Creased Up
Let's iron out irony he said
Ironic that his suit, linen,
That hung from his gangly frame
Limp and frayed,
Unironed.
poem by Paul Brookes
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Hell Of A Band
Ladies and gentlemen.
Please welcome to the center of the stage, the one, the only...
You got it my hips are shaking left to right and uh, Limp Bizkit,
Limp Bizkit's got the power.
Say uh, Limp Bizkit,
Limp Bizkit's got the power.
Sin, sin, bullet to the head, little John slaps that beat.
Sammy hits that bass hit nookie, rumble you outta your seat.
Now where's that freaky ass son of a bitch?
That guitar raving man?
Lethal's scratchin' up them balls,
Limp Bizkit's one hell of a band.
Left, left, left, right, left.
Left, left, left, right left.
Yeah, my back is aching, my belt's too tight,
My hands are shaking left to right.
I said uh! Limp Bizkit,
Limp Bizkit's got the power.
Everybody say uh! Limp Bizkit, Limp Bizkit's got the power.
Everybody say uh! Limp Bizkit, Limp Bizkit's got the power.
Everybody say uh! Limp Bizkit, Limp Bizkit's got the power.
Everbody say uh! Limp Bizkit, Limp Bizkit's got the power.
Uh! Limp Bizkit, Limp Bizkit's got the power.
Ha ha! Uh, Limp Bizkit, Limp Bizkit's got the power.
Everybody say uh! Limp Bizkit, Limp Bizkit's got the power.
Uh, Limp Bizkit...(fades out).
song performed by by Limp Bizkit
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Linen Hankerchief
Does anyone still make use of the linen handkerchief?
Does anyone still take the time to starch and iron,
Fold and press into triangle or square?
Many and varied the role of this flimsy accessory!
To dab one’s eyes, or nose; or after rain, I suppose –
To dab discreetly at one’s hair.
Then there’s the dapper suit with its lively pocket adornment;
A love token waved, or given away –
A Cinderella’s slipper found by a favoured gent.
Man and woman and child alike for reasons unbeknownst
May stash one on their person quite unbidden.
A lot of fuss over nothing much: this strangest piece of linen.
poem by Jean Renwick
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Oh, Irony
Is it ironic
If a poem on irony
Contains none of it?
poem by William Blake Beckett
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Hung Up On You
Orbison/melson
Hooked on the touch of your hand, high on how you understand
Lost when you whispered hello ,something in your eyes said dont go
I just had to stay, couldnt go away from you, you knew what to do to get me
Hung up on you,hung up on you,hung up on you,hung up on you
You knew, the first time we met that I could never forget
You held me so close to you, I could never get over you
You were so aware how to make me care and keep me
Hung up on you,hung up on you,hung up on you,hung up on you
Yeah, you got me where you wanted me, I am where I really want to be
Hung up,hung up,hung up on you
Im so hung up on you that I dont know what I would do without you
Oh it will take me forever to get enough of you and I cant help it if im
Hung up on you,hung up on you,hung up on you baby,hung up on you
Hung up on you,hung up on you...
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Real art is without irony. Irony distances the author from his material. Irony is a product of something. It's not the reason for doing something. Irony is a cheap shot.
quote by Robert Altman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mountain Lane
This lactic lane advertises the acts
Of my numbered men in talent;
Sales are made to the dozens of orders,
Frowning is the name of the story.
I have doubts on reality that exist,
To overwhelm the likes of you,
This speeding on the highway proclaims
A play to be written on death.
It is love and its agreement with loving,
That is the story of the most iron,
Irony detonates the bomb of hate,
Ironic questions are being asked.
Dying feelings can be a weight,
Tapping the head of the way we call,
At the top is the mountain of truth,
Wading upwards completes sin.
poem by Naveed Akram
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The irony of that is, what makes it kind of ironic, is when you do become successful as a professional athlete in particular, a lot of the young children who are emulating these stars do have a different perspective.
quote by Frank Shorter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Irony of Love
Irony is a literary or rhetorical device.
The essayist Henry Watson Fowler wrote:
“any definition of irony
—though hundreds might be given,
and very few of them would be accepted—
must include this,
that the surface meaning
and the underlying meaning of
what is said are not the same.'
He left out that any definition of
Irony must include that it is cruel.
I never understood
The meaning of irony
Or how cruel it can be,
Until you told me,
That though you may love me,
You find it difficult to
Hear the words
“I love you” from me.
You see, some three years ago
You jokingly said
'I love you' to me,
And I begged you
Never to utter those words again.
Not because I did not want to hear them,
But because they were difficult for me.
They carried heart-felt consequences
That I did not want to face.
So, I shut out my heart and followed my head.
And in life filled with so many regrets,
It was the biggest mistake I ever made.
The irony,
After some thousand days have past,
You uttered the same
Imprudent sentiment to me.
This sentiment is the definition of irony –
The surface meaning
And underlying meaning are not the same.
Because although I asked you not to say
“I love you”,
It is all I wanted to hear.
The cruelty,
That now that heaven has at last
Blessed, cursed me with
Clarity of the heart,
And I want to say what I mean
With no different underlying sentiment,
You tell me you do not
Want to hear these words from me.
But the most ironic and cruelest part,
Will be,
If you make the same mistake I made
And keep from me what is within your heart.
poem by Hal Caufield
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The Suit
The Suit
After the surgery my son come visiting
he had brought a dark suit along, hung
it in my wardrobe, said he had brought
it along in case we went to a party.
A fortnight later he flew back home but
left the suit behind so he didn’t have
to bring one next time he came visiting.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Days of 1908
That was the year when he stayed
Without work, for a living played
Cards, or backgammon; or borrowed and never paid.
He was offered a place at a small
Stationer’s, three pounds a month. It didn’t suit him.
It was not decent pay at all.
He refused it without hesitation;
He was twenty-five, and of good education.
Two or three shillings he made, more or less.
From cards and backgammon what could a boy skim;
At the common places, the cafés of his grade,
Although he played sharply, and picked stupid players.
As for borrowing, that didn’t always come off.
He seldom struck a dollar, oftener he’d fall
To half, and sometimes as low as a shilling.
Sometimes, when he got away from the grim
Night-sitting, for a week at a time or more,
He would cool himself at the baths, with a morning swim.
The shabbiness of his clothes was tragical.
He always wore the same suit, always displayed
A suit of cinnamon brown discoloured and frayed.
O summer days of nineteen hundred and eight, I recall
The picture of you, and out of it seems to fade,
Harmoniously, that cinnamon suit discoloured and frayed.
The picture of you has preserved him
Just as he would take off, would fling down
The unworthy clothes, the mended under clothes,
And remain all naked; faultlessly beautiful; a wonder.
Uncombed and lifted up his hair was;
His limbs a little sunburnt
From the morning nakedness at the baths and on the beach.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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Frame II
The frame was best supporting act,
and held the ego high and proud.
He never moaned or groaned or spat,
just hung there, all chilled out.
Of course he would have liked acclaim,
a little lime light and a name,
although a painting with no frame
would look a little dull and tame.
The painting lapped up all attention,
with its enigmatic grin,
often feeling quite ecstatic
to be held with such esteem.
and so the frame in show biz style
put a brave face on and a smiled,
stoical in holding back
ambitions to be the star act.
The frame all low and down at heel
resigned himself as second bill
for after all it wouldn't do
if he were narcissistic too.
poem by Ruth Walters
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A Natural Reaction
A reprobate? Who, me?
What's up with that?
Don't ask me to cozy up
and be your pal, please!
If I wanted, I could wreak
havoc on the whole crew!
By the way, can you define
irony for me?
Yes, I said irony!
I don't think you understand
the uses of irony, do you?
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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Fate's Irony
I’m deep in love, with the girl of my dreams
Who’s deep in love with the guy of her dreams
As fate would have its’ sense of irony, it seems that guy is not me
Fate it seems loves to play tricks
Fate it seems has its’ own little hits
Irony is around us all around
Like the love of the one who is in love with another
Or the love of money when money is outmoted
But love will never be outmoted, just forgotten
Just Forsaken
Forsaken Irony, Forgotten Helms
Love is lost and new love found
Or for some of those unwilling to let go
Love is lost and the soul grows cold
Forsaking love and comfort
Caring or passion
It is darkened by the past, the ironic twist of fate
This once gentle soul now is black a night
This once soul of love is full of fright
But Not all is lost, for there is a remedy,
A cure to the pain, a cure for the forsaken
What that cure is I still do not know
I just hope I find it, so maybe I can grow old..
poem by Nathaniel Sickels
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You've Blinded Yourself
Ironic isn't it? We die with no breath, yet with every breath taken,
death creeps ever so slowly upon us, clandestinely killing us, unbeknownst to us.
Ironic isn't it? We would die for what is right, yet we die when we do what is wrong. We live in a world that abhors the right, yet with what is wrong, the Son of Sin is born.
Funny isn't it? They say Light and Darkness cannot exist without the other, but Darkness dies with Light. Light needs not Darkness to live.
Funny isn't it? You try to to kill me now, and laugh when I stumble.
I wonder if you'll be laughing when your swimming in the Lake of Fire and Sulphur. In fact, look into my eyes, if you dare, and see ME laugh as I watch you die.
Such irony in this life you've created, killing us off one by one. In reality it is Death wearing Life's cloak. 'Tis amusing too, you still think your going to win. Pathetic actually. Oh well, too bad.
poem by Soren Valentine
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(Growing Pains) Blue
Blue was his colour, he always said. Went with his ice-blue Michael Caine eyes.
Midnight blue velvet suit, in the seventies, their twenties. (She stroking nightly its nap as they sat on her hard two-seater sofa, until he exposed the smooth contrast of the skin beneath.)
His wedding suit a sky-blue linen creation. (Her parents late to the ceremony, she, tearstained at the flower-decked registry office table, hearing her mother breathe, ”Isn’t he beautiful”)
Cerulean and cobalt shirts in the eighties (pure cotton, hell to iron, but hell, she was still in love.)
Prussian blue golf shoes and an ultramarine Armani fleece in the nineties, as far as she could recall.
He bought her a cloud-blue Honda car to do the shopping in, just before she decided to head off into the blue.
In it, she struck out on a polychrome adventure, alone, drove towards the lurid sunset to look for gold at the end of her rainbow.
When they met again, she saw that at some point his eyes had faded to grey, along with their hair.
Blue was still his colour.
poem by Janice Windle
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Slow Down
(Jean-Paul Maunick / Gary Sanctuary)
Slow down, get a grip, ain't this ironic?
Slow down and get a grip, I betcha didn't think it would come to this
Ain't this ironic?
I don't mean to be abrupt, but I know there's something on your mind
So before you interrupt baby, let me tell you what's really going on
It's not about our history, when and who we've slept with in the past
It's all about discovery, gettin' to know and love me for me
Slow down, get a grip, ain't this ironic?
Slow down and get a grip, I betcha didn't think it would come to this
Ain't this ironic?
You gotta face it, it's a mess, it's a war zone, right now I gotta be on my own
I ain't heading for a breakdown sure as my name is Sarah Brown
Yes I need to be alone, out there on my own
Need to water all my roots, until my spirit has grown
Got to do, got to do, I know I've really got to do it
Got to be bold, got to be bold, be bold
Got to do, got to do, I know I've really got to do it
Got to move on, got to move, move on
Soon the caged bird will have flown
Slow down, get a grip, ain't this ironic?
Slow down and get a grip, I betcha didn't think it would come to this
Ain't this ironic?
You gotta face it, it's a mess, it's a war zone, right now I gotta be on my own
I ain't heading for a breakdown , sure as my name is Sarah Brown
You gotta face it, it's a mess, It's a war zone, right now you gotta be on your own
you ain't heading for a breakdown , sure as your name is! Sarah Brown
S.a.r.a.h. - B.r.o.w.n . from the soles of my boots to my folicle roots
I ain't heading for a breakdown
You were always the one askin' for space
Sayin' maybe it's time we tried something new
While you were thinkin' of someone you knew
Aint that ironic, ironic, ironic
Listen to me, don't listen to me
It really doesn't matter cos the girl's got to get it on
Get it on, get it on, get it on
Alright
song performed by by Incognito
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Alone (1)
Sharp iron nails were driven through flesh and bone
as upon the cross He hung alone.
'My God, My God, why have You forsaken Me? '
He cried alone upon that tree.
He was attacked by Satan's bulls of Bashan
when alone He bore the sins of man.
While crowds stood staring at the gruesome sight
He hung alone to make things right.
As the sun was darkened and refused to shine
He died alone for these sins of mine.
Smitten of His God and forsaken was He
as He hung all alone there for me.
For He was wounded for me and His blood shed
when He hung alone there in my stead.
'My Lord and my God what love is this? ' I cried
'That for me alone You have died.'
to be continued........
Rags & Old Iron
Norman curtis, oscar brown jr
Rags old iron rags old iron
All he was buying was just rags and old iron
I heard that old rag man now making his rounds
He came right to my alley lord with sorrowful sounds
Crying rags old iron and pulling his cart
Ask him how much hed give me for my broken heart
Rags old iron rags old iron
All he was buying was just rags and old iron
So I asked that old rag man how much he would pay
For a heart that was broken baby when you went away
For a burnt out old love light that no longer beams
And a couple of slightly used second hand dreams
Rags old iron rags old iron
All he was buying was just rags and old iron
For those big empty promises you used to make
For those memories of you that are no longer sweet
I wish he could haul them off down the street
Rags old iron rags old iron
All he was buying was just rags and old iron
When love doesnt last tell me what is it worth
It was once mamas most precious possession on earth
When I asked that old rag man if hed like to buy
He just shook his head and continued to cry
Rags old iron rags old iron
All he was buying was just rags and old iron
Rags old iron rags old iron
Rags old iron rags old iron rags old iron
song performed by by Nina Simone
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nonexistence
Nonexistence flows from what is unpronounced,
the dried source of a watershed,
cisternal spaces in the head,
the prey at which no cat has pounced.
Christopher Lehmann-Haupt reviews 'For Common things: Irony, Trust and Commitment in America Today' (Alfred A. Knopf) by the 25 year old West Virginian, Jedediah Purdy. Purdy argues that irony such as that personified by Jerry Seinfeld, harms 'common things, ' by which he means all that is public, shared and ordinary. Thomas Carlyle wrote in 'Sartor Resartus': 'An ironic man, with his sly stillness and ambuscading ways, may be viewed as a pest to society.' The epigraph to his book comes from Czeslaw Milosz: 'What is unpronounced tends to nonexistence.'
9/9/99
poem by Gershon Hepner
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Justify
To add justice,
I did not scream nor cry,
I instead called,
“Irony.”
Yes,
Irony.
The strange noun that bites and slaps when least expected.
So, to justify,
I called Irony.
I would like it to be shown, to the court at least, that I did nothing wrong,
nor nothing right.
I called his name,
when he was gone from sight.
I whispered my wisdom,
to a deaf and blind old fool,
I gave my only love,
To one who would never love at all.
So,
To justify,
I believe I did not lose,
I just didn't win.
That is often the case with irony.
poem by Kaitey Cat
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