Elegy on a London Jobber
Around the pristine walls of neon glass
the London jobber posts by pillared cell, -
to take a turn, Old Boy, to buy or sell.
He shares his pitch with others of his class,
and pitches shares while brokers pell-mell pass, -
marks red to buttons blue as green as grass.
Bell rings. He takes the call which spells shell’s knell,
then calls the take, fulfilling function well, -
tied to the Old School system, - silly farce!
Too many heads swell, barter gold for brass.
Though sun still shines, most squander hay - their bell
will toll, and toll-free shall machines excel,
matchless in matching bargains to surpass
those who for short hours, for fat pay, alas,
play both sides of the coin, bulls, bears, harass,
between fear, greed, prey – arbitrage cartel.
Hammered – Fate prepares a fond farewell
for all who take for granted “vie est belle! ”
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Eulogy on a London Jobber
Now profit seems a dirty word,
or so some fine folk say!
but as I feel that is absurd,
at stocks and shares I play.
Bold timing’s ever right - you ‘eard, -
it never fails to pay!
Old Boy, my judgement’s never erred,
there’s no one can gainsay!
I deal in scraps, true size or block,
game in my box I sit,
I feel perhaps too wise, poor cock, -
tame brokers ‘elp a bit!
Should button seek to shop ‘is stock,
I’m ‘ere to ‘elp ‘im do it,
for every joker I would mock,
rehocking at a profit.
I always buy at bottom rock,
at the top, I ‘op it,
if you consider that I shock,
fortune’s fair - you’re forfeit.
I pit my wits, job round the clock,
each day the market’s ope,
there is no-one I’d rob or knock,
I won’t push paper, mope!
Its all a question of control,
of bluff and double bluff!
As market maker I’ve my role,
the smooth comes with the rough!
I trade, and though scare bears may raid,
‘tis seldom that I’m caught;
and if, as said, I am well paid,
I’m just as seldom short!
Whenever challenged or waylayed,
I’m never overwrought,
I’m cool, collected, calm and staid, -
For jobbing’s such a sport!
It’s all great fun, though true ‘tis said
its full of danger fraught,
but if I never am afraid,
‘tis ‘cause I am self-taught.
Democracy despises wealth,
aught but ‘ard labour spurns!
Jobbing’s just great, it ‘elps me ‘ealth,
I like to take those turns!
© Jonathan Robin robi3_0029_robi3_0000 XXX_JXX 12 January 1975
Elegy on a London Jobber
Around the pristine walls of neon glass
the London jobber posts by pillared cell, -
to take a turn, Old Boy, to buy or sell.
He shares his pitch with others of his class,
and pitches shares while brokers pell-mell pass, -
marks red to buttons blue as green as grass.
Bell rings. He takes the call which spells shell’s knell,
then calls the take, fulfilling function well, -
tied to the Old School system, - silly farce!
Too many heads swell, barter gold for brass.
Though sun still shines, most squander hay - their bell
will toll, and toll-free shall machines excel,
matchless in matching bargains to surpass
those who for short hours, for fat pay, alas,
play both sides of the coin, bulls, bears, harass,
between fear, greed, prey – arbitrage cartel.
Hammered – Fate prepares a fond farewell
for all who take for granted “vie est belle! ”
© Jonathan Robin robi3_0126_robi3_0000 XXX_JXX 28 November 1976
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Martha
SEXTON! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
Her weary hands their labor cease;
Good night, poor Martha,-- sleep in peace!
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha 's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
For many a year has Martha said,
"I'm old and poor,-- would I were dead!"
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
She'll bring no more, by day or night,
Her basket full of linen white.
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
'Tis fitting she should lie below
A pure white sheet of drifted snow.
Toll the bell!
Sexton! Martha's dead and gone;
Toll the bell! toll the bell!
Sleep, Martha, sleep, to wake in light,
Where all the robes are stainless white.
Toll the bell!
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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O death, rock me on sleep
O death! rock me on sleep,
Bring me on quiet rest;
Yet pass my guiltless ghost
Out of my careful breast:
Toll on the passing bell,
Ring out the doleful knell,
Let the sound of my death tell,
For I must die,
There is no remedy,
For now I die.
My pains who can express?
Alas! they are so strong,
My dolor will not suffer strength
My life for to prolong:
Toll on the passing bell, etc.
Alone, in prison strong,
I wail my destiny,
Wo worth this cruel hap that I
Should taste this misery:
Toll on the passing bell, etc.
Farewell my pleasures past,
Welcome my present pain;
I feel my torments so increase
That life cannot remain.
Cease now the passing bell,
Rung is my doleful knell,
For the sound my death doth tell,
Death doth draw nigh,
Sound my end dolefully,
For now I die.
poem by Anne Boleyn (1536)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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O Death, O Death, Rock Me Asleep
O Death, O Death, rock me asleep,
Bring me to quiet rest;
Let pass my weary guiltless ghost
Out of my careful breast.
Toll on, thou passing bell;
Ring out my doleful knell;
Thy sound my death abroad will tell,
For I must die,
There is no remedy.
My pains, my pains, who can express?
Alas, they are so strong!
My dolours will not suffer strength
My life for to prolong.
Toll on, thou passing bell;
Ring out my doleful knell;
Thy sound my death abroad will tell,
For I must die,
There is no remedy.
Alone, alone in prison strong
I wail my destiny:
Woe worth this cruel hap that I
Must taste this misery!
Toll on, thou passing bell;
Ring out my doleful knell;
Thy sound my death abroad will tell,
For I must die,
There is no remedy.
Farewell, farewell, my pleasures past!
Welcome, my present pain!
I feel my torment so increase
That life cannot remain.
Cease now, thou passing bell,
Ring out my doleful knoll,
For thou my death dost tell:
Lord, pity thou my soul!
Death doth draw nigh,
Sound dolefully:
For now I die,
I die, I die.
O Death, O Death, Rock Me Asleep
O Death, O Death, rock me asleep,
Bring me to quiet rest;
Let pass my weary guiltless ghost
Out of my careful breast.
Toll on, thou passing bell;
Ring out my doleful knell;
Thy sound my death abroad will tell,
For I must die,
There is no remedy.
My pains, my pains, who can express?
Alas, they are so strong!
My dolours will not suffer strength
My life for to prolong.
Toll on, thou passing bell;
Ring out my doleful knell;
Thy sound my death abroad will tell,
For I must die,
There is no remedy.
Alone, alone in prison strong
I wail my destiny:
Woe worth this cruel hap that I
Must taste this misery!
Toll on, thou passing bell;
Ring out my doleful knell;
Thy sound my death abroad will tell,
For I must die,
There is no remedy.
Farewell, farewell, my pleasures past!
Welcome, my present pain!
I feel my torment so increase
That life cannot remain.
Cease now, thou passing bell,
Ring out my doleful knoll,
For thou my death dost tell:
Lord, pity thou my soul!
Death doth draw nigh,
Sound dolefully:
For now I die,
I die, I die.
poem by Anonymous Americas
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Pellmell Morning
Woke up with the crow
Crow flew away uncaged
A pell-mell morning, know not how
Like that crow to fly freed
Pell-mell chores, pell-mell errands
Bound and bowed to the pell-mell duties
Pell-mell rise, pell-mell bath, pell-mell pooja
Pell-mell cooking break-fasting on grumbles others'
Running faster after the sun
Soused in sweat a hurry-burry fun
Pell-mell hubbub to school and office wishing
Doubled my eyes and limbs added on my back
Awaiting attention my in-laws
Pain in the neck, poking in or breaking away
My significant maidservant
Very much purposely the dying gas cylinder
More ruthlessly the electricity cut off
Mixie, grinder, microwave, all reposing
Pell-mell jiggles, pell-mell morning, agree?
poem by Indira Renganathan
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The Farewell Bell
The peals of the funeral bell echo to the calm sky
For someone today 'tis a final goodbye
And on some future date whenever that be
A similar bell will be ringing for me.
Free of the cares of life and of worry and fear
The farewell bell for him or for her the deceased one doesn't hear
By it's slow drawn out tolls it's not hard for to tell
That for someone the ringer rings the farewell bell.
The same fate for you and for me and for all
To the scythe of the Reaper we eventually must fall
Yet on a sunlit wattle the magpie does sing
And he care not if for one the farewell bell ring.
A beautiful morning the magpie in song
With the farewell bell he is singing along
And white butterflies dancing a beautiful sight
Around the blossoming trees in the warm sunlight
poem by Francis Duggan
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Sick fancies of a tired mind
A bell rings out, a deep toned bell.
A single chime; that’s ominous.
What does that single chime foretell?
So resonant and sonorous
It marks the passing of the hour.
Perhaps the passing of a soul
It issues from the ivied tower
and echoes imitate its toll.
I long to know but I must wait
while night hours crawl slowly past
deliberately to agitate.
It seems to me the night hours last
much longer than they ought to do.
When aches and pains keep me awake
Although I know it isn’t true.
It seems to be for pity’s sake.
My morbid fancies lead me to
conclusions that I should not draw
As morbid fancies tend to do
more often than they did before.
There’s nothing left in life for me
I’ve run my race I’m satisfied
That friendly death will set me free.
I‘ve been alone since my wife died.
I know I won’t hear my death knell
I find the thought amuses me
but there is no one I can tell
about this thought that tickles me.
When my call comes I will rejoice
I’ve long been waiting patiently
but we are given little choice
I will greet my death eagerly.
I’m weary and I long to go
but know I have to wait my turn.
Although I wish it wasn’t so
I must wait patiently and yearn.
16-Jul-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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How I Wish The Bell Tolls For Me
for whom the bell tolls?
i ask that
it must toll for me,
but the bell never really
toll for me,
always, it tolls for someone else,
a friend for 15 years
a relative close to the family,
a baby newly born in town,
a man conscious of his health,
the non-smoker and non-drinker alike,
the successful politician,
the wife of an expatriate,
the rich gambler, oh, the bell tolls for all of them
and there were banquets and city lights
and eulogies
and expensive garments of the priest
i wish the bell tolls for me,
but who am i to really say?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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No Time To Kill
Theres no time to kill between the cradle and the grave
Father time still takes a toll on every minute that you save
Legal tenders never gonna change the number on your days
The highest cost of livins dyin, thats one everybody pays
So have it spent before you get the bill, theres no time to kill
If wed known ten years ago today would be ten years from now
Would we spend tomorrows yesterdays and make it last somehow
Or lead the cheers in someone elses game and never learn to play
And see the rules of thumb are all the same that measure every day
The grass is green on both sides of the hill, theres no time to kill
No time to kill, even Ive said it and probably always will
But I can look ahead and see that time aint standin still
No time to kill but time to change the kind of hurry Ive been in
And quit this work and worry lookin back at where Ive been
If you dont look ahead nobody will, theres no time to kill
If we had an hour glass to watch each one go by
Or a bell to mark each one to pass, wed see just how they fly
Would we escalate the value to be worth its weight in gold
Or would we never know the fortunes that we had til we grow old
And do we just keep killin time until theres no time to kill
Repeat chorus twice
No time to kill
No time to kill
No time to kill
song performed by by Clint Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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L'ecole
School is such a wreck
School is such a bore
Especially with all the stupid little whores
The time drags on
As the teacher talks some more
School is such a bore
School it makes me sick!
Lunch is too short, and class is too long
Everyone is lame
And everyone just wants to play their stupid games
We want to hang out
We want to kickback
We want to leave school
Lets have another walk-out
Maybe even break-out!
School is such a bore
School is such a wreck
I wonder when we get to leave?
As soon as the bell rings?
My teacher looks like an ugly duck
I hope he'll finally shut up!
Hurray! Hurray!
The bell finally rung!
poem by Starrbox Munoz
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High School sweethearts
started out as high school swwethearts
i sit in front of class
he sits in the back
i pass him his worksheet
he says come sit back here with me
i think to myself
he seems new here
so i sit back there to help
turn out he didnt need it
then i look in to his eyes
what a surprise
he seems so cute
the teacher tell us to hush
so i pass him a note
he reads do you like me yes no maybe
he writes back yes lol you crazy
then the bell rings for lunch
so he set to himself
i came and set with
he ask whats my name
i say bri
he says sweet
my name james
so we go back to class
doin our classwork
this is our sophomore year
we hook up
2 years go by
he went to
a different school
this is now our senior year
class of 2010
heart school sweethearts
never part
even when he change school
so what does that tell you
nothing is impossible
poem by Briangela Jones
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I Have Not Been To Oxford Town
Baby grace is the victim
She was 14 years of age
And the wheels are turning, turning
For the finger points at me
Alls well
But I have not been to oxford town
Alls well
But I have not been to oxford town
Toll the bell
Pay the private eye
Alls well
20th century dies
And the prison priests are decent
My attorney seems sincere
I fear my days are numbered
Lord get me out of here
Alls well
But I have not been to oxford town
Alls well
But I have not been to oxford town
Toll the bell
Pay the private eye
Alls well
20th century dies
This is your shadow on my wall
This is my flesh and blood
This is what I couldve been
And the wheels are turning and turning
As the 20th century dies
If I had not ripped the fabric
If time had not stood still
If I had not met ramona
If Id only paid my bill
Alls well
But I have not been to oxford town
Alls well
But I have not been to oxford town
Toll the bell
Pay the private eye
Alls well
20th century dies
And the wheels are turning and turning
As the 20th century dies
This is my bunk with two sheets
This is my food though foul
This is what I could have been
Toll the bell
Pay the private eye
Alls well
20th century dies
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sea Song of the Exiles
Dear land, farewell!
Waves surge and swell.
Dear land, farewell, --
Blue sky!
Farewell, white cot whence the ripe grapes fall,
Gold blooms that bask on the mossy wall!
Dear land, farewell!
Hill, plain, and dell!
Dear land, farewell, --
Blue sky!
Dear land, farewell!
Waves surge and swell.
Dear land, farewell, --
Blue sky!
Farewell, betrothed, with the pure, pale brow;
'Neath sombre heaven dark billows we plough.
Dear land, farewell!
In thee our loves dwell;
Dear land, farewell, --
Blue sky!
Dear land, farewell!
Waves surge and swell.
Dear land, farewell, --
Blue sky!
Our eyes, whose tears all brightness blot,
Leave the dark wave for a darker lot!
Dear land, farewell!
In our heart's a knell.
Dear land, farewell, --
Blue sky!
poem by Victor Hugo
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For whom the Bell Tolls
PERCHANCE he for whom this bell tolls may be so ill, as that he
knows not it tolls for him; and perchance I may think myself so
much better than I am, as that they who are about me, and see my
state, may have caused it to toll for me, and I know not that. The
church is Catholic, universal, so are all her actions; all that she
does belongs to all. When she baptizes a child, that action
concerns me; for that child is thereby connected to that body which
is my head too, and ingrafted into that body whereof I am a member.
And when she buries a man, that action concerns me: all mankind is
of one author, and is one volume; when one man dies, one chapter is
not torn out of the book, but translated into a better language;
and every chapter must be so translated; God employs several
translators; some pieces are translated by age, some by sickness,
some by war, some by justice; but God's hand is in every
translation, and his hand shall bind up all our scattered leaves
again for that library where every book shall lie open to one
another. As therefore the bell that rings to a sermon calls not
upon the preacher only, but upon the congregation to come, so this
bell calls us all; but how much more me, who am brought so near the
door by this sickness. There was a contention as far as a suit (in
which both piety and dignity, religion and estimation, were
mingled), which of the religious orders should ring to prayers
first in the morning; and it was determined, that they should ring
first that rose earliest. If we understand aright the dignity of
this bell that tolls for our evening prayer, we would be glad to
make it ours by rising early, in that application, that it might be
ours as well as his, whose indeed it is. The bell doth toll for him
that thinks it doth; and though it intermit again, yet from that
minute that this occasion wrought upon him, he is united to God.
Who casts not up his eye to the sun when it rises? but who takes
off his eye from a comet when that breaks out? Who bends not his
ear to any bell which upon any occasion rings? but who can remove
it from that bell which is passing a piece of himself out of this
world? No man is an island, entire of itself; every man is a piece
of the continent, a part of the main. If a clod be washed away by
the sea, Europe is the less, as well as if a promontory were, as
well as if a manor of thy friend's or of thine own were: any man's
death diminishes me, because I am involved in mankind, and
therefore never send to know for whom the bell tolls; it tolls for
thee. Neither can we call this a begging of misery, or a borrowing
of misery, as though we were not miserable enough of ourselves, but
must fetch in more from the next house, in taking upon us the
misery of our neighbours. Truly it were an excusable covetousness
if we did, for affliction is a treasure, and scarce any man hath
enough of it. No man hath affliction enough that is not matured and
ripened by it, and made fit for God by that affliction. If a man
carry treasure in bullion, or in a wedge of gold, and have none
coined into current money, his treasure will not defray him as he
travels. Tribulation is treasure in the nature of it, but it is not
current money in the use of it, except we get nearer and nearer our
home, heaven, by it. Another man may be sick too, and sick to
death, and this affliction may lie in his bowels, as gold in a
mine, and be of no use to him; but this bell, that tells me of his
affliction, digs out and applies that gold to me: if by this
consideration of another's danger I take mine own into
contemplation, and so secure myself, by making my recourse to my
God, who is our only security.
poem by John Donne
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Farewell
Can I see thee stand
On the looming land?
Dost thou wave with thy white hand
Farewell, farewell?
I could think that thou art near,
Thy sweet voice is in mine ear,
Farewell, farewell!
While I listen, all things seem
Singing in a singing dream,
Farewell, farewell!
Echoing in an echoing dream,
Farewell, farewell!
Yon boat upon the sea,
It floats 'twixt thee and me,
I see the boatman listless lie;
He cannot hear the cry
That in mine ears doth ring
Farewell, farewell!
Doth it pass him o'er and o'er,
Heard upon the shore behind,
Farewell, farewell!
Heard upon the ship before,
Farewell, farewell!
Like an arrow that can dart
Viewless thro' the viewless wind,
Plain on the quivering string,
And plain in the victim's heart?
Are there voices in the sky,
Farewell, farewell?
Am I mocked by the bright air,
Farewell, farewell?
The empty air that everywhere
Silvers back the sung reply,
Farewell, farewell!
While to and fro the tremulous accents fly,
Farewell, farewell!
Now shown, now shy,
Farewell, farewell!
Now song, now sigh,
Farewell, farewell!
Toy with the grasping heart that deems them nigh,
Come like blown bells in sudden wind and high,
Or far on furthest verge in lingering echoes die,
Farewell, farewell!
Farewell, farewell, farewell!
Oh, Love! what strange dumb Fate
Hath broken into voice to see us hope?
Surely we part to meet again?
Like one struck blind, I grope
In vain, in vain;
I cannot hold a single sense to tell
The meaning of this melancholy bell,
Farewell, farewell!
I touch them with my thought, and small and great
They join the swaying swell,
Farewell, farewell!
Farewell, farewell, farewell!
Aye, when I felt thee falling
On this heaving breast-
Aye, when I felt thee prest
Nearer, nearer, nearer,
Dearer, dearer, dearer-
Aye, while I saw thy face,
In that long last embrace,
The first, the last, the best-
Aye, while I held thee heart to heart,
My soul had pushed off from the shore,
And we were far apart;
I heard her calling, calling,
From the sea of nevermore
Farewell, farewell!
Fainter, fainter, like a bell
Rung from some receding ship,
Farewell, farewell!
The far and further knell
Did hardly reach my lip,
Farewell, farewell!
Farewell, farewell, farewell!
Away, you omens vain!
Away, away!
What! will you not be driven?
My heart is trembling to your augury.
Hence! Like a flight of seabirds at a gun,
A thousand ways they scatter back to Heaven,
Wheel lessening out of sight, and swoop again as one!
Farewell, farewell!
Farewell, farewell, farewell!
Oh, Love! what fatal spell
Is winding, winding round me to this singing?
What hands unseen are flinging
The tightening mesh that I can feel too well?
What viewless wings are winging
The siren music of this passing bell?
Farewell, farewell!
Farewell, farewell, farewell!
Arouse my heart! arouse!
This is the sea: I strike these wooden walls:
The sailors come and go at my command:
I lift this cable with my hand:
I loose it and it falls:
Arouse! she is not lost,
Thou art not plighted to a moonlight ghost,
But to a living spouse.
Arouse! we only part to meet again!
Oh thou moody main,
Are thy mermaid cells a-ringing?
Are thy mermaid sisters singing?
The saddest shell of every cell
Ringing still, and ringing
Farewell, farewell!
To the sinking sighing singing,
To the floating flying singing,
To the deepening dying singing,
In the swell,
Farewell, farewell!
And the failing wailing ringing,
The reaming dreaming ringing
Of fainter shell in deeper cell,
To the sunken sunken singing,
Farewell, farewell!
Farewell, farewell!
Farewell, farewell, farewell?
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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Dirge OF Nelson
Toll Nelson's knell! a soul more brave
Ne'er triumphed on the green-sea wave!
Sad o'er the hero's honoured grave,
Toll Nelson's knell!
The ball of Death unerring flew;
His cheek has lost its ardent hue;
He sinks, amid his gallant crew!
Toll Nelson's knell!
Yet lift, brave chief, thy dying eyes;
Hark! loud huzzas around thee rise;
Aloft the flag of conquest flies!
The day is won!
The day is won--peace to the brave!
But whilst the joyous streamers wave,
We'll think upon the victor's grave!
Peace to the brave!
poem by William Lisle Bowles
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The Scarlet Tide (feat. Emmylou Harris)
Well I recall his parting words
Must I accept his fate?
Or take myself far from this place
I thought I heard a black bell toll
A little bird did sing
Man has no choice
When he wants everything
[Chorus:]
We'll rise above the scarlet tide
That trickles down through the mountain
And separates the widow from the bride
Man goes beyond his own decision
Gets caught up in the mechanism
Of swindlers who act like kings
And brokers who break everything
The dark of night was swiftly fading
Close to the dawn of the day
Why would I want him
Just to lose him again
[Chorus 2x]
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Love Has Taken Its Toll
Some girls you meet seem so complete
Like they dont need nothin from you
Theyre out to show you they dont want to know you
When deep inside they do
Well, this girl didnt want me or anyone else
She was alone, thought Id give it a try
I was a young bull stompin in the field
I saw red when she walked by
Love has taken its toll, love has
Love has taken, taken its toll, oh yeah
I had to think fast, I watched her walk past
I knew I would have my way
So I swaggered up, I mean I staggered up
But I didnt have a damn thing to say
Now, two handed strategy always works well for me
So I slipped my hands around her waist
I swore it was the right move, feelin so smooth
Till she backhanded me cross my face
Love has taken its toll, love has
Love has taken, taken its toll, oh yeah
To make a long story short, she finally got caught
I had to tell her enough is enough
She said, youre just what I needed, and boy
She nearly pleaded with me not to be too rough
Love has taken its toll, love has
Love has taken, taken its toll, oh yeah
Love has taken, taken its toll, love has
Love has taken, taken its toll, oh yeah
Love has taken, taken its toll, love has
Love has taken, taken its toll, oh yeah
song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A School Is So Not Cool
School Is Not So Cool
School, School, School,
A school is not cool
We're here 5 days a week
8 hours a day.
School, School, School,
A school is not cool.
People laugh when we fall
we just have to make a call.
School, School, School
A school is not cool.
We have to work hard to get good grades
I'm not going to do it no more
I do it every day.
We can’t go on the grass
We can’t bother another class
We can’t save spots at lunch
We have to go as a bunch.
We have 3 minutes in the hall
I'm always late what a ball.
We have to pay attention
if not we get detention.
School, School, School,
A school is not cool.
They have too many rules
they play us as fools
if we get A's
the parents jump Hip Hip Hooray.
If we get F's
we tell them we need to take a rest.
We always have homework
we never have class work
they have to many rules
they need to take it cool.
School, School, School,
A school is so not cool!
poem by Fahed Sharaf
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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