Almost An Epitaph 2
Seeking daisies for her chain
Jane bestrode an adder's bed-
Arriving promptly on the scene
Death pronounced her duly dead.
'Well done, my pet, ' he commented
and stroked the adder's scaley head.
poem by Morgan Michaels
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A Deaf Adder
You are controlled by bit and bridle,
And you are dark and slippery!
However, praise is comely for the upright.
Dance for joy when you have hope!
For, will surely fly away one day with,
The wings of the love.
Dove, love, above, move, clove, rove, prove, wove;
And like a deaf adder! !
But, the vernom of serpents are around us always.
Drove, hove, strove, glove, stove, grove, shove, cove;
And like the fangs of the young lion!
However, the he-goat is now from your folds.
The heat of burning thorns!
But the humble shall hear and shall have joy;
However, i am weeping for the night! !
For, the perfection of your beauty is like,
A deaf adder in your neighbourhood.
Joy in the morning is not all that i need,
Because, the mule has no understanding;
And, the hart pants after streams of water.
My soul thirsts for your love!
And my mind will not rest until i find you my love;
But, praise is comely for the upright.
One she-goat from your folds!
From the land of the living to satisfy my muse;
And like a deaf adder in your neighbourhood,
But this journey of mine starts from the hills of love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Two Distant Worlds
who does not like to put some
yellow daisies on your black glossy hair?
you become so beautiful with a chain of yellow
daisies in your hair
where i can possibly touch them and caress them
and how would you know that this is more than just putting a chain of
daisies in your black hair?
you shall never know and that is good enough for me
for i am the simplest man that puts those chain of yellow daisies in your hair
no prince charming for you, nothing special
just another common friend putting those usual yellow daisies in your hair
when our hands touch by accident
how would you know that i have become a forest burning?
this burning fire that is softly killing me
how would you know? your world is open and mine is closed.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Serpent
He slithers menacingly across the floor,
hissing through his teeth.
Your skin crawls as quickly as he glides,
making your heart skip around.
His eyes rest upon you.
A voice in your head: WILL HE STRIKE?
You assume that the answer is yes,
but he turns his disproportional head
away from you, letting you rest
for only a moment. NOT RIGHT NOW,
the adder seemed to mutter,
though you know-you hope-
that it was your imagination.
BUT, I WILL BE BACK.
poem by Zoe Guillory
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Put your hand into the creel, and you will get either an adder, or an Eele.
Mother-Daughter Love
Among the daisies
sat the child,
looking so ever
meek and mild.
Mother sat down
by the child,
looked at her daughter
and sweetly smiled.
Picking the daisies
with the child,
from those gathered
a chain was stylized.
Around the neck
of the child,
she placed the chain
of daisies wild.
Touching the daisies
the deaf child,
looked at her mother
and sweetly smiled.
poem by Noline A.V. Johnson
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If the adder could hear, and the blindworm could see, neither man nor beast would ever go free.
The puff adder that cannot fly has caught the hornbill that flies.
An adder with its poisonous fangs taken out is nothing more than a piece of rope.
Once bitten by an adder, you will never walk through the high grass again.
Daisies All Over My Body
let daisies rain on
me and let all the daisies
cover my face my body
let daisies crown my head
my hair, my nose, let there
be daisies everywhere
inside, outside me
i am in love.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Warrior Red-Ants
I crushed some warrior-ants to death,
And wondered what, others would do;
And very promptly, came more ants
To investigate scene of crime!
These ants build nests upon the trees,
By gluing leaves with strange substance;
Their nests look like army barracks,
With sentry-ants guarding smartly!
The dead ants lay all strewn about;
A few of them were moving still;
And very soon, they too lay dead,
Like soldiers killed in battle-field!
The scout ants went from ant to ant,
Perhaps in search of ones alive;
Some went back fast to convey news
About the tragedy they saw!
And very soon, arrived more ants
To check if dead were truly dead;
Somehow, these ants smelt death itself;
They did it so effortlessly!
Each one of them lifted the dead,
By proboscis and sped back home;
Each ant with carcass upon mouth,
Ran back as fast as legs carried.
And in a trice, the dead were cleared;
The scene of crime was clean by now;
The work was finished in moments;
Yes, ants are truly busiest!
Oh, what respect ants show their dead!
How fast they rescue comrades hurt!
They proved they respected their dead;
Do human beings do like-wise?
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-15-2008
poem by John Celes
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Chain Of Fools (feat. Pointer Sisters)
Clint Black & The Pointer Sisters
Chain chain chains (Chain chain chains)
Chain chain chains (Chain chain chains)
Chain chain chain
Chain of fools
For four long years
I thought you were my man
But I found out
I'm just a link in your chain.
You got me where you want me
I ain't nothin but your fool
You treated me mean
Oh, you treated me cruel.
Chain chain chain (Chain chain chains)
Chain of fools
Every chain
Has got a weak link
I might be weak child
Oh, but I'll give you strength.
OOh. OOh.
You told me to leave you alone
My mother said, come on home
My doctor said, take it easy
But your lovin' is much too strong
I'm added to your.
Chain chain chain (Chain chain chains)
Chain chain chain (Chain chain chains)
Chain chain chain
Chain of fools.
--- Instrumental ---
One of these mornings
That chain is gonna break
But up until then
I'm goin'a take all I can take, oh yeah.
Chain chain chain (Chain chain chains)
Chain chain chain (Chain chain chains)
Chain chain chain
Chain of fools.
Chain chain chain (Chain chain chains)
Chain chain chain (Chain chain chains)
Chain chain chain
Chain of fools, oh yeah...
--- Instrumental with oops till fade ---
song performed by by Clint Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Aunt Jane
When Aunt Jane died we hunted round,
And money everywhere we found.
How much I do not care to say,
But no death duties will we pay,
And Aunt Jane will be well content
We bilked the bloody Government.
While others spent she loved to save,
But couldn't take it to her grave.
While others save we love to spend;
She hated us but in the end
Because she left no Testament
To us all her possessions went.
That is to say they did not find
A lawyer's Will of any kind.
Yet there was one in her own hand,
A Home for Ailing Cats she planned.
Well, you can understand my ire:
Promptly I put it in the fire.
In misery she chose to die,
Yet we will make her money fly.
And as we mourn for poor Aunt Jane
The thought alleviates our pain:
Perhaps her savings in the end
Gave her more joy than we who spend.
poem by Robert William Service
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Puff-adder
Camouflaged in the veldt,
with its khaki colour
melting into the rocks and grass
its flicking tongue caught my eye,
made me froze in my tracks
where it was lying looking obese
but a puff-adder attacks lightning quick
and do not like other snakes
try to get away,
but is a cocky deviant thing
and your limbs rot off
where it bites.
A startled grey field mouse
was unaware of lurking death
fled out before me
with a peeping sound
and disappeared down the throat
of the once hissing snake.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Rice Pudding
What is the matter with Mary Jane?
She's crying with all her might and main,
And she won't eat her dinner - rice pudding again -
What is the matter with Mary Jane?
What is the matter with Mary Jane?
I've promised her dolls and a daisy-chain,
And a book about animals - all in vain -
What is the matter with Mary Jane?
What is the matter with Mary Jane?
She's perfectly well, and she hasn't a pain;
But, look at her, now she's beginning again! -
What is the matter with Mary Jane?
What is the matter with Mary Jane?
I've promised her sweets and a ride in the train,
And I've begged her to stop for a bit and explain -
What is the matter with Mary Jane?
What is the matter with Mary Jane?
She's perfectly well and she hasn't a pain,
And it's lovely rice pudding for dinner again!
What is the matter with Mary Jane?
poem by Alan Alexander Milne
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The Adder
The adder is a British fish -
I'm sorry, I mean snake!
The error's one I've made and wish
I hadn't for its sake:
It drowned quite quickly for a fish,
Though slowly for a snake.
poem by South Westerner
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Chain Reaction
Something bout the way
The moon and the stars are moving across the sky
Something in the still night air is telling me now is the time to try
Ive been scheming, dreaming up a plan of how to get to you
Now conditions are right deep in the night
To do what Ive got to do
To start up a chain, chain, chain, chain reaction
Chain, chain, chain, chain reaction
Im no fool, Ill be cool
Its a powerful thing that Im trying to do
Gonna fix it up, mix it up good
Handle with care like I know I should
And blow it sky high, sky high
With a chain, chain, chain, chain reaction
Chain, chain, chain, chain reaction
Set a spark to the heart
That will start up the soul attraction
Get to the mystery of the chemistry
Chain, chain reaction
Chain, chain reaction
(repeat)
That fires up the satisfaction
Chain, chain reaction
Chain, chain reaction
song performed by by Wynonna Judd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet 112: Your love and pity doth th' impression fill
Your love and pity doth th' impression fill
Which vulgar scandal stamped upon my brow;
For what care I who calls me well or ill,
So you o'ergreen my bad, my good allow?
You are my all the world, and I must strive
To know my shames and praises from your tongue;
None else to me, nor I to none alive,
That my steeled sense or changes, right or wrong.
In so profound abysm I throw all care
Of others' voices that my adder's sense
To critic and to flatterer stoppèd are.
Mark how with my neglect I do dispense.
You are so strongly in my purpose bred,
That all the world besides, methinks, are dead.
poem by William Shakespeare
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Michael Scott’s Wooing
ROSE-SHEATHED beside the rosebud tongue
Lurks the young adder's tooth;
Milk-mild from new-born hemlock-bluth
The earliest drops are wrung:
And sweet the flower of his first youth
When Michael Scott was young.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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We like march, his shoes are purple,
We like March, his shoes are purple,
He is new and high;
Makes he mud for dog and peddler,
Makes he forest dry;
Knows the adder's tongue his coming,
And begets her spot.
Stands the sun so close and mighty
That our minds are hot.
News is he of all the others;
Bold it were to die
With the blue-birds buccaneering
On his British sky.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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