You Haven't Been Bushed Yet!
You haven't been bushed yet!
You haven't been as bushed
As a bushed man can get.
Because a bushed man bushed,
Gets down on his knees
Doing the best he can
To get a whiff...
Of whatever fresh air is left!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
Love Is Like Sand
I said it too,
Love is like sand,
It slips down through fingers,
But some grains stick with the palm,
And when it is bushed,
These grains pass through eyes
While journeying to the soul,
They often weep and wail
Lying in its secret channels,
But troubling a lot.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Less Bushed
How do I feel about the new president?
Less bushed than I expected.
And with more expediency,
I could have believed or anticipated!
I feel a dark cloud is beginning to lift!
And the quality of the air seems a lot fresher.
With colors appearing brighter than ever!
As I notice others also becoming aware of this!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Have Been Envelope
The world demands,
At each movement new affairs,
New days, new nights,
New eves and new morns,
New oaths, new pledges,
New relations and new links;
Now they do not laud the olden tales.
O! My love,
I myself became bushed of reiteration
Of the words and lines,
Then I wrapped the poetic lines
And diction in the red paper
I set them on the dancing flames
Of my inner-self.
When the flying particles of ashes enquired me,
“What will you do hence,
What will you listen, and what will you say? ”
‘Your ‘Daman’ is empty.’
Then I respond, “I shall neither do anything hence,
Nor shall listen, nor shall say anything.”
The world has made me a legend,
For I have been enveloped by a tale.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Cholera Camp
We've got the cholerer in camp -- it's worse than forty fights;
We're dyin' in the wilderness the same as Isrulites;
It's before us, an' be'ind us, an' we cannot get away,
An' the doctor's just reported we've ten more to-day!
Oh, strike your camp an' go, the Bugle's callin',
The Rains are fallin' --
The dead are bushed an' stoned to keep 'em safe below;
The Band's a-doin' all she knows to cheer us;
The Chaplain's gone and prayed to Gawd to 'ear us --
To 'ear us --
O Lord, for it's a-killin' of us so!
Since August, when it started, it's been stickin' to our tail,
Though they've 'ad us out by marches an' they've 'ad us back by rail;
But it runs as fast as troop-trains, and we cannot get away;
An' the sick-list to the Colonel makes ten more to-day.
There ain't no fun in women nor there ain't no bite to drink;
It's much too wet for shootin', we can only march and think;
An' at evenin', down the ~nullahs~, we can 'ear the jackals say,
"Get up, you rotten beggars, you've ten more to-day!"
'Twould make a monkey cough to see our way o' doin' things --
Lieutenants takin' companies an' captains takin' wings,
An' Lances actin' Sergeants -- eight file to obey --
For we've lots o' quick promotion on ten deaths a day!
Our Colonel's white an' twitterly -- 'e gets no sleep nor food,
But mucks about in 'orspital where nothing does no good.
'E sends us 'eaps o' comforts, all bought from 'is pay --
But there aren't much comfort 'andy on ten deaths a day.
Our Chaplain's got a banjo, an' a skinny mule 'e rides,
An' the stuff 'e says an' sings us, Lord, it makes us split our sides!
With 'is black coat-tails a-bobbin' to ~Ta-ra-ra Boom-der-ay!~
'E's the proper kind o' ~padre~ for ten deaths a day.
An' Father Victor 'elps 'im with our Roman Catholicks --
He knows an 'eap of Irish songs an' rummy conjurin' tricks;
An' the two they works together when it comes to play or pray;
So we keep the ball a-rollin' on ten deaths a day.
We've got the cholerer in camp -- we've got it 'ot an' sweet;
It ain't no Christmas dinner, but it's 'elped an' we must eat.
We've gone beyond the funkin', 'cause we've found it doesn't pay,
An' we're rockin' round the Districk on ten deaths a day!
Then strike your camp an' go, the Rains are fallin',
The Bugle's callin'!
The dead are bushed an' stoned to keep 'em safe below!
An' them that do not like it they can lump it,
An' them that cannot stand it they can jump it;
We've got to die somewhere -- some way -- some'ow --
We might as well begin to do it now!
Then, Number One, let down the tent-pole slow,
Knock out the pegs an' 'old the corners -- so!
Fold in the flies, furl up the ropes, an' stow!
Oh, strike -- oh, strike your camp an' go!
(Gawd 'elp us!)
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Mortal Wrinkles
The window arrests me by its side
Through its square making me ride
Every day a serene green does it show
Feel but today gonna be a different show
The studded trees afar
The nearer trees so far
'Ve been welcomming me to join
The peaks up and the valleys down
The stroking clouds and the murmuring stream..
My soul steps out
Soon reports to have a lookout
Lay there apart two sunset bodies bushed over
As if felled trees with running dews cry over
And my mind back in the past to myself stare...
'A man and a woman happily together
Walking and chatting over years earlier
Deeper, longer and wander
Grow older and older; Their fled children afar..'
Moribund pair one here malignantly in solitary fear
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Young Heroes
Written by ricky & marty wilde
Everyone round keeps putting us down, let it go
It's the same old play in a grown up day
It's a stinging sensation
Hanging round on every corner
Where, all the young kids i know want to be
We only wanna stay young, we only wanna be free
He doesn't wanna be you, she doesn't wanna be me
We're all young heroes
We're all young heroes
Shouted down pushed and we're gettin' real bushed
Just have your say and we'll do it your way
If it makes you fell better
Nothing much to add to what i say
'cause i know just how it fells to be
We only wanna stay young, we only wanna be free
He doesn't wanna be you, she doesn't wanna be me
We're all young heroes
We're all young heroes
We only wanna be free
song performed by by Kim Wilde
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Broken Sanctuary
I 'ad been bushed in city streets,
Where the bricks and mortar grow.
I 'ad worked me way through the northern towns
'Oo's landmarks I don't know.
There was faces, faces, driftin' past,
But never a one I knoo.
An' I never 'ad felt the need so great
For a reel good mate an' true.
A lonely man in the Outback lands
Is a lonely man, all right.
Yet 'e 'as the sky an' the birds by day
An' 'e 'as the stars by night.
But a lonely man in a crowd o' men
Is the loneliest of all,
An' that's 'ow come I 'ad a few;
An' that's 'ow come my fall.
Fer I sez to meself, 'I'm a stranger 'ere,
An' there ain't a soul I know.'
Then I thinks of a Mate I alwiz 'ad
Where the stunted mulgas grow
The Man 'oo ever 'as been my friend
Through many a black bush night;
An' I thinks, 'If I find His house round 'ere,
He'll give me a doss, all right.'
An' I come to His house as I stumbled on,
An' I found the door ajar;
As it alwiz stands in the Christian lands
Fer blokes that wander far;
So up I crep' to the altar step,
An' I sez . . . 'I'm 'ere again.'
I knew He'd spare what nap was there,
So I lodged with the Mate of Men.
Yes: I found His house, an' I lay me down,
An' I dreamed of a kindly God;
When a big policeman came along
An' banged me into quod.
An' the cell was cold, an' the bed was 'ard;
But I thinks, 'It's all right, Bill.'
So I lay me down an' dreamed again . .
An' my Mate was with me still.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Home After Three Months Away
Gone now the baby's nurse,
a lioness who ruled the roost
and made the Mother cry.
She used to tie
gobbets of porkrind in bowknots of gauze--
three months they hung like soggy toast
on our eight foot magnolia tree,
and helped the English sparrows
weather a Boston winter.
Three months, three months!
Is Richard now himself again?
Dimpled with exaltation,
my daughter holds her levee in the tub.
Our noses rub,
each of us pats a stringy lock of hair--
they tell me nothing's gone.
Though I am forty-one,
not forty now, the time I put away
was child's play. After thirteen weeks
my child still dabs her cheeks
to start me shaving. When
we dress her in her sky-blue corduroy,
she changes to a boy,
and floats my shaving brush
and washcloth in the flush. . . .
Dearest I cannot loiter hre
in lather like a polar bear.
Recuperating, I neither spin nor toil.
Three stories down below,
a choreman tends our coffin's length of soil,
and seven horizontal tulips blow.
Just twelve months ago,
these flowers were pedigreed
imported Dutchmen; no no one need
distinguish them from weed.
Bushed by the late spring snow,
they cannot meet
another year's snowballing enervation.
I keep no rank nor station.
Cured, I am frizzled, stale and small.
poem by Robert Lowell
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I Haven't Forgotten
I haven't forgotten when I meet you first!
I haven't forgotten when I greet you last!
I haven't forgotten your pretty face!
I haven't forgotten your smile and grace!
I haven't forgotten how we started chatting!
I haven't forgotten when we started dating!
I haven't forgotten our last walk together!
I haven't forgotten how I became a loser!
I haven't forgotten how it became too late!
I haven't forgotten when I understood fate!
I haven't forgotten that summer's northwester!
I haven't forgotten and won't forget ever!
poem by Asif Andalib
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The Leader That Was Pushed
Once on a time a general whose name is handed down
To the present generation as a name of high renown
Once on a time this general - I trust you understand
This happened years and years ago, and in a foreign land.
This general once stood before his army, thinking hard;
And he talked about advancing, but he didn't move a yard,
For, to put the matter plainly, though he knew his cause was right,
And desired to be the leader, yet he didn't want to fight.
He bravely talked for hours and hours of tactics and defence
(In good sooth, he was a leader of undoubted eloquence)
Till his soldiers grew impatient, for they spied afar the foe,
So they started marching forward, and the leader had to go,
Though he begged for time to elocute, they forced him to a walk;
Then they broke into a double, and he hadn't breath to talk.
If his soldiers start to push him - well, that can a leader do?
Thus he led his army forward - of necessity, 'tis true.
Oh, they forced him to a run,
And the firing of a gun
Gave him qualms about the business, but he couldn't change his mind.
He'd have dearly loved to pause
And orate about The Cause,
But he had to keep responding to the pressure from behind.
Then he yelled a battle-cry,
And he waved his sword on high,
But he mournfully reflected as he viewed the foemen's horde:
Leadership may be all right
While the foe is out of sight,
But, like the pen, the silver tongue is safer than the sword.
The fight was won. That general, his heart swelled up with pride,
Delivered speeches eloquent to his victorious side;
And the peroration hinted they should rest while they'd the chance;
But the army wanted more of it and urged him to advance.
'Twas here the general resigned to join another band
That didn't yearn to go and fight the battles of the land.
'Twas a calm, reposeful army, and that leader suited well;
For it let him talk of fighting while it sat and took a spell.
He was leader of the tired,
And he never was required
To go ranging o'er the country to attack a savage foe;
And whene'er he thought it best
To sit down and take a rest,
Well - it's rude to push a leader when he doesn't want to go.
And, if by some mischance,
He should mention an advance,
They would let him talk about it and applaud him very hard;
They would hail him as the man
Who by right was in the van;
But they'd grab him by the coat-tails if he sought to move a yard.
Give attention now, my masters, to this general's career;
He was affable and eloquent, but let me mention here
This happened very long since - twenty thousand years or so;
For now, we know, a leader leads before he's forced to go.
But if, perchance, at any time, a leader you should find
Who objects to moving onward till he gets a push behind,
Far better shift him from the front; his place is never here;
And let him join the other crowd - the Army of the Rear.
Let us have a moving army, let its leader be a man
Who doesn't need a shove behind to keep him in the van;
And if he halts to elocute, let's shift him off the track,
And put him 'mid the baggage-carts and lumber at the back.
There to seek a reputation with the busted and the bushed:
For no man may seek for Honor who insists on being pushed.
And he who seeks to lead must keep ahead a yard or so,
For - it's rude to push a leader when he doesn't want to go.
For a leader of the kind
Who requires a kick behind
Isn't any sort of leader, when you come to think of it;
And the generals we need
Are the fellows who CAN lead
The men who know the track to go, and tackle it with grit.
Wherefore, when you hear the talk
Of these fellows who would baulk,
While they flood the land with eloquence till mentally you're bushed.
Just remember, words and air
Seldom lead to anywhere,
And reflect upon the story of the leader that was pushed
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hypothetically Speaking, Of Course
The origin of this investigation...
Is to determine 'who' to hold accountable,
And pinpoint those responsible...
For the creation of a process,
That has been implemented.
Not to interrogate those who followed orders,
As instructed.
In other words...
'Initiators beware.
We are sniffing like hound dogs,
On your trail.'
Next question, please!
'Your Royal Majesty?
And I hope I do not offend.'
Good heavens, no!
Just consider me as someone who sits,
At the pinnacle of power...
After pulling myself up by my own boot straps.
And ready to kick some butt!
'OH! I see.
So you 'are' determined to put some folks behind bars? '
No!
We have all the bartenders we need.
Excuse the levity.
We 'are'...if you will, determined to drag a few behinds,
Across smoldering hot coals.
Humiliate them to no end.
And simply lock them up for the rest of their lives!
That's all.
'But isn't that going against what you said earlier...
Just a few weeks ago? '
Let me say this...
An enactment of incredible deception has taken place.
Now,
Does two enactments of incredible deception,
Make the initial act less tolerable?
I think not!
And besides...
I was still basking in the throes of a successful campaign.
After winning and exchanging gifts...
My advisors and I decided,
Enough of the BS.
We are going to go after those perpetrators...
Regardless of which part of Texas they reside!
'Why Texas?
Why not Oklahoma, Missouri or Wyoming? '
Hypothetically speaking, of course.
I could have easily mentioned a few names.
But your questions have left me 'bushed'.
Again...
A little levity.
No one has to tell the Attorney General what to do.
That is why this entire procedure,
Has been placed confidently in his hands!
No more questions.
I promised my children I'd build them a tree house.
And then I have speeches to make in Boise,
Paris, Hong Kong and Hartford before dinner.
And Michelle hates it if I am a second late!
Thank you for coming.
I'll spend just three hours signing autographs.
And that's it!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Really Haven't Got The Time
(Mike Pinder)
You want me to ride
In your car outside
Spend some time with you
Just an hour or two
But I really,
I really haven't
I really haven't got the time
I really
I really haven't
I really haven't got the time
I really haven't got the time
I'm a busy man
Workin' when I can
I got no time to lend
I got no time, time to spend
Oh no, I really
I really haven't
I really haven't got the time
Oh no, I really
I really haven't
I really haven't got the time
I really haven't got the time
(Hey! Hey! Hey! Hey!)
Instrumental
I really
I really haven't
I really haven't got the time
Oh no, I really
I really haven't
I really haven't got the time
I really haven't got the time
Workin' nine 'til five
Got to stay alive (I've got to stay alive)
Find somebody who (Go find somebody who)
Got some time for you (Who's got the time for you)
But I really
No, no, no, no
I really haven't
I really haven't got the time
Oh no, I really
No, no, no, no
I really haven't
I really haven't got the time
I really haven't got the time
Really haven't got the time
(Really haven't got time)
*************************************************************
song performed by by Moody Blues
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On the Wallaby
Now the tent poles are rotting, the camp fires are dead,
And the possums may gambol in trees overhead;
I am humping my bluey far out on the land,
And the prints of my bluchers sink deep in the sand:
I am out on the wallaby humping my drum,
And I came by the tracks where the sundowners come.
It is nor'-west and west o'er the ranges and far
To the plains where the cattle and sheep stations are,
With the sky for my roof and the grass for my bunk,
And a calico bag for my damper and junk;
And scarcely a comrade my memory reveals,
Save the spiritless dingo in tow of my heels.
But I think of the honest old light of my home
When the stars hang in clusters like lamps from the dome,
And I think of the hearth where the dark shadows fall,
When my camp fire is built on the widest of all;
But I'm following Fate, for I know she knows best,
I follow, she leads, and it's nor'-west by west.
When my tent is all torn and my blankets are damp,
And the rising flood waters flow fast by the camp,
When the cold water rises in jets from the floor,
I lie in my bunk and I list to the roar,
And I think how to-morrow my footsteps will lag
When I tramp 'neath the weight of a rain-sodden swag.
Though the way of the swagman is mostly up-hill,
There are joys to be found on the wallaby still.
When the day has gone by with its tramp or its toil,
And your camp-fire you light, and your billy you boil,
There is comfort and peace in the bowl of your clay
Or the yarn of a mate who is tramping that way.
But beware of the town -- there is poison for years
In the pleasure you find in the depths of long beers;
For the bushman gets bushed in the streets of a town,
Where he loses his friends when his cheque is knocked down;
He is right till his pockets are empty, and then --
He can hump his old bluey up country again.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Wounded Soldier
I haven't got a name
I haven't got a name
No one even whispers in my ear
I may aswell be blind
Cos no one's ever looked in my eyes
And i don't really see the point in me been here
No ones ever held my hand
That i've felt love just from touch
No ones ever acknowledged me
Or liked me very much
I'm just a shadow
On the wall
Someone to get trampled on
And laughed at when they fall
I'm just a broken soul
An empty shell
How long have i got left?
How can you tell?
I haven't got a name
I haven't got a name
No one even whispers in my ear
poem by Lucy Vernezze
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Feet, feet that walked away with the toes
Heavy the hoods of the eyes
that laboured the scan of horizons
Heavy the course of the thoughts
that sat unstirred on the sill of the stare
Heavy this ancient bottomed nose
sitting in judgment over this meat
Endlessly shunting the frenzied workers
now sniff-drunk and steam-bellowed in the street
This the scull careered through rutted scars
the primeval hair bushed in pathways
Where long tribes with long lances
prod the undergrowth for signs of lost bones
These the ears that heard the wake of worlds
wandering in the ever irretraceable tread
Ears though that admit the silent secrets
ever still and hospitable to the panicky refrain
This the assembled machinery, forging fire
have dropped the tongs
Down the corridors of investigation
hurtling in darkening diseases
These the loins, companion of time
stalked through fire, filth, and foam
Baked in the hot ovens of empires
wearied some morning in blurry depredation
Wobble-eyed, knee-tied, dragged with pacing company
through yesterdays that are forever lost indemnity
Heavy the larvae lipped throb, kiss and consider
heavy the molten strata ooze, consider and kiss
These the organs that prodded nations
and shrivelled up to curse them all in pain
Pursed its potency, convulsed the course of the vein
this the dismembered member of the tribe
Heavy, alas, these feet that thump
jog and reel in the dancing rhythm of millenniums
Trod on the will-less face of faiths
twitched their toes and walked their way
(©: T. Wignesan,1957 (from the collection: Tracks of a Tramp. Kuala Lumpur-Singapore: 1961)
poem by T. Wignesan
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I Still Haven't Found What I'm Looking For
I have climbed the highest mountains
I have run through the fields
Only to be with you
Only to be with you
I have run I have crawled
I have scaled these city walls
Only to be with you
But I still haven't found
What I'm looking for
But I still haven't found
What I'm looking for
I have kissed honey lips
Felt the healing in her fingertips
It burned like fire
This burning desire
I have spoke with the tongue of angels
I have held the hand of a devil
It was warm in the night
I was cold as a stone
But I still haven't found
What I'm looking for
But I still haven't found
What I'm looking for
I believe in the Kingdom Come
Then all the colors will bleed into one
But yes I'm still running
You broke the bonds
You loosened the chains
You carried the cross
And my shame
And my shame
You know I believed it
But I still haven't found
What I'm looking for
But I still haven't found
What I'm looking for
song performed by by Cher
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There are too many books I haven't read, too many places I haven't seen, too many memories I haven't kept long enough.
quote by Irwin Shaw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Has She Got
(SimonKosatinBrackman)
I've got eyes they call beguiling
A string of cultured pearls
And my lips are always smiling
I'm not one of those moody girls
I've studied cooking in a French cafe
As bal and cheins last prodigy
A one time runner up Miss USA
What has she got that I haven't got
Why am I not he girl that makes you heart go dancing
Puts stars in all your dreams
She's everything you want and I'm just me
What has she got that I haven't got
I've got a bed that's warm
I've got a room that's sunny
Kisses so honey sweet
I try everything to sweep you off your feet
Do you like her kind of trouble
Does she bring you to your knees
Have I been playing you all wrong
Always trying to please you
What has she got that I haven't got
What has she got
She's got you.....
song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Instead of Portraying Togetherness
Haven't we once touched upon this before?
Haven't we both together paced...
Back and forth upon these floors?
Haven't we sat,
In corners...
Facing closed doors latched?
Quietly dispatched to a matching silence,
We attracted in defiance!
Didn't we have our backs against the walls...
Calling out to one another,
In faint whispers no one now recalls?
As darkness descended upon each other....
Discovering then we both needed to begin anew,
Perhaps with someone other.
Like so many have done and do!
You promised that to me...
And I promised that to you!
Why are we now struggling,
In shadows that subdue?
Haven't we once touched upon this before?
Haven't we both together paced...
Back and forth upon these floors?
Didn't we say the last time never again...
We'd come to this end?
Pretending a fresh start we'd begin,
...again!
Back then?
This is not the bliss we wished.
Why can't we forget...and end this?
Instead of vowing to stay,
In a union that brings us both dismay!
Instead of portraying togetherness...
Let's together from this just split,
And walk away!
Not tomorrow!
Now...
Today!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I haven't had the time to plan returning to the scene because I haven't left it.
quote by Mick Jagger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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