The Worm
Dawn: – I sperm
on grass, ground.
Stem to stern
bound I’m found.
Vile erme worm
underground,
silent squirm
‘neath firm mound.
Slimy derm
rings me round,
while I turn
earth, - no sound.
But I churn
while men fiddle, -
‘tis the kern
of my riddle...
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Turn Around
I was working all night in my office
When a man I had recently killed
Called me up from a phone near my building
So I looked out the window at him
He had the same obsequious manner
That was the reason I had him killed
So to calm my nerves I sang this song
To him, over the phone
Turn around, turn around
Theres a thing there that can be found
Turn around, turn around
Its a human skull on the ground
Human skull on the ground
Turn around
I was out by myself in the graveyard
I was doing an interpretive dance
When I felt something heavy and pointed
Strike me in the back of the neck
And then the ghost of my dance instructor
Pushed me down into an open grave
And as dirt rained down she played a xylophone
And sang me this song
Turn around, turn around
Theres a thing there that can be found
Turn around, turn around
Its a human skull on the ground
Human skull on the ground
Turn around
We were waving our arms out the window
Of a fast moving passenger train
Acting in an irresponsible fashion
Until the engineer whose back had been turned
And who we thought would find us highly amusing
Quickly swiveled his head around
And his face which was a paper-white mask of evil
Sang us this song
Turn around, (round) turn around (round)
Theres a thing there that can be found (theres a thing there that can be)
Turn around, (found) turn around (round)
Its a human skull on the ground (its a human skull on the)
Human skull (ground) on the ground (round)
Turn around (turn around, turn around)
Turn around, (round) turn around (round)
Theres a thing there that can be found (theres a thing there that can be)
Turn around, (found) turn around (round)
Its a human skull on the ground (its a human skull on the)
Human skull (ground) on the ground (round)
Turn around (turn around, turn around)
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Ring Of Grass
Rings of grass crowns of flowers they're gone gone gone gone
Furs that I woven of whispering hours gone gone gone gone
She's gone away where the rings are real
And the furs have warmth that a woman can feel
Round and round round goes the wheel
And she's gone gone gone gone gone
Rings of grass and crowns of flowers gone gone gone gone
Castles of sand with seashell towers gone gone gone gone
She's gone away where the dreams are small
But the castles are rock and they never fall
And left me here to live among all that is gone gone gone gone gone
Rings of grass oh why did they die away gone gone gone gone
Whispering hours where did they fly away gone gone gone gone
And where is the wisdom to understand
That years would crumble our castles of sand
And the flowers and grass turn brown in our hands
When it's gone gone gone gone gone gone gone gone
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To The Enemy 47th FAPLA / Cuban Brigade (Fay Slimm form / decanelle)
In the veldt they put Cuban soldiers to rest
simply as found
with hillocks unfamiliar under a foreign sky
at each mound,
all kinds of strange animals, birds and pest
came looking around,
after the guns, the earth and grass did cry
in a weeping sound
with lions, hyenas, jackals on a kopje crest,
on stony ground.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Just Want You Around
I just want you around
I just want you around
I just want you around
I just want you around
Thought that I had lost you
I can hardly make a sound
When I thought I couldn't hold you
Knew the world had let me down
Should have took the time to tell you
You keep my feet on the ground
I hope that you can hear me
Cause I know its not profound
I just want you around
I just need you around
I just want you around
I just need you around
When I thought I was without you
I got used to being down
It was my fault I used to doubt you
But that aint me next time around
Please believe me when I tell you
Cause all my words are bound
This is my cross now let me bare it
I was lost but now I'm found-found-found
I just want you around
I just need you around
I just want you around
I just need you around
Took this love for granted
Kept my feelings underground
Should have watered what I planted
Should have known what I have found
I'm not used to being lonely
I don't like the way it sounds
You're the only one I know-yeah
Who don't turn my upside-down
I just want you around
I just need you around
I just want you around
I just need you around
Yeah I want you around
I just need you around .......
song performed by by Lauryn Hill
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Road to Roundabout
Some say that Guy of Warwick
The man that killed the Cow,
And brake the mighty Boar alive
Beyond the bridge at Slough;
Went up against a Loathly Worm
That wasted all the Downs,
And so the roads they twist and squirm
(If a may be allowed the term)
From the writhing of the stricken Worm
That died in seven towns.
I see no scientific proof
That this idea is sound,
And I should say they wound about
To find the town of Roundabout,
The merry town of Roundabout,
That makes the world go round.
Some say that Robin Goodfellow,
Whose lantern lights the meads
(To steal a phrase Sir Walter Scott
In heaven no longer needs),
Such dance around the trysting-place
The moonstruck lover leads;
Which superstition I should scout
There is more faith in honest doubt
(As Tennyson has pointed out)
Than in those nasty creeds.
But peace and righteousness (St John)
In Roundabout can kiss,
And since that's all that's found about
The pleasant town of Roundabout,
The roads they simply bound about
To find out where it is.
Some say that when Sir Lancelot
Went forth to find the Grail,
Grey Merlin wrinkled up the roads
For hope that he would fail;
All roads lead back to Lyonesse
And Camelot in the Vale,
I cannot yield assent to this
Extravagant hypothesis,
The plain, shrewd Briton will dismiss
Such rumours (Daily Mail).
But in the streets of Roundabout
Are no such factions found,
Or theories to expound about,
Or roll upon the ground about,
In the happy town of Roundabout,
That makes the world go round.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To See Life As A Riddle
Life,
Is what we make it.
But some will sit,
To see life as a riddle.
And life...
Some choose to fake it.
With a doing that's believed,
They can be freed of mistakes.
Yet life,
Is what we make it.
But some will sit,
To see life as a riddle.
Some people have a need,
To play life second fiddle.
Out of tune,
And afraid of taking risks.
Some people live,
Afraid of taking chances...
With dismissing most of it!
Yet life,
Is what we make it.
But some will sit,
As if it is a riddle.
Life,
Is what we make it.
Yet some will sit,
Just to play it second fiddle.
And some will see life,
With no middle but a riddle.
Yes some will sit,
Just to play life second fiddle.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sergeant Sims' Saga 0018
Sunday sixth saw some slay scound
corpse soundless sunk in silty sound
where, settled on sand shore, abound
screaming seagulls whose cries sound
from strand to land. Their sounds rebound,
resound against old ships aground
where restless breakers crash and pound.
Forever will his bones be bound
by biting wires wound right around
his battered limbs, still will surround
his skeleton deep underground.
Not floating on the flood was found,
but down beside the damned, deep drowned.
Forensic information found
that someone gunned him to the ground,
and while he from dire wound would swound
with dagger the deceased had downed.
Hell's halls with welcome wild redound.
Another promptly plucked each pound
and paper, from the purse he owned,
picking pockets all around.
Beneath hair stream his skull still crowned
his frightful features fixèd frowned.
The same did Sergeant Sims astound,
together closely molars ground,
and to the Super see him pound.
The latter peered from paper mound.
Said he: 'Hie, harry out the hound
who drowned downed scoundrel, dumped him down
within the sound without a sound,
he must be mad, insane, unsound! '
(14 January 2009)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Advance – Come Forth From Thy Tyrolean Ground
ADVANCE-come forth from thy Tyrolean ground,
Dear Liberty! stern Nymph of soul untamed;
Sweet Nymph, O rightly of the mountains named!
Through the long chain of Alps from mound to mound
And o'er the eternal snows, like Echo, bound;
Like Echo, when the hunter train at dawn
Have roused her from her sleep: and forest-lawn,
Cliffs, woods and caves, her viewless steps resound
And babble of her pastime!-On, dread Power!
With such invisible motion speed thy flight,
Through hanging clouds, from craggy height to height,
Through the green vales and through the herdsman's bower-
That all the Alps may gladden in thy might,
Here, there, and in all places at one hour.
poem by William Wordsworth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Acorn
An acorn swung
On an oak-tree bough;
So long it had hung,
It would fain fall now
To the kindly earth,
That its germ within
Might burst into birth,
And its life begin.
And the autumn came
With its burning hand,
And each leaf grew a flame,
And each bough a brand.
And a worm came up
And began to eat
Though the hard, dry cup
To the acorn sweet.
And the acorn thought,
“I shall soon see now
The life I have sought,
When I fall from the bough;
For the worm gnaws through
Each tendon slight,
That about me grew,
And bound me tight.”
And with dying day
Came the zephyr’s sound;
And the acorn lay
Next morn on the ground;
But its germ was gone
By the worm’s sharp teeth;
And the ground it had won
Was its grave in death.
poem by Francis William Bourdillon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnets 05: Once More Into My Arid Days Like Dew
Once more into my arid days like dew,
Like wind from an oasis, or the sound
Of cold sweet water bubbling underground,
A treacherous messenger, the thought of you
Comes to destroy me; once more I renew
Firm faith in your abundance, whom I found
Long since to be but just one other mound
Of sand, whereon no green thing ever grew.
And once again, and wiser in no wise,
I chase your colored phantom on the air,
And sob and curse and fall and weep and rise
And stumble pitifully on to where,
Miserable and lost, with stinging eyes,
Once more I clasp,—and there is nothing there.
poem by Edna St. Vincent Millay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Running With The Boss Sound
Yesterday by the paperstand I felt the power
Of another religion
Rebels with a cause came out of the sun
And spoke the only language theyd been given
Creepers tapping out the beat as I felt the heat
Man they sure looked neat
Well tonight for sure
You could feel the same as me
We didnt have to fight
On the other side of town
Running with the boss sound
Running with the boss sound
Running with the boss sound
In the day we use machines or brains
Cos we need hard cash for living
And later between tracks & raps with friends
Well find some time for loving
Stratocasters straff the sky
As disco johnny hustles by
Man those feet can fly, high
Well tonight lets dance and risk romance
Baby lets take a chance
Well make it in a single bound
Running with the boss sound
Running with the boss sound
Running with the boss sound
I feel it in the air and I know that youre there
We wont let you down
The phantoms of the underground
Running with the boss sound
Running with the boss sound
Running with the boss sound
Racing wild with the radios blasting
Out ready steady go
As we rip through the charts
Crashing like angles
At the end of rocks rainbow
Electricity runs in my blood like gods
Man if you could see it
By tonight for sure youd be the same as me
A junkie needing more
Our feet burning up the ground
Running with the boss sound
Running with the boss sound
Running with the boss sound
Yeah were burning up the ground
Where the rockabilly beat pounds
With the ska rhythm pressing down
Where the skinhead moon stomp pounds
Where the heavy metal comes down
When the punk rockers are round
Yeah you and I are found
Yeah you and I are found
Running with the boss sound
Running with the boss sound
Running with the boss sound
song performed by by Billy Idol
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Submergent Heir Apparent 1532
Regardless of their air apparent firm
Of grain, to grain, against the grain, cliff wall
One day must fall, must raftless [d]rift withal
Marked only by the generation worm
Whose earlybird descendant shall not squirm
In spite of stone erosion's crystal ball.
Tintagel's hour of need may heed no call
Hark to prophet-sea-gull, wheeling tern
One day may search its prey where wild waves churn,
Uninterrupted sea soars over all,
That climate change precipitated, squall
Dour squall succeeding Man's high plans, his germ.
Order bows to chaos as the deep
Submerges, legend, castle, climb and keep.
(26 December 2006)
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Song of the Worm
THE worm, the rich worm, has a noble domain
In the field that is stored with its millions of slain ;
The charnel-grounds widen, to me they belong,
With the vaults of the sepulchre, sculptured and strong.
The tower of ages in fragments is laid,
Moss grows on the stones, and I lurk in its shade ;
And the hand of the giant and heart of the brave
Must turn weak and submit to the worm and the grave.
Daughters of earth, if I happen to meet
Your bloom-plucking fingers and sod-treading feet--
Oh ! turn not away with the shriek of disgust
From the thing you must mate with in darkness and dust.
Your eyes may be flashing in pleasure and pride,
'Neath the crown of a Queen or the wreath of a bride ;
Your lips may be fresh and your cheeks may be fair--
Let a few years pass over, and I shall be there.
Cities of splendour, where palace and gate,
Where the marble of strength and the purple of state ;
Where the mart and arena, the olive and vine,
Once flourished in glory ; oh ! are ye not mine ?
Go look for famed Carthage, and I shall be found
In the desolate ruin and weed-covered mound ;
And the slime of my trailing discovers my home,
'Mid the pillars of Tyre and the temples of Rome.
I am sacredly sheltered and daintily fed
Where the velvet bedecks, and the white lawn is spread ;
I may feast undisturbed, I may dwell and carouse
On the sweetest of lips and the smoothest of brows.
The voice of the sexton, the chink of the spade,
Sound merrily under the willow's dank shade.
They are carnival notes, and I travel with glee
To learn what the churchyard has given to me.
Oh ! the worm, the rich worm, has a noble domain,
For where monarchs are voiceless I revel and reign ;
I delve at my ease and regale where I may ;
None dispute with the worm in his will or his way.
The high and the bright for my feasting must fall--
Youth, Beauty, and Manhood, I prey on ye all :
The Prince and the peasant, the despot and slave ;
All, all must bow down to the worm and the grave.
poem by Eliza Cook
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sound Of The Bell
Found a place where we can talk
I found a way to reach a little ground
Keep your castle in my sandbox
Build it up so we can burn it down
Anyway I love my man
Love to keep him spinning round and round
Keep him feeling love for my hand
Any way to turn him inside out
I dont wanna go down like the sunlight
I dont wanna go out like the moonlight
I dont wanna be found at the sound of the bell
The sound of the bell
The sound of the bell
Meet me up and down again
Every time is sweeter than the last
Once you get a taste of impact
Youre always hungry for the crash
I dont wanna go down like the sunlight
I dont wanna go out like the moonlight
I dont wanna be found at the sound of the bell
The sound of the bell
The sound of the bell
And this is everything
I have loved
Yeah, I have loved
Break...
My...
Heart...
Down, I dont wanna go down like the sunlight
I dont wanna go out like the moonlight
I dont wanna be found at the sound of the bell
The sound of the bell
The sound of the bell
I dont wanna go down like the sunlight
I dont wanna go out like the moonlight
I dont wanna be found at the sound of the bell
The sound of the bell
The sound of the bell
Yeah...
(I dont wanna be found in the sunshine
I dont wanna be dim like a night light
I dont wanna be down like the sunlight
I dont wanna go out like the moonlight...)
song performed by by Veruca Salt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Corn-Stalk Fiddle
WHEN the corn's all cut and the bright stalks shine
Like the burnished spears of a field of gold;
When the field-mice rich on the nubbins dine,
And the frost comes white and the wind blows cold;
Then it's heigh-ho! fellows and hi-diddle-diddle,
For the time is ripe for the corn-stalk fiddle.
And when you take a stalk that is straight and long,
With an expert eye to its worthy points,
And you think of the bubbling strains of song
That are bound between its pithy joints —
Then you cut out strings, with a bridge in the middle,
With a corn-stalk bow for a corn-stalk fiddle.
Then the strains that grow as you draw the bow
O'er the yielding strings with a practiced hand!
And the music's flow never loud but low
Is the concert note of a fairy band.
Oh, your dainty songs are a misty riddle
To the simple sweets of a corn-stalk fiddle.
When the eve comes on, and our work is done,
And the sun drops down with a tender glance,
With their hearts all prime for the harmless fun,
Come the neighbor girls for the evening's dance,
And they wait for the well-known twist and twiddle —
More time than tune — from the corn-stalk fiddle.
Then brother Jabez takes the bow,
While Ned stands off with Susan Bland,
Then Henry stops by Milly Snow,
And John takes Nellie Jones's hand,
While I pair off with Mandy Biddle,
And scrape, scrape, scrape goes the corn-stalk fiddle.
'Salute your partners,' comes the call,
'All join hands and circle round,'
'Grand train back,' and 'Balance all,'
Footsteps lightly spurn the ground.
'Take your lady and balance down the middle'
To the merry strains of the corn-stalk fiddle.
So the night goes on and the dance is o'er,
And the merry girls are homeward gone,
But I see it all in my sleep once more,
And I dream till the very break of dawn
Of an impish dance on a red-hot griddle
To the screech and scrape of a corn-stalk fiddle.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Mound
The old man knows very well
Going down by the snowbank, theres a mound
A mound that an old man knows good
Look who raises his shoe all over this mound
Right over the world thats another rewind
And its time, time, time for the last rewind
For a broken old man and a world unkind
He buried all his memories of home
In an icy clump that lies beneath the ground
No one knows how far he traveled
Oh! I heard he walked miles from the little mound
Can he find some shelter?
He doesnt know to behold what the cold frost can do
And at last till he realized hed circled back around
Round a back circle, round a back realized
Ice is all he was made of
The bitter blue, and frozen through
He went over to the mound
Reclining down his final thoughts
Were drifting to the time this life had shined
song performed by by Phish
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Onslaughts
Of the few banned on this site sending me messages, this one well deserved it.
Playing riddle me not little head games.
And making fun of my name.
But I do not care.
I don't waver.
With every moment I savor.
All because of someone I associated myself with.
I'm not guilty I say.
But to my dismay that will not be the way of it I feel.
Hate is the air.
Let the onslaughts begin.
In the end I'm not going anywhere.
Stand firm my ground.
Stand firm my voice as it echos my sound.
You can not claim to be me.
No matter how hard you try.
The simplistic view of an outcry.
But I can not be reached.
Not by those means.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sailor Son
When you come home I'll not be round
To welcome you.
They'll take you to a grassy mound
So neat and new;
Where I'll be sleeping--O so sound!
The ages through.
I'll not be round to broom the hearth,
To feed the chicks;
And in the wee room of your birth
Your bed to fix;
Rose room that knew your baby mirth
Your tiny tricks.
I'll not be round . . . The garden still
With bees will hum;
To cheerful you the throstle's bill
Will not be dumb;
The rambler rose will overspill
When you will come.
Bird, bee and bloom, they'll greet you all
With scented sound;
Yet though the joy of your footfall
Will thrill the ground
Your mother with her old grey shawl--
Will not be round.
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Will Always Love You For Who You Are
Even if the leaves of ground turn red of my blood
Even if the leaves of ground turn happy yellow into dust
Even the leaves of ground turn brown into ashes
Even if the leaves of ground turn black into the night
You will always be swaying in my breath
Because I will always love you for who you are
Even if they take out my mind again
And spin it round the midnight blue
Even if they take my heart away again
And throw it down a silent well
From inside that well your name I will call
Even though I don't like to make promises at all
This much I can always promise
Because I will always love you for who you are
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Elusive annelid
I am a squiggly, slimy annelid.
I live my life above and underground.
I’m long and slim; I've no eyes or eyelids.
My life has many, many, ups and downs.
In my earthen home made of dirt and stone
This is my terrestrial element.
Here I’m safe and sound and I’m all alone
Morning mist entices my next ascent.
Here above I lie in grassy wetness.
Danger lurking, searching from the trees:
It’s my nemesis: the robin redbreast
Who’s waiting patiently to pounce on me.
I’m a survivalist I now affirm
That bird above won’t eat this little worm
poem by Albert Ahearn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!