Nanny's Chore - 0112 - Initial Version
Falls with full force
on all fours.
Crawls on the floor,
muddy paws.
Calls from the door,
sobbing sore.
Dressed in small drawers,
bawls for more,
and more, and more,
poor Nanny's chore!
(24 March 1976)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Nanny's Chore - 0112 - Current Version
Falls with full force
on all fours.
Crawls on the floor,
muddy paws.
Calls from the door,
sobbing sore.
Clad in small drawers,
cries out for more,
and more, and more,
poor Nanny's chore!
How can one draw
order calls
for sense, though sore
adult bawls:
'can't take no more! '
and recalls
rules youth knew, or
behind mind's shawls
from memory's store
prints out before
all patience stalls.
What are rules core
whose wherewithal
can calm restore
without angst? Thaw
through love's pure thrall
helps both withdraw
from crisis caw.
Rules shan't as chore
be seen, enthrall
as two adore
life's common law
avoiding brawl,
turmoil ignore.
(9 May 2010)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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S00 Bawls
Pretty little mongo
Everybody wants her toilet
Same old story
She wont let nobody near it
The way she teases them
Its such a shame
Shes got all the huboons
Crying out her name
Soo bawls soo bawls
Shes got em howling
Shes got em growling
Soo bawls soo bawls
Shes got em going clean out of their minds
Soo bawls soo bawls
There aint a man in town who wouldnt
Have her for his daughter
Theys all trade their brains for
One taste of her toilet water
1-2-3-4 tell the people what she wore
Theyre all trying hard to call her up
But her phones been disconnected
Since she sold her butt
song performed by by Devo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Double Standard I
Double Standard I
As an alternative to poor matrimony
man can in leaisure live, prefer polygamy,
still pleasure sweet may give through reciprocity, -
He deserves to win...
Should e’er in secrecy some white your wife commend
Forswear intimacy! Shun, fright, Sir, strife to send,
for her disloyalty indicts her, life condemned, -
She swerves to sin!
24 March 1976 robi3_0111_robi3_0000
Double Standard II
The adage: ‘two is company’
applies to you but not to me.
Law? What I bade, not what I do, -
for that, my maid, applies to you !
24 March 1976 robi3_1372_robi3_0000
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Double Standard II
DOUBLE STANDARD II
The adage: ‘two is company’
applies to you but not to me.
Law? What I bade, not what I do, -
for that, my maid, applies to you!
24 March 1976
robi03_1372_robi03_0000 WXX_JLX
llllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll lllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllllll
DOUBLE STANDARD I
As an alternative to poor matrimony
man can in leaisure live, prefer polygamy,
still pleasure sweet may give through reciprocity, -
He deserves to win...
Should e’er in secrecy some white your wife commend
Forswear intimacy! Shun, fright, Sir, strife to send,
for her disloyalty indicts her, life condemned, -
She swerves to sin!
24 March 1976 robi3_0111_robi3_0000
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Across the Bourse - 0116 - Initial Version
To gall, then gloom, did bear incline
Through Gaul when doom bid share decline.
I
once, twixt the spying strollers saw
dunce sixty sighing brokers sore.
Where skill may still preserve or flaw,
there ill they will deserve a floor.
Sots, they(re no hedge, nor ever sure,
whats their knowledge? poor, never more.
They'd steer, ears bent, cold rumour's roar,
strayed, veer, fearslent, old humours bore,
for where they read stock set to soar,
your share may red b[l]ock net blue score.
They've Will to lend on margin small
Save till, true end, gone Charge in call!
Fie!
(1 April 1976)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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I had immediate success in the sense that I sold something right off the bat. I thought it was going to be a piece of cake and it really wasn't. I have drawers full of - or I did have - drawers full of rejection slips.
quote by Fred Saberhagen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Rain Comes Sobbing to the Door
The night grows dark, and weird, and cold; and thick drops patter on the pane;
There comes a wailing from the sea; the wind is weary of the rain.
The red coals click beneath the flame, and see, with slow and silent feet
The hooded shadows cross the woods to where the twilight waters beat!
Now, fan-wise from the ruddy fire, a brilliance sweeps athwart the floor;
As, streaming down the lattices, the rain comes sobbing to the door:
As, streaming down the lattices,
The rain comes sobbing to the door.
Dull echoes round the casement fall, and through the empty chambers go,
Like forms unseen whom we can hear on tip-toe stealing to and fro.
But fill your glasses to the brims, and, through a mist of smiles and tears,
Our eyes shall tell how much we love to toast the shades of other years!
And hither they will flock again, the ghosts of things that are no more,
While, streaming down the lattices, the rain comes sobbing to the door:
While, streaming down the lattices,
The rain comes sobbing to the door.
The tempest-trodden wastelands moan - the trees are threshing at the blast;
And now they come, the pallid shapes of Dreams that perished in the past;
And, when we lift the windows up, a smothered whisper round us strays,
Like some lone wandering voice from graves
that hold the wrecks of bygone days.
I tell ye that I ~love~ the storm, for think we not of ~thoughts~ of yore,
When, streaming down the lattices, the rain comes sobbing to the door?
When, streaming down the lattices,
The rain comes sobbing to the door?
We'll drink to those we sadly miss, and sing some mournful song we know,
Since they may chance to hear it all, and muse on friends they've left below.
Who knows - if souls in bliss can leave the borders of their Eden-home -
But that some loving one may now about the ancient threshold roam?
Oh, like an exile, he would hail a glimpse of the familiar floor,
Though, streaming down the lattices, the rain comes sobbing to the door!
Though, streaming down the lattices,
The rain comes sobbing to the door!
poem by Henry Kendall
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Jean Geanie
A small Jean Genie snuck off to the city
Strung out on lasers and slash back blazers
Ate all your razors while pulling the waiters
Talking bout Monroe and walking on Snow White
New York's a go-go and everything tastes nice
Poor little Greenie, woh ho
Get back home
The Jean Genie lives on his back
The Jean Genie loves chimney stacks
He's outrageous, he screams and he bawls
Jean Genie let yourself go!
Sits like a man but he smiles like a reptile
She love him, she love him but just for a short while
She'll scratch in the sand, won't let go his hand
He says he's a beautician and sells you nutrition
And keeps all your dead hair for making up underwear
Poor little Greenie, woh ho
The Jean Genie lives on his back
The Jean Genie loves chimney stacks
He's outrageous, he screams and he bawls
Jean Genie let yourself go oh
He's so simple minded he can't drive his module
He bites on the neon and sleeps in the capsule
Loves to be loved, loves to be loved
Woh ho
Woh ho
Aoo Jean Genie lives on his back
The Jean Genie loves chimney stacks
And he's outrageous, he screams and he bawls
The Jean Genie let yourself go! go
Go
Jean Genie lives on his back
Jean Genie loves chimney stacks
And he's outrageous, he screams and he bawls
Jean Genie let yourself go woh go
Go go
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Freshman
When I was young I knew everything
And she a punk who rarely ever took advice
Now I'm gilt stricken,
Sobbing with my head on the floor
Stop a baby's breath and a shoe full of rice
I can't be held responsible
Cause she was touching her face
I won't be held responsible
She fell in love in the first place
For the life of me I cannot remember
What made us think that we were wise and
We'd never compromise
For the life of me I cannont believe
We'd ever die for these sins
We were merely freshmen
My best friend took a week's
Vacation to forget her
His girl took a weeks's worth of
Valium and slept
Now he's guilt stricken sobbing with his
Head on the floor
Thinks about her now and how he never really
Wept he says
We've tried to wash our hands of all this
We never talk of our lacking relationships
And how we're guilt stricken sobbing with our
Heads on the floor
We fell through the ice when we tried not to
Slip, we'd say
song performed by by Verve Pipe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Learning to Die
Death is not sudden, death does not grieve,
Death takes a while to achieve.
Death comes in layers;
Death is the mouse
From under the couch
At three am, and from under the stairs.
Death is the tumour on my mother’s skin,
Death is a jackhammer pounding in.
Death is a scrabbling crab on all fours,
Death is a jaguar on rough padded paws,
Lurking in the oven doors,
And hiding in the bureau drawers.
Death is the lump within my breast,
Death is the invited dinner guest.
Death is the cadaver,
A slab of cold meat
That lies on a plate.
Death is the wall of frozen sleet.
Death to me comes much too late.
poem by Caroline Misner
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Revolt 25 June 2009
Bursts of noise
officials in full school uniform enter
excitement as we
hug and laugh
I’m wearing Tiaan’s track suit
his school cap – his blazer
he wears himself
I’m bursting with delight
so many people
commemorating 1976 when
South Africans refused
to go to school
I can’t wait to run through
the building from floor one
to ten to check on everyone
see what the others
have done
Sylvia looks fantastic in
her school gear, Karen will soon
be here and the day will really
begin – no work is the general cry –
that is what they did in 1976
we have to stick to the spirit
of their revolt that dismantled
apartheid and
bought freedom for all!
25 June 2009 - Department Arts and Culture
commemorates the 1976 school protests
against apartheid in South Africa.
poem by Margaret Alice
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Understanding Salesmen
A knock at the door means
Hello Jesus calls
A ring on the phone means
A trip to Niagara Falls
Daddy, don't let me down this time
I'm all alone inside my mind
And it's no small thing
That I must prove to you
A late-night card game
With the guys is alright
But I would rather
Take you for a test drive
Daddy, don't let me down this time
I'm all alone inside my mind
And it's no small thing
That I must prove to you
Well, I look out on the passing fields
The sun through the bugs on the windshield
Makes me feel like I don't matter
A knock on the door means
Hello Jesus calls
A ring on the phone means
A trip to Niagara Falls
song performed by by Eels
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Freshmen
When I was young and knew everything
And she a punk who rarely ever took advice
Now Im guilt stricken,
Sobbing with my head on the floor
Stop a babys breath and a shoe full of rice
I cant be held responsible
Cause she was touching her face
I wont be held responsible
She fell in love in the first place
For the life of me I cannot remember
What made us think that we were wise and
Wed never comprimise
For the life of me cannot believe
Wed ever die for these sins
We were merely freshman
My best friend took a weeks
Vacation to forget her
His girl took a weeks worth of
Valium and slept
Now hes guilt stricken sobbing with his
Head on the floor
Thinks about her now and how he never really
Wept he says
Weve tried to wash our hands of all of this
We never talk of our lacking relationships
And how were guilt stricken sobbing with our
Heads on the floor
We fell through the ice when we tried not to
Slip, wed say
song performed by by Verve Pipe
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We Dont Live Here No More
Make believe your on a boat with no water around.
Picture yourself at a circus, without any clowns.
Pretend that youre on a highway, without any end.
Then empty the ashtray,
Sweep up the floor,
Put a lock on your door.
If somebody calls in the morning,
Just say we dont live here no more.
Draw me a picture of an island without any seas.
Show me a map of the whole world without boundaries.
Build me a home without windows or doors to go in.
Then empty the ashtray,
Sweep up the floor,
Put a lock on your door.
If somebody calls in the morning,
Just say we dont live here no more.
-----
Dream of a time when the tides ebbing now rise again.
Then you will know that to die is not really to end.
Living and dieing are both your most intimate friends.
So empty the ashtray,
Sweep up the floor,
Put a lock on your door.
If somebody calls in the morning,
Just say we dont live here no more.
If somebody calls in the morning,
Just say we dont live here no more.
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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She looks fatten to her fancy dress
Why did you give her an expensive dress?
This born slim girl floats in the Baroness's grand anniversary party.
Perhaps she may a Nanny in the Manor.
The infant cries pathetically instead of the Nanny's inner cry.
She smiles to the strangers showing her fancy dress.
Nobody knows her birthday that falls today.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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The Rain of March
The Fitful Showers of March
The rain of March, the rain of March
Came again
Came slanting down in full force
With pattering sound on the tin roof
Splashes of cold water wetted everything
The dry sand all around shone with a dazzle
The woodland paths softened with the tears
Of the blue sky.
For whom the sky wept?
The little leaves on the boughs
Quenched their thirst
Who washed all their heat and pain
The rain of March, the rain of March
Came again.
poem by Ratan Bhattacharjee
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The Elevator
1st floor decide what you'll be one day
With a head full of comment and nothing to say
2nd floor mixed up it happens that way
Soon you realize that listening don't pay
3rd floor in limbo, no easy moves
Up or down it's time to choose
(chorus)
The elevators going up
Quick the door's about to shut
Too late we're full just hang around
It won't be long - it won't be long before it's down
4th floor the job hunt and all that you ask
Is an honest day's pay for an honest day's graft
5th floor you may make a little more money
Now it's apparent downstairs ain't so fuuny
6th floor a mortgage, a collar and tie
2 weeks vacation in june or july
(chorus)
The elevators going up
Quick the door's about to shut ....
7th floor expenses and private schools
Pushing a pen you're not turning the tools
8th floor position, respect and acclaim
Move up the 9th for fortune or fame
10th floor for investment and real estate
Recouping the redies before it's tool late
11th floor the penthouse the final cut
With a head full of comment and a mouth that stays shut
(chorus)
The elevators going up
Quick the door's about to shut ....
song performed by by Ub40
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The House of Clay
THERE was a house, a house of clay,
Wherein the inmate sat all day,
Merry and poor;
For Hope sat with her, heart to heart,
Fond and kind, fond and kind,
Vowing he never would depart, --
Till all at once he changed his mind:
"Sweetheart, good by!" He slipped away
And shut the door.
But Love came past, and, looking in,
With smile that pierced like sunbeam thin
Through wall, roof, floor,
Stood in the midst of that poor room,
Grand and fair, grand and fair,
Making a glory out of gloom: --
Till at the window mocked cruel Care:
Love sighed; "All lose, and nothing win?" --
He shut the door.
Then o'er the close-barred house of clay
Kind clematis and woodbine gay
Crept more and more;
And bees hummed merrily outside,
Loud and strong, loud and strong,
The inner silentness to hide,
The patient silence all day long;
Till evening touched with finger gray
The bolted door.
Most like, the next step passing by
Will be the Angel's, whose calm eye
Marks rich, marks poor:
Who, fearing not, at any gate
Stands and calls, stands and calls;
At which the inmate opens straight, --
Whom, ere the crumbling clay-house falls,
He takes in kind arms silently,
And shuts the door.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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This is War
The desert sun beats down on you
Sweat drips from every pore
March along the small town streets
This is it; this is war
Scan the rooftops and alleyways
Now and then, kick down some doors
Pray it's not the last one you do
This his it; this is war
A gunshot rings out in the distance
Take your aim as you hit the floor
Return fire and stay alive
This is it; this is war
A letter comes in your name
With news from home your spirit soars
The pages bring you only grief
This is it; this is war
For months and months you've gone without
Your spirit's broken, your body's sore
Still you stand and carry on
This is it; this is war
You've made it through, the mission's done
Now you stand outside your door
You're a stranger in your own home
There you are: a casualty of war
poem by Joseph A. Solis
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Boot Camp
They run up and down the trail,
They wait for incoming mail.
They have to cut their hair,
All of this is too much to bare.
They get yelled at to their face,
They march at an unfamiliar pace.
They rappel down the muddy wall,
Which they say is five stories tall.
They sleep in a small bed with no heater,
But then the day comes when they climb the Grimm Reaper.
They will serve this great nation,
But for now they're at Graduation.
Now they march looking lean and mean,
And you'll know that he truly is a U.S. Marine.
poem by Quinn Callahan
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