Asses
'I KNOW where I'd get
An ass that would do,
If I had the money
A pound or two.'
Said a ragged man
To my uncle one day;
He got the money
And went on his way.
And after that time
In market or fair
I'd look at the asses
That might be there.
And wonder what kind
Of an ass would do
For a ragged man
With a pound or two.
O the black and roan horses the street would fill,
Their manes and tails streaming, and they standing still,
And their owners, the men of estate, would be there,
Refusing gold guineas for a colt or a mare.
And one, maybe, riding up and down like a squire
So that buyers from Dublin might see and admire
The hunter or racer come to be sold
And be willing and ready to pay out their gold.
With men slouching beside them and buyers not near
It's no wonder the asses held down head and ear.
They had been sold or in by-ways bought
For a few half-crowns tied up in a knot,
And no one so poor as to buy one might come
To that fair that had horses so well prized at home!
And then it fell out
That at Arva or Scrabbey,
At some down-county fair,
Or Mohill or Abbey,
On two asses I happened
Without duress or dole
They were there in the market,
A dam and her foal.
And the owner, a woman,
Did not slouch or stand,
But in her cart sitting
Was as grand as the grand;
Like a queen out of Connacht
From her toe to her tip,
Like proud Crania Uaile
On the deck of her ship.
And her hair 'twas a mane:
The blackberries growing
Out of the hedge-rows
Have the sheen it was showing,
There kind was with kind
Like the flowers in the grasses
If the owner was fine,
As fine were her asses.
White, white was the mother
As a dusty white road;
Black on back and on shoulders
The cross-marking showed.
She was tall she could carry
A youth stout of limb,
Or bear down from her mountain
The bride decked for him!
Such was the mother
The foal's hide was brown,
All fleecy and curly,
And soft like bog-down;
And it nuzzled its mother,
Its head to her knee,
And blue were its eyes
Like the pools of the sea!
Then I thought all the silver
My uncle could draw
Might not pay for the creatures
That that day I saw;
And I thought that old Damer,
Who had troughs made of gold,
Could not pay for the asses,
The young and the old.
And I think of them still
When I see on the roads
Asses unyoked,
And asses with loads;
One running and trotting,
With harness loose,
And a man striking and hitting
Where his stick has use;
And one with a hide
Like a patched-on sack
And two creels of turf
Upon its back;
And one in the market,
Meek and brown,
Its head to the cart-shafts
That are down;
Eating its forage
A wisp of hay;
In the dust of the highway
Munching away;
Unmarked in the market
As might be a mouse
Behind a low stool
In a quiet house
Then I think of the pair
Horses might not surpass
The dam and her foal,
The white ass and brown ass.
poem by Padraic Colum
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Members Only
Uncle Larry's hooked on ice again
He seems to be stuck in the 80's
He wears his members only jacket
Cause he thinks it turns on all the ladies
And all the white folks shake their asses
Looking for the two and four
I'll have mine in martini glasses
Cause I can't take it anymore
These are the days of empty kitchens
The rise and fall of Mary Ellen's hairdo
I think she's found a new religion
Studying the Kabalah in her J Crew
And all the rich kids shake their asses
Looking for the two and four
Well I'll have mine with Blackstrap molasses
Cause I can't taste it anymore
No I can't taste it anymore
My friend Greg says it's all good
As the eastern seaboard's blown away
Now everything is going half-price
So look at all the money we saved
And all the politicians shake their asses
Looking for the backdoor
I'll just be hanging out with the lasses
Cause they don't like the boys no more
No and I can't take it anymore
song performed by by Sheryl Crow from Globe Sessions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Man's World
The world of a man climbs into sin,
His every move becomes his movement,
Like the snake that slithers and burns
Within the souls of asses.
My mobility has a crisis like his,
The running effect creeps up,
But the running has completion,
Unlike the asses.
A unique donkey would go to war
Over a significant rule of stupidity;
But my monster-moves require a blessing
Such that peace ensues.
A man shall sin twice before the fodder
Of asses is stolen by their stomachs,
And so the motions of the emotions
Repress the wars of our conception.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Black Market White Baby Dealer
My black market white baby dealer
Is hunting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Brings back clean, fresh white babies to me
Clean, fresh white babies to me
My black market white baby dealer
Is rooting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Kidnaps clean, fresh white babies for me
Clean, fresh white babies for me
My smile is dime a dozen
My lips are cherry red
My eyes are blue like the sky is blue
I got good shoulders under my head
I look like your mother
I look like your great-aunt
So sit me down in the family photo
And everyone tells me that i, I look just like you
My black market white baby dealer
Is hunting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Brings back clean, fresh white babies to me
He brings back
Oh my god, he brings back
He brings back clean, fresh, white expensive babies
He brings back
Oh charlie, he brings back
He brings back clean, fresh, white expensive babies
I come post-production
I dont need natal care
Im already fully assembled
Down to the very last part, its all there
So take me to your family
So take me to your home
Buddy, take me in as your next generation
And Ill take you out of the lost one and into mine
My black market white baby dealer
Is hunting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Brings back clean, fresh white babies to me
Clean, fresh white babies to me
Clean, fresh white babies to me
song performed by by Liz Phair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Epiphanias
THE three holy kings with their star's bright ray,--
They eat and they drink, but had rather not pay;
They like to eat and drink away,
They eat and drink, but had rather not pay.
The three holy kings have all come here,
In number not four, but three they appear;
And if a fourth join'd the other three,
Increased by one their number would be.
The first am I,--the fair and the white,
I ought to be seen when the sun shines bright!
But, alas! with all my spices and myrrh,
No girl now likes me,--I please not her.
The next am I,--the brown and the long,
Known well to women, known well to song.
Instead of spices, 'tis gold I bear,
And so I'm welcome everywhere.
The last am I,--the black and small,
And fain would be right merry withal.
I like to eat and to drink full measure,
I eat and drink, and give thanks with pleasure.
The three holy kings are friendly and mild,
They seek the Mother, and seek the Child;
The pious Joseph is sitting by,
The ox and the ass on their litter lie.
We're bringing gold, we're bringing myrrh,
The women incense always prefer;
And if we have wine of a worthy growth,
We three to drink like six are not loth.
As here we see fair lads and lasses,
But not a sign of oxen or asses,
We know that we have gone astray
And so go further on our way.
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Up Against The Wall Redneck Mother
(ray wylie hubbard)
He was born in oklahoma
His wifes name is betty jo thelma liz.
Hes not responsible for what hes doing;
His mother made him what he is.
And its up against the wall redneck mother
Mother who has raised her son so well.
Hes thirty-four and drinking in them honky-tonks
Just kicking all them hippies asses raising hell.
Well, you know, he sure likes to drink that lone star beer
And he chases it down with that wild turkey bourbon liquor.
He got a 57 gmc pick em up truck with a gun rack
And a Id rather be a roper than a doper bumper sticker.
And its up against the wall redneck mother
Mother who has raised her son so well.
Hes thirty-four and drinking in them honky-tonks
Just kicking all them hippies asses raising hell.
M is for the mud flaps you gave me for my pick-up truck
O is for the oil I put in my pick-up truck, drain it out, and put grease on my hair,
T is for tolly parton,
H is for haggard
E is for el paso and
R is for redneck!
And its up against the wall redneck mother
Mother who has raised her son so well.
Hes thirty-four and drinking in them honky-tonks
Kicking all them hippies asses raising hell.
And its up against the wall redneck mother
Mother who has raised her son so well.
And hes thirty-four and drinking in them honky-tonks
Just kicking all them hippies asses raising hell.
Where, kinky ?
Where ? right here in the lone star caf in new york city!
song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
White Babies
My black market white baby dealer
Is hunting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Brings back clean, fresh white babies to me
He brings back
Oh my god, he brings back
He brings back clean, fresh, white expensive babies
My smile is dime a dozen
My lips are cherry red
My eyes are blue like the sky is blue
I got good shoulders under my head
I look like your mother
I look like your great-aunt
Sit me down in your family photo
And everyone tells me that i, I look just like you
(I changed this verse for you)
My black market white baby dealer
Is hunting around overseas
My black market white baby dealer
Brings back clean, fresh white babies to me
Clean, fresh white babies to me
Clean, fresh white babies to me
song performed by by Liz Phair
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Clown's Reply
JOHN TROTT was desired by two witty peers
To tell them the reason why asses had ears?
'An't please you,' quoth John, 'I'm not given to letters,
Nor dare I pretend to know more than my betters;
Howe'er, from this time I shall ne'er see your graces,
As I hope to be saved! without thinking on asses.'
poem by Oliver Goldsmith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Wile Watching the Black and White TV
Your old man
came into the lounge
where you were watching
black and white TV
and your mother was standing
talking to an uncle
it's the baker
your old man said
he wants his £50
what £50?
your mother asked
the £50 I owe him
well pay him
your mother said
I can't
I don't have it
you watched
the cowboy film
with half interest
you took a glance
at the debtor
well tell him
you'll pay him
next week
your mother said
I told him that
last week
your old man said
what did you want
to borrow £50
from the baker for?
your mother asked
her cheeks getting flushed
to buy my new suit
what new suit?
the one I'm having made
you noticed
your old man's
moustache flicker
and he stroked it
as he did
when cornered
your mother
breathed heavy
and you looked
at the uncle
ok
the uncle said
here's the £50
go pay him
what you owe
to get him off your back
but you better pay me back
or I'll bust your head
sure I will
your old man said
going out of the room
clutching the money
in his palm
your mother sighed
and the uncle
put away his wallet
into an inside pocket
and you saw that one
of the cowboys
on the black and white
TV screen
had been shot
and died
the other looked angry
and ugly
and mean.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Lord Thomas and Fair Annet
Lord Thomas and fair Annet
Sat all day on a hill
When night was come and sun was set
They had not talked their fill.
Lord Thomas said a word in haste
And Annet took it ill;
I winna wed a dowerless maid
Against my parents' will
You're come of the rich, Thomas,
And I'm come of the poor
I'm o'er low to be your bride
And I winna be your whore
O fair Annet, O fair Annet
This night you've said me no
But long or ever this day month
I'll make your heart right woe
Come riddle my riddle dear mother, he said
Come riddle it all in one
Whether I will take fair Annet
Or bring the brown girl home
The nut-brown maid has gold and gear
Fair Annet she has none
And the little beauty fair Annet has
O it will soon be gone
Sheep will die in cots, mother
And oxen die in byre
And what's this world's wealth to me
An I get not my heart's desire
Where will I get a pretty little boy
That'll run my errands soon
That will run to fair Annet's bower
And bid her to my wedding
She mauna put on the black, the black
Nor yet the dowie brown
But the scarlet so red, and the kerchief so white
And her bonny locks hanging down
She has called her maries to her bower
To lay gold in her hair
Where'er you put a plait before
See you lay ten times more
When Annet was in her saddle set
She flamed against the fire
The girdle around her middle small
Was worth an earl's hire
The horse fair Annet rode upon
He bounded like the wind
With silver he was shod before
With burning gold behind
And when she came into the kirk
She shimmered like the sun
The belt that was about her waist
Was all with pearls bedone
Is this your bride, Lord Thomas ? she said
I think she's wondrous brown
You might have had as fair a bride
As e'er the sun shined on
Despise her not fair Annet, he said
Despise her not now unto me
For better I love thy little finger
Than all her whole body
Then out and spoke the nut-brown bride
And she spoke out of spite
O where got you that rose-water
That washed your face so white ?
O I did get the rose-water
Where you will ne'er get none
For I did get that rose-water
Into my mother's womb
The bride she drew a long bodkin
From out her gay headgear
And struck fair Annet to the heart
A deep wound and a sair
O art thou blind Lord Thomas, she said
Or do you not well see
O do you not see my own heart's blood
Run trinkling down my knee ?
He drew his dagger that was so sharp
That was so sharp and meet
And drove it into the nut-brown bride
That fell dead at his feet
O dig my grave, Lord Thomas he said
Dig it both wide and deep
And lay fair Annet by my side
And the brown girl at my feet
poem by Anonymous Olde English
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Brown Study
LET them sing of their primrose and cowslip,
Their daffodil-gold-coloured hair,
Their bluebells, blue eyes, and white violets,
All the pale dreamy things they find fair;
Give me stir of brown leaves in the sunshine,
The whir of brown wings through the wheat,
The rush of brown hares through the clover,
And the light in brown eyes of my sweet!
Gold hair? Well, I never could love it,
Yet gold, I suppose, has its worth;
The head that I love is as dusky
As the breast of our mother, the earth;
With a gleam like the shine of wet seaweed,
Round pools that the tide has left clear,
And warm like the breast of a linnet,
And as brown, is the hair of my dear.
From the edge of the cliff we look downwards
On the shore, and the bay, and the town,
And brown is the short turf we lean on,
The fishing-boats' sails are all brown:
The sky may be blue--that's the background,--
But the picture itself, to be fair,
However it's shaded and varied,
Should be brown as the dress that you wear.
A lark bursts to sudden sweet singing--
That tuft of brown grass is his home--
And now, a brown speck, he is rising
Against the clear windy sky-dome;
And he sings--how I know? Love instructs me
To know all his notes, what they mean--
That it isn't the colour I care for,
But yourself, oh, my gipsy, my queen!
Ah! the lark knows my heart--I his language;
It's my heart he sings out to the skies;
It is you that I love, and what matter
The colour of hair or of eyes?
No doubt I should love you as dearly
Were your hair like an apricot's down,
And your eyes like the grey of the morning;
But I'm glad, all the same, that they're brown.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Why is it there are so many more horses' asses than there are horses?
quote by G. Gordon Liddy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Anal Narcotico
Babies asses profaned
By lustful
Psychopath' penises
Asses from which blood
And entrails' fragments
Spill out.
Inconceivable scream - tearing
Apart ears of the
Criminal
Who wants to fulfill
His sick mind,
Sick of emptiness that
Blows up his brain
Anal narcotic that allows
To unload animal lust.
Small object of orgiastic play
Choking in its yell - by sperm
Of the executioner
Who's got nothing
For his defense - except
Innocence
Raped eyes in deaf scream
Look for death that
Will release from
Pain,
Off "mother's pain",
When they came into
This world.
song performed by by Yattering
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The horses of hope gallop, but the asses of experience go slowly.
Half my father
Half my father
Half my mother
My mother white as a ghost
My father black as coal
In my face the mixture glows
My skin is white
Still I am a black man
By the make of my nose
My hair is curly
My eyes are gray
Within me both if them lives
My mother’s race
Did enslave
My father’s race
Was never paid.
Still within I bare the two
Am O the new American?
My father is white
My mother is Korean
They met during the war
And I was born
Their only son
By my tone of skin
And by my eyes
You can tell
That there is a divide
And by my blonde hair
It is there for you to spy
Am I the new American?
My mother is German
My father polish
I learned three languages
As I grew older
Both of them
Did love me well
And of each country did tell
That I could draw
From each well
Am I the new American?
My father is Chinese
My mother Spanish
Both crossed over the Rio Grand
I am in the make of my father
But I have my mother’s brown skin
Am I the new American?
poem by David E. Patton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Wooing
A YOUTH went faring up and down,
Alack and well-a-day.
He fared him to the market town,
Alack and well-a-day.
And there he met a maiden fair,
With hazel eyes and auburn hair;
His heart went from him then and there,
Alack and well-a-day.
She posies sold right merrily,
Alack and well-a-day;
But not a flower was fair as she,
Alack and well-a-day.
He bought a rose and sighed a sigh,
'Ah, dearest maiden, would that I
Might dare the seller too to buy!'
Alack and well-a-day.
She tossed her head, the coy coquette,
Alack and well-a-day.
'I'm not, sir, in the market yet,'
Alack and well-a-day.
'Your love must cool upon a shelf;
Tho' much I sell for gold and pelf,
I'm yet too young to sell myself,'
Alack and well-a-day.
The youth was filled with sorrow sore,
Alack and well-a-day;
And looked he at the maid once more,
Alack and well-a-day.
Then loud he cried, 'Fair maiden, if
Too young to sell, now as I live,
You're not too young yourself to give,'
Alack and well-a-day.
The little maid cast down her eyes,
Alack and well-a-day,
And many a flush began to rise,
Alack and well-a-day.
'Why, since you are so bold,' she said,
'I doubt not you are highly bred,
So take me!' and the twain were wed,
Alack and well-a-day.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
These Memories Did Not Come Cheap
These memories did not come cheap.
Not a one arrived with Little Bo Peep!
And Tommy Tucker I was...
I sang for my supper!
And did a little more than that,
If I didn't want my backside slapped.
My parents weren't the kind
To count from one to ten.
My father had us laughing a lot...
But my mother was no comedienne.
She whipped our asses.
Especially when my sister and I,
Made bad choices to go for a jog!
When sprinting was mother's specialty!
These memories did not come cheap to me.
Not when finding myself young with adult responsibilites.
A work ethic was adhered to in our home.
I was dared as a child anytime I felt grown...
Either bite my lip or the front door was shown.
And even when I did get grown,
I never showed anyone disrespect...
And it wont be accepted,
If in my face it's to be thrown.
I'm not prone to ducking!
These memories did not come cheap!
Not to me.
And they wont be sold that way either!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Muse Of Life
Black and white horses,
Black and white cows,
All that muses is about life;
Cos', the wind blows to where it is directed.
Brown and white horses,
Brown and white cows,
The muse of life teaches us many tricks;
But, i've got rain and sunshine to crown the day.
The muse of a moose,
The bloom of a flower,
The blues of mankind to take the pieces;
The muse of life teaches many.
'The dish washer is not in the Bible'! !
Shouted the lone-ranger in need of love;
But, all that muses is about life.
Of cows and horses,
Of men and women,
Of Black and White Race to fill the earth;
Yes, all that muses is about life.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!