Oh to be in England...
[The names and some of the details of this report have been changed to protect the identities of the persons involved - Ed.]
Yes I'm afraid so.
Mr Smith and Mrs Jones from down the road.
Five years now.
It's Mr Jones I feel sorry for.
Though from what I hear...
But it's Mrs Smith who really miffs me.
We're supposed to be friends, I thought.
Not a word, not a hint, these five years.
I really feel - betrayed.
Of course the men and the women here have a different take on this.
Well you'd expect it, considering.
(My Jack laughed like a drain when he read the details.
Went out early to buy the News of the Screws he calls it.)
I think the bastard's envious.
Not a word, not a hint.
Even the vicar's wife didn't know.
At least Catholics have confession.
Though of course their parish priests don't have wives...
I'm a historian. Was. The village well,
the parish pump, market day, after church, coffee mornings...
'Social cohesion in rural communities'.
I B.A.- ed on it.
Say what you like,
gossip keeps a community together.
Five years.
No, I'm not going round to see her.
I feel - betrayed...
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Yes, I was a parish priest for five years. I was a curate in a large working class parish in Bristol and the Vicar of a village in Kent.
quote by John Polkinghorne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
0126 A Longstanding Question
It’s rather a delicate personal matter…
I could of course say I’m just asking for a friend…
but I guess You’d see through that, from what I hear…
I wouldn’t trouble You, but
it’s not a question that concerned Adam
since he had no comparative physiology
any more than he had comparative theology…
so it didn’t matter a figleaf to him…
and Moses had the bigger picture in mind, and in his position
had to keep up with the Tablets
to use a medical term which
we might refer to later…
as for Jesus, well it didn’t affect him personally, of course,
even as Son of Man,
unless of course the Da Vinci Code is true
but I’d rather not pursue such maudlin thoughts
with You…
and the new Pope hasn’t yet pronounced on this
though I can guess he won’t be keen
even if he’s slept on it;
anatomically, at least…
it’s like this:
I get an awful lot of emails from complete strangers
who seem to know my wife’s mind better than I
suggesting that, well, she’d be happier if,
you know, my *thing* were longer
(and presumably thicker, though
they make less of this…as if that’s slightly indecent…)
and then, they go on to say that my wife
(who likes her eight hours, and
I have to leave early for work)
would be even happier if
I took certain tablets…
even insidiously suggesting that
if I don’t keep up with the Joneses in this
I might lose her to Mr Jones…
I guess they haven’t met my wife, or Mr Jones,
as I was saying to Mrs Jones only the other evening:
Now as the Creator of men, who seems to have handed out
a pretty wide variety of these anatomical details, rather
than, as we might expect, a Standard Size (and I don’t like to
question Your authority, but
it has led to some heated thinking and emoting; perhaps there are
other factors of justice, destiny, etc., involved here?)
and as Creator too, of eternal laws at all levels, which means
that science can only make these things with
Your – indirect, of course – consent, and
human ingenuity (not that I’m trying to throw
the blame back onto You…)
but as there are, as Donald Rumsfeld says,
things we don’t know we don’t know
like side-effects we haven’t dreamed of, which –
well I won’t say, tear apart the fabric of society
as that's a bit of a cliché, but You must know what I’m getting at…
or can this be some giant step for Mankind,
in the providential, ongoing plan, the Intelligent Design,
of (Your) evolution of species?
I hope You see my problem (well, it wasn’t a problem before, and
Mrs Smith has no complaints, at least not yet, she doesn’t
read the emails) , so I’d be grateful for a brief response to my
longstanding …(excuse my little joke) ... question?
A postcard or equivalent would do; I wouldn’t like
to inadvertently spamtrash Your email. Or a quiet word in the ear
during prayer. But not the confessional box route please; I don’t think
this problem has arisen for my local priest yet.
Thanks.
Your humble servant,
J.Smith (retd.)
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Horse's Mouth
You've learned something,
That had not been part of gossip.
You feel betrayed by this...
And confront reliable sources.
They are dumbfounded too.
They believed they knew more,
Than what they actually knew.
And they too feel betrayed,
By this.
They've all learned something,
That had not been part of gossip.
And all felt betrayed by this...
With no one left to confront.
And dumbfounded too.
How could this business done,
Skip by whispers and listening ears?
Not so reliable are those sources.
And those who had spread their lies with glee,
Awakened one day with this understanding...
They have no idea who anyone really is!
They have no idea...
Since the horse's mouth,
Had ignored for years...
All of their ears!
Since that horse,
Of course...
Few knew anything about,
Whenever that horse appeared.
You've learned something,
That had not been part of gossip.
You feel betrayed by this...
And confront reliable sources.
They are dumbfounded too.
They believed they knew more,
Than what they actually knew.
And they too felt betrayed,
By this.
The horse conducted its business,
Distant from their flapping lips!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Bones
Said Mr. Smith, “I really cannot
Tell you, Dr. Jones—
The most peculiar pain I’m in—
I think it’s in my bones.”
Said Dr. Jones, “Oh, Mr. Smith,
That’s nothing. Without doubt
We have a simple cure for that;
It is to take them out.”
He laid forthwith poor Mr. Smith
Close-clamped upon the table,
And, cold as stone, took out his bones
As fast as he was able.
Smith said, “Thank you, thank you, thank you,”
And wished him a good-day;
And with his parcel ‘neath his arm
He slowly moved away.
poem by Walter de la Mare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Betrayed
vs.1 I had always thought that we were best friends.
We had our good and bad times growing up.
He had always acted like an angel around me.
I didn't know about the other side he had; this time I ran outta luck.
(chorus)
He betrayed me,
And I don't know why.
He didn't believe me,
And what he did made me cry.
I don't know what his problem was that day,
All I know is I was betrayed.
vs.2 He told me to leave him alone.
After that, it really made me mad.
I probably should not have blown up right then,
It just tore me apart that he didn't understand that I was sad.
(chorus)
(instrumental)
Bridge: Yeah, I truly thought that he was my bestest friend.
Momma was right; he turned out to be a jerk in the end.
(chorus) x2
I don't think I'll ever know what his problem was that day,
All I know is I was betrayed.
Betrayed, whoa-ooh, betrayed.
Oooh, betrayed.
poem by Rebecca Ryan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Bessie Smith
Bessie was more than a friend of mine
We shared the good times and the bad
Well many years has since passed me by
I still recall the best thing I ever had
Now I'm going down the road to see Bessie
Oh see her soon
I'm just going down the road to see Bessie Smith
When I get there I wondering what she'll do
Now all the crazy things I had to try
Well I tried them all and then some
But if you're lucky one day you will find out
Where it is that you're really coming from
Now I'm going down the road to see Bessie
Oh see her soon
I'm just going down the road to see Bessie Smith
When I get there I wondering what she'll do
Now in my day I've made some foolish moves
But back then I didn't worry about a thing
Now and again I still wonder to myself
Was it the sweet love or the way that she could sing
I'm just going down the road to see Bessie Smith
When I get there I wondering what she'll do
I'm just going down the road to see Bessie Smith
When I get there I wondering what she'll do
song performed by by Norah Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
the C word
it’s said by women to women
that the most offensive word
(in the english language)
they can be called is
the C word-
this word cannot be uttered by men around women,
it’s said by women to men,
it’s said by men to men
when conversing about the women who told them
amidst other women or
alone
without other women present.
all words stumble round its usage like
a toddler
meandering across a
fresh patch of ice in slippers made of
butter.
as cyanide in your favorite drink or
perhaps something of a barbed wire jockstrap
you know better than to tread that water,
best to swim instead of sink-
but men will call each other this word
like its nobody’s business
especially in england
and it’s laughable
how quickly its forgotten that women still
frequent
these areas said to be inhabited only by those with
penises-
it is still a word isn’t it?
one of many,
whose disgustingness has brought violence with them
for hundreds if not
thousands of years.
so will this word be picked up by women who
feel its usage to be violent, misogynistic & vile,
only then subsequently appropriating it for their own
giving it new meaning?
poem by Andrew Delapruch
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Alone
It's late again
It didn't seem to be a problem I couldn't see
You made that choice that made me want to set you free
I see you alone
How does it feel
You lost me again
Took the wrong road
Afraid to be seen
You didn't believe me
How could I prevent what was so meant to me
It's not my fault I knew this all would come to be
Why did you feel so bad to me
I see you alone
How does it feel
You lost me again
Took the wrong road
Afraid to be seen
You didn't believe me
How at all could you expect to sit and stay
After that night there is now way this would not break
I see you alone
How does it feel
You lost me again
Took the wrong road
Afraid to be seen
You didn't believe me
song performed by by Default
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I've been with this young lady for about two years now, and my life changed. I don't even think that way no more. I feel good, too, that I'm changed. Now I feel regular. I feel like I'm supposed to.
Betrayed
You pay your taxes, you pay the rent, till you havent got a cent
Its the law of the jungle, if you got the hunger
What doesnt kill you makes you stronger
Just hold on to what you got (hold on, hold on), just live it to the last drop
You cant help it, you just cant stop
Betrayed, yeah, lifes a bitch, so just dont feel
Betrayed, no, you aint the only one whos been betrayed, betrayed
Stone cold and all alone, and youre wearin everything you own
They bare your flesh and strip your soul, but underneath you got a heart of gold
Just hold on to what you got (hold on, hold on)
Betrayed, you aint satisfied, I know you feel betrayed
You aint crucified, so get real, betrayed, betrayed
All alone, far from home, and youre feelin cold as stone
Dont give up, dont give in, lifes a bitch if you lose or win
Betrayed - yeah, you aint the only one whos been
Betrayed - lifes a bitch, if you lose or win - betrayed, betrayed
Betrayed, betrayed (repeats out)
song performed by by Kiss
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Every Word I Say
You feel like liberation
You give me new sensation
You show me what I need and
You are my life completed
Can't stop, cant break, who's driving?
Sometimes there's no denying
Till today I feel I can't lose
I'm letting go of what I knew
I want you for always
I hear your name in every word I say
I'm a fool and I don't care
I hear your name in every word I say
Every word I say
Every word I say
Before you I was only
What I let control me
You are a revolution
Against my own conclusions
So today I feel I can't lose
But I'm letting go of what I knew
Said, I want you for always
I hear your name in every word I say
I'm a fool and I don't care
I hear your name in every word I say
Oh no no no no no no no
Oh no no no no no no no
Oh no no no no no no no
Oh no no no no no
And now I say goodbye to the way I used to be
There is no room for question
'Cause your name, it sets me free
Yesterday's troubles harm me
T-Today's are creeping in
So let go of the world around me
'Cause your love is all I need
I want you for always
I hear your name in every word I say
I'm a fool and that's okay
I hear your name in every word I say
I want you for always
I hear your name in every word I say
I'm a fool and I don't care
I hear your name in every word I say
Every word I say
Every word I say
In every word I say
Oh no no no no no no no
Oh no no no no no
Oh no no no no no no no no no no
Yeah!
I hear your name in every word I say
I hear your name in every word I say
I hear your name in every word I say
I hear your name well all I hear is your name
All I hear is your name
All I hear is your name
And no one can take it away
song performed by by Hanson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Pop Juice
You went there until you crash here
Then woken up to wonder where the night went
Keep breathing it'll come back again
Tonight will be different
We will all be saved
My name's Jimmy, I'm an alcoholic
And I have been for 33 years or more
So kill me, I will die without it
It's like this wherever I go
So we crashed down in BB's
Keep quiet because the question is elaborate
You need a lawyer, a doctor, a drink
To keep surviving
Keep me firing
My name's Jimmy, I'm an alcoholic
And I have been for 33 years or more
So kill me, I will die without it
It's like this wherever I go
I don't feel like going out
I don't feel like going out
Feel like going out
I don't feel like going out
I don't feel like going out
Feel like going out
Feel like going out
My name's Jimmy, I'm an alcoholic
And I have been for 33 years or more
So kill me, I will die without it
It's like this wherever I go
My name's Jimmy, I'm an alcoholic
And I have been for 33 years or more
So kill me, I will die without it
It's like this wherever I go
Do you feel like going out?
Do you feel like going out?
Do you feel like going out?
Do you feel like going out?
Do you feel like going out?
Do you feel like going out?
Do you feel like going out?
song performed by by Gomez
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Father Ed
The day of his ordination his widowed mum's happiest day
To Sainthood she said my son is on his way
She raised him on her own when his dad of a heart attack died
Of her only offspring she took so much pride
At sixty eight he died in his sleep with his mum he now lay
At his funeral this morning his Parishioners for his soul did pray
He had been their Parish Priest for more than twenty years
And they did farewell him in sadness and tears
Of their Parish Priests the greatest of all
His sunday sermons on morals and chastity they will long recall
But the saddest one at the funeral was his housekeeper Kate
With head bowed as she sobbed she whispered I have lost my soul-mate
To me he was far more than Parish Priest Father Ed
He was my secret lover and he was damn good in bed.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Was Made To Feel Different In My Younger Years
I remember sitting in the corners of shadows.
Wishing to be invisible,
After making attempts to disappear.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
My voice was deep at the age of twelve.
And my knees knocked.
I was aware I walked pigeon toed.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
People were quick to critique me then.
When they would laugh at me.
I laughed right back at them to hide and cry alone.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
I grew wiser before I aged.
And years it would take for me to learn to forgive.
But I did with a doing successfully.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
Perceptive, empathetic and sometimes distant.
Removed from anguish I knew others felt.
Yet today I might sit with periodic embitterness.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
I've learned to use my talents and gifts,
To lift me beyond any loneliness that visited.
And with slow and painful steps I grew to improve.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
And when I self examine to reflect...
So happy I am to have held on to my patience,
With a giving to others a respect regardless...
If little of it was shown to me,
When I was growing to bloom.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
Hungering then to be accepted.
I was made to feel different in my younger years.
Hungering then not to be neglected.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
You
You are an unexpected surprise.
Pleasant
Like cotton candy melting on the tongue.
I didn't know I could feel this way again,
Didn't expect to be swept off my feet.
I trust you
Like I did my first love.
For some reason when you complement me,
I believe it.
I don't dismiss it as I have with so
Many others.
I like the fact that you still read the news paper in the mornings
And
Don't log onto the internet for all the news.
I like the fact that you were YOU
When we met,
Grounded, down to earth, comfortable in your skin.
There was a catch in my throat when our eyes met.
But, when I felt the pull,
For the first time, in a very long time
I didn't push
You
Away
As I have so many others.
I was comfortable with you.
It felt like,
Putting on my favorite pair of jeans
Drinking hot chocolate
Rain on my face
Joy
Natural.
I let you in
Told you who I really was, nothing held back..
And,
You accepted me for me.
The fact that I like to dress up and go out on Friday night,
But,
Sundays, I'm a homebody.
The fact that I like to listen to music and dance when we cook,
But,
Need quiet to sleep, so you mute the T.V.
The fact that when I'm upset, I need my space
But, I'm still afraid of the dark..
And,
When we talk about having kids,
You say you want three
And
When you said the last one would be a daughter,
I laughed, when you said you wanted her to be like me.
I love you for your heart.
I love you for your mind.
I love you so deeply
Because you let me and accepted me for me.
Thank god you don't have and over zealous religious nature.
You're the first person who has not
Tried to understand or change my tumultuous
Relationship with god.
I respect you so much for letting it be.
You notice the details, like when I'm tired.
Help me, in just the ways I need.
I thought men like you were a myth.
So glad to know I was wrong and you do exist!
My love knows no bounds for you
For the longest time, I wouldn't let myself believe
That happy endings weren't just for fairy- tales
And I would have a life of such bliss and peace.
poem by Rabia Minhas
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Same Way I Do
Written by John Mellencamp
Before you go to sleep
And close your eyes
I'd like to kiss you
One more time
Touch your lips
Perhaps your soul
I'll be still and say no more
Oh tell me do you feel the same way I do
Well the night was sweet
You filled the air
Your gentle hands touched me everywhere
I don't want this moment to end
I'm afraid that we can't find it again
Oh tell me do you feel the same way I do
Oh tell me do you feel the same way I do
The fragile bond
Between us here
Would take to build, a thousand years
Before you close your eyes
Just one more kiss
A million years before we feel like this
Oh tell me do you feel the same way I do
Oh tell me do you feel the same way I do
How can I trust my feelings
In a moment that's always changing
Tell me do you feel the same way I do
The same way I do
Hey do you feel
Yea do you feel
Hey do you feel
The same way I do
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Victimisation as threat and control
She’s the village’s Force For Good –
or that’s the flag she sails under;
news of distant earthquakes, floods,
famines, ethnic or other massacres
are her stoke-up calls…
she’ll soon be knocking at your door,
or coming up to speak to you at the WI
or after church…
knowing that you know she knows
you know the details of just how fortunate
she thinks herself, to have survived
that terrible childhood (details vague) :
so by extension, you should know yourself, and show yourself,
fortunate too… by giving to the latest cause…
Have her in for drinks, and her roving eye
will spot that electric towel rail you don’t now use
which would be just the thing which would alleviate
the widow Smith… Though, should that widow Smith
dare to grumble to her – and she’d sharply (with a smile)
remind her, aren’t we lucky, dear, we’ve got
the Social Services here, while they, poor things…
How she delights in, praises, our new outfits
which we bought last week in town!
We don’t need to be told what follows
as the night the day – we should have
a still-smart something to pass on to her…
though I’ve yet to see an African
caught on TV wearing my old Top Shop number…
Sometimes, husbands take the mickey..
‘How is it that now we no longer hear
about the Burmese tragedy, Martha, now
the orphans of Darfur are in the news? ’…and
in private, joke to us about calling in Miss Marple
to root out the village emotional blackmailer…
The one house in the village and the largest
is the one she least often calls upon,
and that only in the afternoon
when the housekeeper’s in, but the owner’s
still at work: Alan was a kid to five adoptive families,
three of whom were good… now he’s the owner
of a large industrial firm whose workers love him…
At their first meeting, when she tried
her own pathetic story, his curt
‘Oh get over it..’ has sealed their subsequent relationship…
Somehow, I’ve never warmed to her
since that first visit, when she stood
dead-heading the geraniums around the door
while exchanging pleasantries…
and left me steeped in self-reproach
and communal inadequacy…
Chaucer, with his perceptive and discerning eye
would have spotted this Martha of the many causes…
‘Methinks she has the more concern
for Mercie’s name, than for the human soul…’
*
He’s the spokesman for his faith – although
faith is a word that seldom elevates his speech;
perceived injustice is his line: it’s rather, our bad faith;
a speech about immigrants by one authority,
made only a day before
the figures of illegals published by another…
conspiracy against his community is his suspicion
(while his community just get on with it…)
extreme cynics who know their extremist radicals
deconstruct his subtext to be saying,
we’re only a poor community, but
we wire up terror like the best –
you have been warned..
and we, the tolerant and good-hearted,
forbear from that sharp riposte
which would have him foaming at the mike…
if you feel so badly picked upon, so disapprove
of your adopted country and its morals,
that you desire to meddle in its politics and laws –
then why not return to the country you were born in,
whose messy state, you and yours have failed to deal with…?
Of course, he can’t, because it’s just too dangerous…
Back hopme, they’re just him, but on the ‘other’ side…
Oh perfidious Albion! Have you forgotten
your imperialist and sharply-ordered past?
The guilt of centuries lies heavy on thy heart –
well, at least as far back, as the Danish invasions
of massacre, rape and loot; the marauding Jutes before them,
the migrating Saxons before that; and the Roman soldiers,
law-givers and architects and builders, before them…?
Yes, it’s time for an Emotional Blackmail Studies
Department in the local Poly… there should be
no lack of smiling lecturers, to remind us
how fortunate you are, mate, to be educated…
I’m thinking of applying
for a lecturer’s post, myself…
wait til the appointments board
hear my personal cv of injustice done,
childhood without care or opportunity,
the bruises bravely borne…
a triumph of self-education out of the gutter…
and if they turn me down…
well, they know what’s coming to them…
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Maryknoll
Women priests are not allowed no matter how loud they scream,
They fired one priest already for going along with their dream,
So the Catholic Church takes this serious and no women priests allowed,
Though some priests may have been pedophiles; this is never said out loud.
Some Maryknoll fathers and brothers liked this women-priest notion,
They didn't realize this idea would cause such a commotion,
Though the Church of England has had women priests for years,
And some of them may one day be bishops without many fears.
I don't know much about this whole religious painful affair,
But I think it's time for a change in the real world out there,
This is the twenty first century with the Internet all around,
Not the fifteenth century where we had to knuckle down.
poem by James Bredin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Short Report
It was a short report
on the third page
somewhere near the bottom
an elderly woman
living alone
no relatives
or at least none nearby
no friends
or at least none that cared.
She had some money
how much they didn't say.
She walked down the high street
giving it away.
The social services got involved
put her in a home
doped her with pills
found someone to manage her money.
She can live on it for years and years.
But if the money's hers
why shouldn't she give it away
does giving have to mean
you're either senile or insane?
poem by Gillian Commerford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I've been betrayed
Trust is very big word
A light that shines in your eyes
Trust is faith
Trust is something you believe in
Trust means the world
Without trust there is no love
Love and trust should walk,
Hand in hand.
The man I loved
My trust was broken
I share with them my whole,
Life.
My heart is empty
Its cold as ice
I feel lonely
How can I trust you
After all the lies you told.
I've been betrayed
I thought I could trust you
Never thought that you,
could do that.
I feel lonely
Feeling scared
My heart is broken
I've been betrayed.
poem by Maria Luisa Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!