Speak to me as to thy thinkings, as thou dost ruminate, and give thy worst of thoughts the worst of words.
William Shakespeare in Othello
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Related quotes
The Worst And The Best
in the hospitals and jails
it's the worst
in madhouses
it's the worst
in penthouses
it's the worst
in skid row flophouses
it's the worst
at poetry readings
at rock concerts
at benefits for the disabled
it's the worst
at funerals
at weddings
it's the worst
at parades
at skating rinks
at sexual orgies
it's the worst
at midnight
at 3 a.m.
at 5:45 p.m.
it's the worst
poem by Charles Bukowski
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Worst Comes to Worst
(Babu mixing)
"Worst come to worst my peoples come first"
"Worst...come.....to worst"
"Worst come to worst my peoples come first"
"Worst come...to...worst"
"Worst come to worst my peoples come first"
(Evidence talking)
Yeah
It's goin down y'all
That's Babu
Yo
song performed by by Dilated Peoples from Expansion Team
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Original - Time, My Worst Enemy
Time, My Worst Enemy
Keeping me away from you
Time, My Worst Enemy
Moving slowly when we’re apart
Time, My Worst Enemy
Fleeting when you are near
Time, My Worst Enemy
Battling with it daily
Time, My Worst Enemy
Stealing moments from the clock
Time, My Worst Enemy
Until you are in my arms again
Time, My Worst Enemy
Rapidly chasing us down
Time, My Worst Enemy
He will not take you this time
Time, My Worst Enemy
You are in my arms to stay
Time, My Worst Enemy
Has Lost!
To Sleep
FOND words have oft been spoken to thee, Sleep!
And thou hast had thy store of tenderest names;
The very sweetest, Fancy culls or frames,
When thankfulness of heart is strong and deep!
Dear Bosom-child we call thee, that dost steep
In rich reward all suffering; Balm that tames
All anguish; Saint that evil thoughts and aims
Takest away, and into souls dost creep,
Like to a breeze from heaven. Shall I alone,
I surely not a man ungently made,
Call thee worst Tyrant by which Flesh is crost?
Perverse, self-willed to own and to disown,
Mere slave of them who never for thee prayed,
Still last to come where thou art wanted most!
poem by William Wordsworth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Where Is She?
Where is she, I wondered, when she wasn't there.
If she's not here she could be anywhere. She could be
anywhere and not alone.
I began to imagine the worst. At every imagining
I thought I had imagined the worst, then I imagined
something even worse. It got to the point where my
imaginings no longer included her. I realized that the
worst did not encompass her. As my imaginings continued,
as worst superseded worst, making the preceding worst
only worse, I began to forget her. As worst got worse,
I forgot her more. Things were getting pretty bad, and
I had almost forgotten her completely, when she
reappeared.
poem by Peter Cherches
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The most and the worst
Man wants money most
And uses it worst.
He wants time most
And spends it worst.
He wants things most
And waste them worst.
He wants women most
And miss them worst.
31.12.2006
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Worst Day Of My Life
Come take me away
I wanna give in
I wanna shout today
This day has been evil enough
With this it might be rough
Because today was
The worst day of my life
Today was the worst day ever
I hope it will get much better
Because if it goes on like this
I'll probably never miss today
On according of how today went
Tomorrow in my desk I'll have a dent
And I'll put it there with my fist
You better not get on my list
Because
Come take me away
I wanna give in
I wanna shout today
This day has been evil enough
With this it might be rough
Because today was the worst day
The worst day
The worst day of my life
poem by Mystykka Mysterious
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The worst thing that can happen to a man is to lose his money, the next worst his health, the next worst his reputation.
quote by Samuel Butler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Average
Engulfed in a maze
Of the best and the worst,
I wearily stagger and stumble.
I'm the best of the worst,
But the worst of the best.
My problem
To brag or grumble.
poem by Gregory Huyette
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Judgment
So be it, God, I take what Thou dost give,
And gladly give what Thou dost take away.
For me Thy choice is barren days and grey.
Unquestioning Thy ordered days I live,
I do not seek to sift in Reason's sieve -
Thou rangest far beyond our Reason's sway.
We are but poor, uncomprehending clay,
For Thou to mould as Thou dost well conceive.
But when my blanched days of sorrow end,
And this poor clay for funeral is drest,
Then shall my soul to Thy Gold Gate ascend,
Then shall my soul soar up and summon Thee
To tell me why. And as Thou answerest,
So shall I judge Thee, God, not Thou judge me.
poem by Leslie Coulson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Judgment
So be it, God, I take what Thou dost give,
And gladly give what Thou dost take away.
For me Thy choice is barren days and grey.
Unquestioning Thy ordered days I live,
I do not seek to sift in Reason's sieve -
Thou rangest far beyond our Reason's sway.
We are but poor, uncomprehending clay,
For Thou to mould as Thou dost well conceive.
But when my blanched days of sorrow end,
And this poor clay for funeral is drest,
Then shall my soul to Thy Gold Gate ascend,
Then shall my soul soar up and summon Thee
To tell me why. And as Thou answerest,
So shall I judge Thee, God, not Thou judge me.
poem by Leslie Coulson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet 4
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thy self thy beauty's legacy?
Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
And being frank she lends to those are free:
Then, beauteous niggard, why dost thou abuse
The bounteous largess given thee to give?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums, yet canst not live?
For having traffic with thy self alone,
Thou of thy self thy sweet self dost deceive:
Then how when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee,
Which, used, lives th' executor to be.
poem by William Shakespeare from Sonnets (1609)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Worst Poem Ever
Just some words that rhyme
What a waste of time
The writer has to be dense
Because this poem makes no sense
Want to hear the worst poem ever
It such junk well I never
Not very clever
This is the worst poem ever
I sure you could do better cause you are so clever
If you want me to write a poem my answer is NEVER
Cause this is the worst poem ever
Henry Brown 10 November 2010
poem by Henry Brown
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Good Friday in my Heart
GOOD FRIDAY in my heart! Fear and affright!
My thoughts are the Disciples when they fled,
My words the words that priest and soldier said,
My deed the spear to desecrate the dead.
And day, Thy death therein, is changed to night.
Then Easter in my heart sends up the sun.
My thoughts are Mary, when she turned to see.
My words are Peter, answering, ‘Lov’st thou Me?’
My deeds are all Thine own drawn close to Thee,
And night and day, since Thou dost rise, are one.
poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet 4: Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Unthrifty loveliness, why dost thou spend
Upon thy self thy beauty's legacy?
Nature's bequest gives nothing, but doth lend,
And being frank she lends to those are free.
Then, beauteous niggard why dost thou abuse,
The bounteous largess given thee to give?
Profitless usurer, why dost thou use
So great a sum of sums yet canst not live?
For having traffic with thyself alone,
Thou of thyself thy sweet self dost deceive.
Then how when nature calls thee to be gone,
What acceptable audit canst thou leave?
Thy unused beauty must be tombed with thee,
Which usèd, lives th' executor to be.
poem by William Shakespeare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Blame It On My ‘Worst Education' Or Lack of Experience?
Blame It On My ‘Worst Education' Or Lack of Experience?
So you callously stated "you have the worst education ever! "
Why can't you guard your mouth? You think so much less of me?
An educated man with your figure would not take off your clothes
You won't go to Dim Sum, oh I forgot, you have no idea what that is!
Gwai2 Lou5 鬼佬 speaks: "hey, what gives? "
我是一個中國人 ￮
Wǒ shì yī gè zhōng guó rén.
Ngo5 hai6 jat1 ge3 zung1 gwok3 jan4.
You have no idea what I just said, so how does that make you feel?
This means I am a Chinese person, did you know that?
With all your Ivy League education, Guǐ Lǎo, you can't speak to me
You've never traveled to Hong Kong or China, do you what the difference are?
You say I'm naïve, Lo Fan, but I know more than you
您是鬼佬! !
Nín shì Guǐ Lǎo! !
Nei5 hai6 Gwai2 Lou5! !
The words I called you
Gwai2 Lou5 鬼佬
Lo Fan 佬番
Guǐ Lǎo
All mean the same, they mean White Devil
My education tells me that, that is you
Who has the ‘worst education' now? !
Break of Day
'Tis true, 'tis day ; what though it be?
O, wilt thou therefore rise from me?
Why should we rise because 'tis light?
Did we lie down because 'twas night?
Love, which in spite of darkness brought us hither,
Should in despite of light keep us together.
Light hath no tongue, but is all eye;
If it could speak as well as spy,
This were the worst that it could say,
That being well I fain would stay,
And that I loved my heart and honour so
That I would not from him, that had them, go.
Must business thee from hence remove?
O ! that's the worst disease of love,
The poor, the foul, the false, love can
Admit, but not the busied man.
He which hath business, and makes love, doth do
Such wrong, as when a married man doth woo.
poem by John Donne
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Break of Day (another of the same)
'Tis true, 'tis day; what though it be?
O wilt thou therefore rise from me?
Why should we rise, because 'tis light?
Did we lie down, because 'twas night?
Love which in spite of darkness brought us hither
Should in despite of light keep us together.
Light hath no tongue, but is all eye;
If it could speak as well as spy,
This were the worst that it could say -
That being well, I fain would stay,
And that I loved my heart and honour so,
That I would not from her, that had them, go.
Must business thee from hence remove?
Oh, that's the worst disease of love!
The poor, the foul, the false, love can
Admit, but not the busied man.
He which hath business, and makes love, doth do
Such wrong as when a married man doth woo.
poem by John Donne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stop Being So Dramatic
You tell me what you think and mean.
But why you don't,
Let it go!
When we're walking in the streets,
There's always a scene.
And under spotlight...
You begin your show.
Let it go.
Your past and those bitter things.
Let it go.
Why can't,
You let it go.
Does your happiness mean anything?
Then you've got to let stuff go!
Let it go.
Stop being so dramatic.
Let it go.
Stop being,
Those worst of fanatics.
Let it go.
Stop being so dramatic.
Let it go.
Stop being,
The worst of fanatics.
You spend your days fantasizing from your window.
Locked up tight without a social life.
And you tell 'me' I'm growing old.
But I'm not sitting with my eyes half closed.
Or watching my life pass by...
From a window.
Let it go.
Your past and those bitter things.
Let it go.
Why can't,
You let it go.
Let it go.
Stop being so dramatic.
Let it go.
Stop being,
The worst of fanatics.
Let it go.
Stop being so dramatic.
Let it go.
Stop being,
The worst of fanatics.
You tell me what you think and mean.
But why you don't,
Let it go!
Stop being so dramatic.
Let it go.
Stop being,
The worst of fanatics.
Let it go.
Stop being so dramatic.
Let it go.
Stop being,
The worst of fanatics.
You let life flow to pass you from your window!
Framed-in-pain...
Let it go!
Stop being so dramatic.
Let it go!
Stop being so dramatic.
Let it go!
Stop being so dramatic.
You need a hit to spark that light inside!
Let it go.
Stop being so dramatic.
Let it go!
Stop being,
The worst of fanatics.
You let life flow to pass you from your window!
Stop being so dramatic.
Stop being so dramatic.
Stop being so dramatic.
Stop being,
The worst of fanatics.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Xxi
Say over again, and yet once over again,
That thou dost love me. Though the word repeated
Should seem ' a cuckoo-song,' as thou dost treat it,
Remember, never to the hill or plain,
Valley and wood, without her cuckoo-strain
Comes the fresh Spring in all her green completed.
Beloved, I, amid the darkness greeted
By a doubtful spirit-voice, in that doubt's pain
Cry, ' Speak once more--thou lovest ! ' Who can fear
Too many stars, though each in heaven shall roll,
Too many flowers, though each shall crown the year ?
Say thou dost love me, love me, love me--toll
The silver iterance !--only minding, Dear,
To love me also in silence with thy soul.
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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