'till the weekend
'Cause the weekend I'll get by
Hold off 'till the weekend
'Cause we may look scared, but we're really nice guys
Hold off 'till the weekend
'Cause the weekend I'll get high
Hold off 'till the weekend
'Cause we may look strange but we surely will get by
What if there were no more mama's boys
What if we all had no thinking together
Would that be a shame...
And that'd be impossible
'Cause you would be bored
'Cause you wouldn't want it any other way
song performed by by Alanis Morissette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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