A Mundane Tale
We know each other the two of us
I was in a hurry in a time of rush
He was happy his eyes joy-lit
"Spare a little time, for one biscuit".
Just then came the red office bus
I was annoyed, I was in a rush
A moment's hesitation and I boarded it
Glanced at him and our eyes did meet.
Something I saw moistened his eyes
A surprise it was he couldn't disguise
He couldn't believe, the thing of the street,
that I would leave him without biscuit.
It found me again back on the street
Someone was needed to buy him a biscuit
Other things could wait, such as office
Not for the world could I give it a miss.
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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Related quotes
Biscuit City
Id like to be in biscuit city
With my banjo in my hand
I dont need no long vacation
In some foreign land
Cause the sound of my own breathing
Has been turning to a sigh
I wish that I could make the time
To be in biscuit city by and by
Oh the water is of emerald
And the beach is white as snow
And everyones got money
And no place to go
In a land of milk and honey
It can really make you smile
And if I had a ticket
I would stay in biscuit city for a while
All the girls are in bikinis
All the boys are in the buff
With the baby in between and
That makes three of us
And the streets are all so quiet
And the walls are squeaky clean
I think you aint been nowhere til
The town of biscuit city you have seen
Id rather be in biscuit city
With my banjo in my hand
Than take a big vacation
In some foreign land
Cause the sound of my own breathing
Has been turning to a sigh
If it were not for misfortune
I would be in biscuit city by and by
If it were not for misfortune
I would stay in biscuit city til I die
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Verse For a Certain Dog
Such glorious faith as fills your limpid eyes,
Dear little friend of mine, I never knew.
All-innocent are you, and yet all-wise.
(For Heaven's sake, stop worrying that shoe!)
You look about, and all you see is fair;
This mighty globe was made for you alone.
Of all the thunderous ages, you're the heir.
(Get off the pillow with that dirty bone!)
A skeptic world you face with steady gaze;
High in young pride you hold your noble head,
Gayly you meet the rush of roaring days.
(Must you eat puppy biscuit on the bed?)
Lancelike your courage, gleaming swift and strong,
Yours the white rapture of a winged soul,
Yours is a spirit like a Mayday song.
(God help you, if you break the goldfish bowl!)
"Whatever is, is good" - your gracious creed.
You wear your joy of living like a crown.
Love lights your simplest act, your every deed.
(Drop it, I tell you- put that kitten down!)
You are God's kindliest gift of all - a friend.
Your shining loyalty unflecked by doubt,
You ask but leave to follow to the end.
(Couldn't you wait until I took you out?)
poem by Dorothy Parker
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Grey
The diner nibbles biscuit
because a stealthy misfit
has finished off the brisket and the pie.
His methods are erratic
and crumbs bedaub his jacket
unheeded by his static glassy eyes.
Upon his thin long fingers
a whiff of Cheddar lingers.
The end of a malingerer is nigh.
His ears are pricked for whispers.
A presage stills his whiskers
before tight sprung ballistic metal flies.
The silence is emphatic.
The stillness is dramatic
to underscore a tragic mouse demise.
Quick nails tip tap the china.
He grinds his biscuit finer.
Behind his specs, the diner's eyes are dry.
poem by Diane Hine
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Ch 02 The Morals Of Dervishes Story 29
A man had a friend, who held the office of devan to the padshah, but whom he had not seen for a long time; and, a man having asked him for the reason, he replied: "I do not want to see him." A dependent however of the devan, who also happened to be present, queried: "What fault has he committed that thou art unwilling to meet him?" He replied: "There is no fault in the matter but a friend who is a devan may be seen when he is removed from office."
Whilst in greatness and in the turmoil of busines
They do not like to be troubled by neighbours
But when they are depressed and removed from office
They will lay open their heart’s grief to friends.
Nope Not Supposed To
The simples of kindness
Ever to express
Was a dog biscuit from the mailman’s vest
Today while on my way
My dog did spy
From his biscuit eye
This uniform of yesterday
Who would bring treats along his way
Nope....I’m not supposed to he say
No biscuits anymore along my way
It has become a no more to be
This kind gesture between the dog and me
Nick Krakana
December 28,2011
poem by Nick krakana
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Clancy of the Overflow
Clancy of the Overflow ...
I had written him a letter which I had, for want of better
Knowledge, sent to where I met him down the Lachlan, years ago,
He was shearing when I knew him, so I sent the letter to him,
Just "on spec", addressed as follows, "Clancy, of The Overflow".
And an answer came directed in a writing unexpected,
(And I think the same was written with a thumb-nail dipped in tar)
Twas his shearing mate who wrote it, and verbatim I will quote it:
"Clancy's gone to Queensland droving, and we don't know where he are."
In my wild erratic fancy visions come to me of Clancy
Gone a-droving "down the Cooper" where the Western drovers go;
As the stock are slowly stringing, Clancy rides behind them singing,
For the drover's life has pleasures that the townsfolk never know.
And the bush hath friends to meet him, and their kindly voices greet him
In the murmur of the breezes and the river on its bars,
And he sees the vision splendid of the sunlit plains extended,
And at night the wond'rous glory of the everlasting stars.
I am sitting in my dingy little office, where a stingy
Ray of sunlight struggles feebly down between the houses tall,
And the foetid air and gritty of the dusty, dirty city
Through the open window floating, spreads its foulness over all
And in place of lowing cattle, I can hear the fiendish rattle
Of the tramways and the buses making hurry down the street,
And the language uninviting of the gutter children fighting,
Comes fitfully and faintly through the ceaseless tramp of feet.
And the hurrying people daunt me, and their pallid faces haunt me
As they shoulder one another in their rush and nervous haste,
With their eager eyes and greedy, and their stunted forms and weedy,
For townsfolk have no time to grow, they have no time to waste.
And I somehow rather fancy that I'd like to change with Clancy,
Like to take a turn at droving where the seasons come and go,
While he faced the round eternal of the cash-book and the journal --
But I doubt he'd suit the office, Clancy, of "The Overflow".
Banjo Paterson
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Stowaway
We'd left the sea-gulls long behind,
And we were almost in mid-ocean;
The sky was soft and blue and kind,
The boat had scarcely any motion;
Except that songfully it sped,
And sheared the foam swift as an arrow . . .
There fluttered down a city sparrow.
I stared with something of surprise;
The apparition mocked my seeming;
In fact I gently rubbed my eyes
And wondered if I were not dreaming.
It must, I mused, at Montreal
Have hopped abroad, somewhere to nestle,
And failed to hear the warning call
For visitors to leave he vessel.
Well, anyway a bird it was,
With winky eyes and wings a-twitter,
Unwise to migration Laws,
From Canada a hardy flitter;
And as it hopped about the deck
So happily I wondered whether
It wasn't scramming from Quebec
For London's mild and moister weather.
My rover's heart went out to it,
That vain, vivacious little devil;
And as I watched it hop and flit
I hoped it would not come to evil;
It planned above the plangent sea
(A foolish flight, I'd never risk it),
And then it circled back to me
And from my palm picked crumbs of biscuit.
Well, voyages come to an end
(WE make them with that understanding);
One morn I missed my feathered friend,
And hope it made a happy landing.
Oh may she ever happy be
(It 'twas a "she") with eggs to sit on,
And rest on our side of he sea,
A brave, brown, cheery, chirping Briton.
poem by Robert William Service
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Goodbye Mine M.j.
A "Stranger in Moscow" told me that you've gone!
But is it true that you've gone my M.J.?
And with tears in my eyes I say goodbye my M.J.
You who feeds the eyes and the ears
And has graced our African soil
But why did you have to go, you "Smooth criminal"
When you know "They don't care about us"
Tell me, who will "Heal the world"?
Who will make it a better place for us?
Who will give to the poor once and again to their necessity?
Who will be there for them in their anguish and pain?
O', know you not that admired you are of those that hate you most
And did you have to go; or where you too lonely?
But you said "We're the world" that "You are not alone"
Then why did you have to go? And did you leave another "Thriller"
If no, then why choose to be "The man in the mirror"
Thus dirge and elegy now met in my heart. Why?
"Do you remember the time" we first met in my dream
And "The way you make me feel" with your "Childhood"?
Oh king of pop, my M.J., "I want you back"
And you "Got to be there" for me on my birthday
To sing me your song, "Don't stop till you get enough"
While "Rockin Robin and Ben" "Off the wall" till they "Scream"
For your love is magical because you're angelica
You are so wonderful because you're beautiful
You are indispensable because you're irreplaceable
And now I see the "Liberian girl" cry because you're "Speechless"
And upon our bodies the nighted color of mourning you. Why?
Alas death! Why taketh him away when all that look on him yet not satisfied?
O', let not the world lose another "Michael Jackson".
Michael I love you "Yesterday, today and forever."
May the spirit light your way
Through the land of the shadow
To the halls of eternal peace. Amen.
In the cabinet of my imagination, in the treasury of my reason, in the registry of my conscience, and in the council chamber of my thought, there shall you live forever.
I LOVE YOU MINE M.J.
poem by Lightcheerful Briggs
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Knock at the Doors of your Conscience
You ask the trees in the thicket;
in the shades of which you receited
the verses of love on me and they will rustle:
" Yeah, you loved her".
You call the waves of the billowy sea.
Before their eyes, you kissed me
and made a rush of your hand many a time on me,
and they will advance towards you looming and roaring:
" You cheat, don't tell lies! ".
You behold the roses in that garden
with your own natural eyes.
They will perfume to predict your doom and query:
" Are you a man born to a heroic mother? ".
You listen to the god-given voice of the bees and birds.
They will hum and chirp in a simple tongue:
" You shameless brute! Go to the nether world."
Why should I seek the help of the custodians of law
to bring you beside me to live a life bogus?
When your guilty conscience fails to herald your fall
what change the man-made laws will make in you?
poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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The Protest
I say 'e isn't Remorse!
'Ow do I know?
Saw 'im on Riccarton course
Two year ago!
Think I'd forget any 'orse?
Course 'e's The Crow!
Bumper Maginnis and I
After a "go",
Walkin' our 'orses to dry,
I says "Hello!
What's that old black goin' by?"
Bumper says "Oh!
That's an old cuddy of Flanagan's --
Runs as The Crow!"
Now they make out 'e's Remorse.
Well, but I know.
Soon as I came on the course
I says "'Ello!
'Ere's the old Crow."
Once a man's seen any 'orse,
Course 'e must know.
Sure as there's wood in this table,
I say 'e's The Crow.
(Cross-examied by the Committee.)
'Ow do I know the moke
After one sight?
S'posin' you meet a bloke
Down town at night,
Wouldn't you know 'im again when you meet 'im?
That's 'im all right!
What was the brand on 'is 'ide?
I couldn't say,
Brands can be transmogrified.
That ain't the way --
It's the look of a 'orse and the way that 'e moves
That I'd know any day.
What was the boy on 'is back?
Why, 'e went past
All of a minute, and off down the track.
-- "The 'orse went as fast?"
True, so 'e did! But my eyes, what a treat!
'Ow can I notice the 'ands and the seat
Of each bumble-faced kid of a boy that I meet?
Lor'! What a question to ast!
(Protest Dismissed)
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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The Eyes
Across the street the eyes
Are swathed in dark's disguise
Across the street the eyes
Froze all my insides
Across the street the eyes
Panicked and surprised
Across the street the eyes
Slashed through the frigid cries
poem by Gwenevere Cornwell
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There was one I met upon the road
There was one I met upon the road
Who looked at me with kind eyes.
He said, "Show me of your wares."
And this I did,
Holding forth one.
He said, "It is a sin."
Then held I forth another;
He said, "It is a sin."
Then held I forth another;
He said, "It is a sin."
And so to the end;
Always he said, "It is a sin."
And, finally, I cried out,
"But I have none other."
Then did he look at me
With kinder eyes.
"Poor soul!" he said.
poem by Stephen Crane
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What Goes Around . . .
In position and out of sight,
hiding until the time was right,
the cat crawled forward with such skill,
the bird could not escape the "kill." It happened almost every day.
The cat would never miss its prey.
So many kills against its name,
it loved to play that "pouncing" game. But then one day, the cat outside,
not chasing birds, no need to hide,
just lying in the grass to rest,
and dreaming of that new found nest. But suddenly, an angry cry,
the sound of many birds nearby.
Like bombers on a bombing run,
they started "swooping" one by one. The battle on, surprise attack,
the cat "pinned down," could not fight back.
The "message" on that battleground,
what goes around does come around.
poem by Art Milkes
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Soldier, Soldier
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
Why don't you march with my true love?"
"We're fresh from off the ship an' 'e's maybe give the slip,
An' you'd best go look for a new love."
New love! True love!
Best go look for a new love,
The dead they cannot rise, an' you'd better dry your eyes,
An' you'd best go look for a new love.
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
What did you see o' my true love?"
"I seed 'im serve the Queen in a suit o' rifle-green,
An' you'd best go look for a new love."
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
Did ye see no more o' my true love?"
"I seed 'im runnin' by when the shots begun to fly --
But you'd best go look for a new love."
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
Did aught take 'arm to my true love?"
"I couldn't see the fight, for the smoke it lay so white --
An' you'd best go look for a new love."
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
I'll up an' tend to my true love!"
"'E's lying on the dead with a bullet through 'is 'ead,
An' you'd best go look for a new love."
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
I'll down an' die with my true love!"
"The pit we dug'll 'ide 'im an' the twenty men beside 'im --
An' you'd best go look for a new love."
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
Do you bring no sign from my true love?"
"I bring a lock of 'air that 'e allus used to wear,
An' you'd best go look for a new love."
"Soldier, soldier come from the wars,
O then I know it's true I've lost my true love!"
"An' I tell you truth again -- when you've lost the feel o' pain
You'd best take me for your true love."
True love! New love!
Best take 'im for a new love,
The dead they cannot rise, an' you'd better dry your eyes,
An' you'd best take 'im for your true love.
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Belts
There was a row in Silver Street that's near to Dublin Quay,
Between an Irish regiment an' English cavalree;
It started at Revelly an' it lasted on till dark:
The first man dropped at Harrison's, the last forninst the Park.
For it was: -- "Belts, belts, belts, an' that's one for you!"
An' it was "Belts, belts, belts, an' that's done for you!"
O buckle an' tongue
Was the song that we sung
From Harrison's down to the Park!
There was a row in Silver Street -- the regiments was out,
They called us "Delhi Rebels", an' we answered "Threes about!"
That drew them like a hornet's nest -- we met them good an' large,
The English at the double an' the Irish at the charge.
Then it was: -- "Belts . . .
There was a row in Silver Street -- an' I was in it too;
We passed the time o' day, an' then the belts went whirraru!
I misremember what occurred, but subsequint the storm
A ~Freeman's Journal Supplemint~ was all my uniform.
O it was: -- "Belts . . .
There was a row in Silver Street -- they sent the Polis there,
The English were too drunk to know, the Irish didn't care;
But when they grew impertinint we simultaneous rose,
Till half o' them was Liffey mud an' half was tatthered clo'es.
For it was: -- "Belts . . .
There was a row in Silver Street -- it might ha' raged till now,
But some one drew his side-arm clear, an' nobody knew how;
'Twas Hogan took the point an' dropped; we saw the red blood run:
An' so we all was murderers that started out in fun.
While it was: -- "Belts . . .
There was a row in Silver Street -- but that put down the shine,
Wid each man whisperin' to his next: "'Twas never work o' mine!"
We went away like beaten dogs, an' down the street we bore him,
The poor dumb corpse that couldn't tell the bhoys were sorry for him.
When it was: -- "Belts . . .
There was a row in Silver Street -- it isn't over yet,
For half of us are under guard wid punishments to get;
'Tis all a merricle to me as in the Clink I lie:
There was a row in Silver Street -- begod, I wonder why!
But it was: -- "Belts, belts, belts, an' that's one for you!"
An' it was "Belts, belts, belts, an' that's done for you!"
O buckle an' tongue
Was the song that we sung
From Harrison's down to the Park!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Ball & Biscuit
Its quite possible that Im your third man girl
But its a fact that Im the seventh son
And right now you could care less about me
But soon enough you will care, by the time Im done
Lets have a ball and a biscuit sugar
And take our sweet little time about it
Lets have a ball and a biscuit sugar
And take our sweet little time about it
Tell everyone in the place just to get out
Well get clean together
And Ill find a soapbox where I can shout it
Read it in the newspaper
Ask your girlfriends and see if they know
That my strength is ten fold woman
And Ill let you see if you want to before you go
Its quite possible that Im your third man girl
But its a fact that Im the seventh son
It was the other two which made me your third
But it was my mother who made me the seventh son
And right now you could care less about me
But soon enough you will care by the time Im done
song performed by by White Stripes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The ABC
'Twas midnight in the schoolroom
And every desk was shut
When suddenly from the alphabet
Was heard a loud "Tut-Tut!"
Said A to B, "I don't like C;
His manners are a lack.
For all I ever see of C
Is a semi-circular back!"
"I disagree," said D to B,
"I've never found C so.
From where I stand he seems to be
An uncompleted O."
C was vexed, "I'm much perplexed,
You criticise my shape.
I'm made like that, to help spell Cat
And Cow and Cool and Cape."
"He's right" said E; said F, "Whoopee!"
Said G, "'Ip, 'Ip, 'ooray!"
"You're dropping me," roared H to G.
"Don't do it please I pray."
"Out of my way," LL said to K.
"I'll make poor I look ILL."
To stop this stunt J stood in front,
And presto! ILL was JILL.
"U know," said V, "that W
Is twice the age of me.
For as a Roman V is five
I'm half as young as he."
X and Y yawned sleepily,
"Look at the time!" they said.
"Let's all get off to beddy byes."
They did, then "Z-z-z."
poem by Spike Milligan
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Sweet Briars of the Stairways
We are happy all the time
Even when we fight:
Sweet briars of the stairways,
Gay fairies of the grime;
We, who are playing to-night.
"Our feet are in the gutters,
Our eyes are sore with dust,
But still our eyes are bright.
The wide street roars and mutters —
We know it works because it must —
We, who are playing to-night!
"Dirt is everlasting. — We never, never fear it.
Toil is never ceasing. — We will play until we near it.
Tears are never ending. — When once real tears have come;
"When we see our people as they are —
Our fathers — broken, dumb —
Our mothers — broken, dumb —
The weariest of women and of men;
Ah — then our eyes will lose their light —
Then we will never play again —
We, who are playing to-night."
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Brandon: Our Love Dog
You'll never be forgotton,
my dear pal of ours
many years ago of
poems you inspired
me to write.
Seven Happy years
you were with us,
so much tender
loving care we
gave to you.
Brandon you had special
magic about you,
can't explain, somehow
when I touched you,
all of my pain and sorrow
went away.
You were our love dog,
no doubt you were loved,
by all, as you also loved all.
So many bad things happened
to you on our walks, three
dog attacks, but once just me,
still have scar on my hand.
Remember the day, you were
hit by a car,
that really saved your life.
We took you to the
vet that night,
ex-rays showed a
pin from surgery in
your side, that had
been lodged, if not
removed you would
have died from
punture wounds,
the pin should have
been removed long
ago.
It was placed there
before we got you,
so one bad thing led
to a good thing.
You had a cat friend down
the street, that loved
you also, she would rub
against you with so
tender loving care.
Brandon our love dog
so many kisses you
gave us.
you used to dare
us to get your
biscuit, you would stare
at us, when we
tried to get
it you growled,
this went on
and on, till
finally you ate it.
Sometimes you would
go to hall closet
with your biscuit
I didn't know
where you were,
as I walked by
the closet you
would growl, it
was so funny.
Moths you loved
to chase, you
ate them so
many, even wrote
a poem called
the moth hound.
One very sad day,
in our life we
took you to the
vet for very
last time, you were so sick,
food you once loved,
you now refused,
pain you had all
through your frail
little body.
On Friday night,
June 13,1997 you
had such a hard
time breathing
you had to sleep
sitting up.
Seven happy years
you were with us,
so much tender
loving care you
had for us and we
for you.
On Saturday June 14,1997
while most Americans,
were remembering flag day,
we were saying
goodbye to our
true faithful friend.
Amy and I waited
in that fateful room
with you, saying our
last goodbyes to you.
The Vet entered the room,
asked us if we were
ready, are you ever ready
to say goodbye
to a love one.
Seven years with us,
but only 30 seconds and
you were gone.
We touched you and felt
life leaving your
beautiful little body.
Ten years later,
we still miss you
little guy and
love you very much,
our very own
love dog.
wrote 2-14-07
A Strange Wild Song
He thought he saw an Elephant
That practised on a fife:
He looked again, and found it was
A letter from his wife.
"At length I realize," he said,
"The bitterness of life!"
He thought he saw a Buffalo
Upon the chimney-piece:
He looked again, and found it was
His Sister's Husband's Niece.
"Unless you leave this house," he said,
"I'll send for the police!"
he thought he saw a Rattlesnake
That questioned him in Greek:
He looked again, and found it was
The Middle of Next Week.
"The one thing I regret," he said,
"Is that it cannot speak!"
He thought he saw a Banker's Clerk
Descending from the bus:
He looked again, and found it was
A Hippopotamus.
"If this should stay to dine," he said,
"There won't be much for us!"
He thought he saw a Kangaroo
That worked a Coffee-mill:
He looked again, and found it was
A Vegetable-Pill.
"Were I to swallow this," he said,
"I should be very ill!"
He thought he saw a Coach-and-Four
That stood beside his bed:
He looked again, and found it was
A Bear without a Head.
"Poor thing," he said, "poor silly thing!
It's waiting to be fed!"
poem by Lewis Carroll
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