Bear Bare Beer
square affair
bare all hair
erring prayer
declare aware
prepare dare
beer heir spare
debonaire millionaire
swear tear
where stare
death chair
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
We have to stop the war (pt.2)
The Introduction, to reproduction,
Of destruction, is inevitable.
Even if we fight to stay out of war we
Will be dragged in by our hair,
I swear, you won’t have a prayer,
Some might think it is unfair,
But the enemy doesn’t care,
This is a very strong affair,
So let’s stop playing solitaire,
And prepare, so were not unaware,
That we are in trouble,
So be aware, that we might have to declare,
War on another country, I smell gun-powder
In the Air.
poem by Jacob Gifford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Respectable Burgher on "The Higher Criticism"
Since Reverend Doctors now declare
That clerks and people must prepare
To doubt if Adam ever were;
To hold the flood a local scare;
To argue, though the stolid stare,
That everything had happened ere
The prophets to its happening sware;
That David was no giant-slayer,
Nor one to call a God-obeyer
In certain details we could spare,
But rather was a debonair
Shrewd bandit, skilled as banjo-player:
That Solomon sang the fleshly Fair,
And gave the Church no thought whate'er;
That Esther with her royal wear,
And Mordecai, the son of Jair,
And Joshua's triumphs, Job's despair,
And Balaam's ass's bitter blare;
Nebuchadnezzar's furnace-flare,
And Daniel and the den affair,
And other stories rich and rare,
Were writ to make old doctrine wear
Something of a romantic air:
That the Nain widow's only heir,
And Lazarus with cadaverous glare
(As done in oils by Piombo's care)
Did not return from Sheol's lair:
That Jael set a fiendish snare,
That Pontius Pilate acted square,
That never a sword cut Malchus' ear
And (but for shame I must forbear)
That -- -- did not reappear! . . .
- Since thus they hint, nor turn a hair,
All churchgoing will I forswear,
And sit on Sundays in my chair,
And read that moderate man Voltaire.
poem by Thomas Hardy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Unanswered Letters
Unanswered Letters
Written by: Wilfred Mellers, Friday, January 28,2011 @ 6: 22 AM
She has made it apparently clear
The letters that I write falls on a deaf ear
What have I done wrong I’m not aware
For the love I feel inside is still there
If only I knew I could’ve made it better
She refuses to now answer my letter
Her love fit me like a warm cozy sweater
Haunting my dreams for I cannot forget her
Like a stifling man needing air
Attitude given is so unfair
Without you I am nowhere
For no other woman to you can compare
Not hearing from you is like a nightmare
My eyes for you I will impair
In the midday sun I will stare
For life without you I cannot bear
My solemn oath to you I do swear
Wanting you for life for we are the perfect pair
Moments of heavenly delights we do share
A better life for us I came back to prepare
Questions asked do I dare?
Is it your intention to give me a scare?
Are you taking your love elsewhere?
Has my circles now turned square?
I was always looking out for your welfare
My precious gem found so rare
This is leaving me in utter despair
My heart is in need of a desperate repair
Hurting so badly if you are unaware
On my sleeves my heart I wear
Down the middle of my soul there is a tear
Broken my heart for I have not a spare
This to me is not fair
Each night I recite for you a prayer
My spirit now bound to a wheelchair
My love for you I’ll always declare
No more do I hear the fanfare
No one is longer home when I get there
Broken are all the drums of snare
I lay back in my lonely armchair
The lust for life I no longer care
poem by Wilfred Mellers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Calhoun Square
I dont like this much 2 drink
I was there
I know right now its hard 2 think
I dont care
But its time 4 u and me 2 wonder
Why were here
Maybe we should roll 2 the rock and rumble
Calhoun square (lets roll)
Chorus:
Meet me there
If u dare
Calhoun square!
It dont matter clothes ure wearin
Or your hair
If ure freaky, they dont care and
They dont stare (aint nobody lookin at u)
All that matters if ure happy
And if ure there (are u there? )
Dont u wanna roll 2 the rock and rumble
Calhoun square? (dont u wanna? come on now)
Hey!
Chorus
Walk through veils of many colors
If u dare (do u dare? )
Jasmine, peach and love 4 others
In the air (its all in the air)
Dont be shocked 2 see your mother
In the chair (sit down, baby)
Everybody roll 2 the rock and rumble
Calhoun square (oh lord)
Hey, come on!
Oh lord {x2}
Here me now
Calhoun square, calhoun square {x2}
Meet me there
If u dare
Calhoun square!
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
One Man Of Absolute Care
one man of absolute care
An arid world engulfs me
in its decay and despair
but one man uplifts me
absolves my sin I swear
one man enthroned to be
son and heir
whispered unto me
the Lord's Prayer
one man of virtue and purity
one man of absolute care
one man who couldn't see
a need to play at solitaire
in this great love affair
swore his life to me
to save my soul I declare
Jesus to be
In liquid air
I breathe!
poem by Mark Heathcote
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Billys 'Square Affair
Long Bill, the captain of the push, was tired of his estate,
And wished to change his life and win the love of something ‘straight’;
’Twas rumour’d that the Gory B.’s had heard Long Bill declare
That he would turn respectable and wed a ‘square affair.’
He craved the kiss of innocence; his spirit longed to rise;
The ‘Crimson Streak,’ his faithful ‘piece,’ grew hateful in his eyes;
(And though, in her entirety, the Crimson Streak ‘was there,’
I grieve to state the Crimson Streak was not a ‘square affair.’)
He wanted clothes, a masher suit, he wanted boots and hat;
His girl had earned a quid or two—he wouldn’t part with that;
And so he went to Brickfield Hill, and from a draper there
He ‘shook’ the proper kind of togs to fetch a ‘square affair.’
Long Bill went to the barber’s shop and had a shave and singe,
And from his narrow forehead combed his darling Mabel fringe;
Long Bill put on a ‘square cut’ and he brushed his boots with care,
And roved about the Gardens till he mashed a ‘square affair.’
She was a tony servant-girl from somewhere on ‘the Shore;’
She dressed in style that suited Bill—he could not wish for more.
While in her guileless presence he had ceased to chew or swear,
He knew the kind of barrack that can fetch a square affair.
To thus desert his donah old was risky and a sin,
And ’twould have served him right if she had caved his garret in.
The Gory Bleeders thought it too, and warned him to take care
In case the Crimson Streak got scent of Billy’s square affair.
He took her to the stalls; ’twas dear, but Billy said ‘Wot odds!’
He couldn’t take his square affair amongst the crimson gods.
They wandered in the park at night, and hugged each other there—
But, ah! the Crimson Streak got wind of Billy’s square affair!
‘The blank and space and stars!’ she yelled; ‘the nameless crimson dash!
‘I’ll smash the blanky crimson and his square affair, I’ll smash’—
In short, she drank and raved and shrieked and tore her crimson hair,
And swore to murder Billy and to pound his square affair.
And so one summer evening, as the day was growing dim,
She watched her bloke go out, and foxed his square affair and him.
That night the park was startled by the shrieks that rent the air—
The ‘Streak’ had gone for Billy and for Billy’s square affair.
The ‘gory’ push had foxed the Streak, they foxed her to the park,
And they, of course; were close at hand to see the bleedin’ lark;
A cop arrived in time to hear a ‘gory B.’ declare
‘Gor blar-me! here’s the Red Streak foul of Billy’s square affair.’
Now Billy scowls about the Rocks, his manly beauty marr’d,
And Billy’s girl, upon her ’ed, is doin’ six months ’ard;
Bill’s swivel eye is in a sling, his heart is in despair,
And in the Sydney ’Orspital lies Billy’s square affair.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Warren Buffett Speaks For The First Time With A Legendary French Poet
to my father.
war
wary
weary
i swear
warren
wizard of omaha
blizzard's dalai lama
i bear
i share
i declare
i stare
in times square
poem by Nicolas Grenier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Bear and the Hare
The bear is always bare. I have never seen a bear who was not bare. Or does he or she wear a coat of hair? Where does he or she go to buy a coat of hair so that he or she won't be a bare bear? Coats cost money. Bare bears have no money.
But bears eat honey. Even bare bears eat honey. And this bear had a honey who wanted a coat of hair. So when she said to her honey, 'Honey, I want a coat of hair, but I have no money.', her honey replied, 'Honey, I have no money to buy a coat of hair. But I do have honey. Maybe I can sell my honey for money.' So he sold his honey for money so that his honey could have some money to buy a coat of hair and not be a bare bear.
This bear had a friend who was a hare. This hare has hair. Is he bare? He is not a bare bear but a hare and hares have hair. But he is a funny bunny and likes a sunny spot even when it is hot because he like to have fun in the sun. But this funny bunny could not find a sunny spot to go to have fun in the sun until one day a fair came to town.
The bear and hare of course went to the fair. What a pair! The fair was quite far so the bare bear and the hare with the hair decided to ride the street car. To ride the street car, they had to pay a fare. I say that was quite an affair - to see the bare bear and the hair paying for their fare. The bare bear had no pockets in which to carry any fare. The funny bunny had no honey to sell to get some money to pay the fare so that he could go to the fair. The fare cost ten cents. But that makes no sense. It isn't fair to make a bear who is bare and has no pockets to hold a fare or a funny bunny who has no honey to get money to pay a fare to go to the fair.
Subsequently, the bare bear barely got on the street car after the funny bunny hopped on, the bare bear and the hair were there sitting in chairs riding in the street car to the fair without paying any fare. Along the way they saw a mare. They did not care about the mare. They wanted to get to the fair. Have you every seen a bare bear sitting in a chair? I once saw a bare bear sitting in a chair at a fair but he wasn't bare.
To get into the fair the bare bear and the hair had to pay another fare. And still the bare bear had no money to pay any fare to get into the fair. And the funny bunny had no money to pay any fare to get into the fair. So what did they do? How did they get into the fair? As I said, I saw the bare bear sitting in a chair at the fair but he wasn't bare.
Tell me if this is a poem. Thanks.
poem by Ben Gieske
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Turbulent Tantrum
Anger is more useful then despair
Dont cry your eyes out or pull out your hair
Smash someones head in with a wooden chair
Anger is more useful than despair
Do you think i really care?
Cant you see? I've laid myself bare
Please observe my frozen stare
Then look inside me if you dare.
poem by Bridgid Patrick
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Smasher - Devourer
Fear me not but fear my hell
Man made me so I could kill
Praise me in the name of war
I destroy both rich and poor
I am the way, prepare for salvation
I am the way, prepare for salvation
Strength in time of suffering
Man alone is a weakling
Ascension is what you ask
I will be the fall of man
I am the way, prepare for salvation
I am the way, prepare for salvation
Salvation...
Those of you who dare to stray
I will tear your mind away
Those of you who dare to stray
I will take your life away
Salvation...
I am the way, prepare for salvation
I am the way, prepare for salvation
Salvation...
song performed by by Fear Factory
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Our Affair
What a perfect night
Secrets lights up the sky
Like fireflies do
There's nothing but a silky hope
That old opiate
Between me and you
Don't look now
We're just about there
We're just one little breath away
From our affair
From our affair
Don't move too fast
Don't run scared
We're just one surrender away
From our affair
Don't you feel like
You're coming down with something
Some great fancy flu
Don't you feel like you're
Coming down with me
And it doesn't get sicker than you
Don't you feel like this is the really good part
Where it's still up in the air
The perfect romance is never
Stated or sated, deflated or fair
Don't admit it yet
And don't stop saying your prayers
We're just one little heartbeat away
From our affair
From our affair
There's a light in my window
And a little red ladybug in my hair
Just one turn down an empty street
Away,away, away
From our affair
From our affair
There's a white-hot desire
Of which I am pleasantly aware
Just one more "wait a minute baby"
Away, away, away, away
From our affair
From our affair
From our affair
song performed by by Carly Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Just a Song!
I rock in a chair,
In a room all bare,
With my unkempt hair,
Without any care!
I breathe dirty air,
Dressed in summer-wear,
Attempting to pare
My nails as I stare!
Oh, What if I dare
To run like a hare
Or walk like a bear
Or charge like a mare!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 8-6-2006
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dad's a Millionaire
I wish you joy, my little ragged throng--
Your Dad's a millionaire!
The fortune's come, we've waited for so long,
And I'm a millionaire!
Come Will, come Bub--go buy some better shoes;
Come Liz, come Lu--go tell your Ma the news--
Though once poor, we're now as rich as Jews,
For I'm a millionaire.
Hurrah! hurrah! now give us a rousing song--
Good bye! good bye! to poverty, want and care;
The fortune's come, we've waited for so long,
And Dad's a millionaire!
Good news! I'll go a shopping--so I will,
For Dad's a millionaire!
And I must have a thousand dollar bill,
As Dad'a a millionaire!
Put on your duds, and you'll go with me Lu!
Come Bub, go call a carriage from the square;
We'll ride in style along the avenue,
For Dad's a millionaire.
Hip, hip, hooray! run up the striped flay--
My Dad's a millionaire!
This bless-ed day, I'll buy a trotting nag,
For Dad's a millionaire!
I vow, I'll smoke three-cent gigars no more!
Here, take them Bub, and pitch them out the door;
I'll have the best--the dearest in the store,
Now Dad's a millionaire.
So, wife, you think this house will never do
Now I'm a millionaire?
Well, I must build a mansion then for you,
As I'm a millionaire!
Though as for me, I think I should invest--
My whole pile in some mammoth farm out West,
Yet I can build, if you should think it best,
Since I'm a millionaire.
I'll tell you what! we'll give a party then,
As Dad's a millionaire!
And we'll invite none but the "upper ten,"
Since Dad's a millionaire!
I should be sure to find another beau,
For dukes and lords, and nobles would be there--
I've turn'd him off--the tailor's clerk, you know,
Now Dad's a millionaire.
poem by Henry Clay Work
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Harvey’s: Lullaby…
Harvey, Harvey, drives a red, Ferrari…
Around; St. Peters Square.
Eating an apple or a pear
He really, really, doesn’t care.
He’ll drive it right around there—I swear…!
Right around, that great; big, Egyptian-obelisk.
And park, just; there…!
“In the Centre of—St. Peters Square”
Free from: The thrall:
The bondage, the serfdom of prayer...!
He’ll sit—just to stare—at its red granite.
And listen to his; own little pomp, fanfare…!
Like Pope Alexander VII.
With his brothers and nephews, coheir.
poem by Mark Heathcote
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Millionaire Blues
I woke up this morning, my jacuzzi wouldnt work
Then the butler quit on me, man, can you believe it? jerk!
Must have been my artistic temperament he couldnt take
How come nobody wants to give me a break?
Ive got the blues right down, mean and low
Im as low as the heels of my alligator shoes
You should know how it feels to have these millionaire blues
Millionaire blues
Well, I found one of my bathrooms and I made it to the sink
I called one of my managers up and I poured myself a drink.
Oh, I swear Id kill that little weasel if I could
I checked myself in the mirror - my hair was looking good, but
I had the blues right there, mean and mean and mean and low
As low as the heels on my alligator shoes
You should know how it feels to have these millionaire blues
Millionaire blues
Get down!
Well, so much for breakfast, I couldnt face lunch
I thought Id raise my spirits with a little champagne brunch.
I take the lamborghini, the flunkie parks the car
Can you believe it, man, this other monkey wont let me in the bar!
I said, I said, dont you know who I am, man? and he says, no.
No! can you believe it?
Im as low as the heels of these alligator shoes
You should know how it feels to have these millionaire blues
Millionaire blues, to have these millionaire blues,
Millionaire blues
Bad, bad!
Thats bad! yeah
So hard,
Its hard sometimes for a boy
Ah, I like that
Thats good
Get down!
Youre making a very big mistake, man
Oh yeah
Youll never work in this town again!
All right
song performed by by Dire Straits
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Yes! Death is Beautiful!
for all the girls and guys out there
who fear death like anything and stare
up the sky and say their prayer
Oh God of death! Spare me, just spare!
for all the men and women I care
death for them, is not at all fair
Immense pain it gives, which they can't share
it takes away everything, makes them bare
to them I say, fear not the death
coz death is beautiful, it refines your breath
to breathe the bliss and smell the light
no days no night, dear, what a beautiful sight!
Death may be painful at first
but at end is just blissfull
agonizing body at first
the end experience, so wonderful!
Some sail through dark tunnel, lights at last
others flow above, high and fast
Some hear a melodious strange music
others.... divine experience, which God casts...
you feel like you never belonged here
A peaceful Destination is calling you there
and you're eager to go, be one among them
That's why dying people, they never have pain...
Death is like a commercial break
a transition period for a tired soul
tired from the game of life, we people play
Death is a comma(,) which refreshes the Soul...
Fear not the Death!
Coz it's the most beautiful thing
that can't happen to you again
and every precious moment and thing
comes witha little or more pain...
Yes! Death is Beautiful
Death is precious, so Rare
and comes with no clue
that's why we enjoy once
and that is True...
Death is Beautiful
Death is True...
poem by Soumya Dash
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
That Pretty Girl in the Army
“Now I often sit at Watty’s, when the night is very near
With a head that’s full of jingles – and the fumes of bottled beer;
For I always have a fancy that, if I am over there
When the Army prays for Watty, I’m included in the prayer.
“It would take a lot of praying, lots of thumping on the drum,
To prepare our sinful, straying, erring souls for Kingdom Come,
But I love my fellow-sinners! And I hope upon the whole,
That the Army gets a hearing when it prays for Watty’s soul.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
I Want To Be There
I Want To Be There
Wilfred Charles Mellers, Sunday, September 2,2012
I sit patiently awaiting my turn
Colors turn blue, red, and too auburn
Crave not sights western
My spicy Thai I still yearn
Hands reaching out to the sky
Comments posted still I try
Checked message while I sigh
Toil sought not in amply supply
With joy I once had a love affair
Blank pages I do now stare
A cumbersome leer I still wear
Not a shilling I can even spare
Bound now to my armchair
Waiting for something to take me there
Here smile none can compare
So I give a little prayer
Thoughts sometimes of despair
Nights end without fanfare
Dwelling on places elsewhere
For life sometimes seems unfair
Forth I went to prepare
Essences of lavender fill the air
For here I just don't care
Wherever you are I want to be there
poem by Wilfred Mellers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ballade Of Old Plays
LA COUR.
When these Old Plays were new, the King,
Beside the Cardinal's chair,
Applauded, 'mid the courtly ring,
The verses of Moliere;
Point-lace was then the only wear,
Old Corneille came to woo,
And bright Du Parc was young and fair,
When these Old Plays were new!
LA COMEDIE.
How shrill the butcher's cat-calls ring,
How loud the lackeys swear!
Black pipe-bowls on the stage they fling,
At Brecourt, fuming there!
The Porter's stabbed! a Mousquetaire
Breaks in with noisy crew -
'Twas all a commonplace affair
When these Old Plays were new!
LA VILLE.
When these Old Plays were new! They bring
A host of phantoms rare:
Old jests that float, old jibes that sting,
Old faces peaked with care:
Menage's smirk, de Vise's stare,
The thefts of Jean Ribou,--
Ah, publishers were hard to bear
When these Old Plays were new.
ENVOY.
Ghosts, at your Poet's word ye dare
To break Death's dungeons through,
And frisk, as in that golden air,
When these Old Plays were new!
poem by Andrew Lang
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Troubadour à Muse
Should you stay fey Troubadour’s muse,
walls would fall heeding need's call, I swear,
souls united, delighted, all share,
with only bemusement to lose.
On days dark, in the dumps, much the blues,
with a butterfly touch, laughter rare,
Cupid's bow, Zephyr's blow, would declare
Cinderella should don dancing shoes.
Enchantment spells well to enthuse
rejoicing that naught could impair,
jubilation, creation, forms stair
to heaven through rainbow as woos
heart to heart once apart, each takes cues
up, around, to rebound, well may dare
answer call of the wild, child repair
to prepare transformation's true hues.
Should you play kind Troubadour’s muse,
away with toils, trouble and care -
discovering answers to prayer
with wantonness neither refuse.
When you kiss bliss takes wing, life renews
welfare's tune springing wellspring, brings where
bright eyes dream through lagoon blue moon, there
stars sparkle, shine, intertwine views.
No blame could exist, no accuse
‘WE’ creation could catalyze, air
to stimulate stanzas, - nor scare,
nor fear, dear, no asking ‘what’s whose? ’
Thus your mirror, fair Troubadour’s muse,
Time lines leaves behind, neither ware
of the need to seed feelings, feed, share
beyond commonplace keyed to amuse.
If O.K. bright ray, Troubadour's muse,
each phrase might rhyme praise everywhere,
spirit brave, blithe, reve[a]led as each layer
protective peels, unseals joy's fuse.
As Troubadour's muse you should choose
priceless patterns and textures, compare
clear vision in tender affair
to humdrum existence crowd rues,
there fusion would never confuse,
inspiration enough, and to spare,
intuitive insight aware
of the chance to advance, shed taboos.
Interplay between Troubadour, muse,
flamboyancy splices with flair,
both would sow, both would grow, as a pair,
flow as current electric to use
space as base to trace joy - not abuse -
we should tenderness share, greet, prepare
ideal idyll past fast will repair...
would you play fair as Troubadour's muse?
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!