Vicar's Coming To Tea
Eh?
What's that you said?
Oh dearie me,
You told me the vicar's coming to tea.
What shall I wear, what shall we eat?
I'll have to go shopping down the village street.
What shall we say to him?
Think on it do!
He's more intellectual
Than me and than you.
Though wait just a moment,
I'm giving some thought
As to why we lament,
Just as if we know nought.
For we are all different.
Thank goodness for that!
Don't let's be diffident,
Or feel we are prats.
All humans have something
To offer you see.
The things we are good at
Will be different to he.
So I'm now looking forward
To taking his hat,
And sitting with vicar enjoying a chat.
poem by Rosi Caswell
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Related quotes
Rose Across The Sea
For My Good Friend JoAnn McGrath
Not so long ago I was joking
with a young lady across sea.
I told her that I was a vicar,
or at least pretend one.
My name was Dodgy Dave the Vicar.
A little while later
she wrote a poem aptly named,
The Vicar Is Quicker.
Since then she has written
quite a number more.
I tell her a funny story about me.
No sooner do I tell her the story
it appear as a Dodgy Dave Poetry.
In the time I have known her
not once have, I wrote a poem for her,
that rose across the sea.
She thinks of me as her big brother.
I find that as a compliment you see,
as my own real sister
does not want to know me.
Therefore, I have an adopted one
far away from me,
a rose across the sea.
Therefore, Joann
this poem is just for you,
from your friend,
that Dodgy quicker vicar
who rhymes with liquor.
A substance he never touches,
but I will raise my cup of tea
and say again,
this poem is just for you,
my rose across the sea.
poem by David Harris
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Unconventional
The day was cold but she was not in point of fact she was too hot.
So she stripped off all of her clothes because she chose to I suppose
Her neighbours thought it rather quaint but only one raised a complaint
The vicar did not think she should do her gardening in the nude
But she replied acerbically that if he did not want to see
Then he should look the other way. She did not tell him how to pray
He should not tell her how she must dress. For all his show of piousness
She had seen him gazing lustfully when he was no one could see
Upon young school girls passing by from whom he could not tear his eye. What right has he to condemn me when I display quite openly
All that I have quite naturally with no false show of modesty
I’m not ashamed why should I be.I am the way that God made me
But he conceals his prurience behind an air of innocence
By advocating nudity at least I’m acting honestly.
I have no time for pious frauds who secretly gain their rewards
by using their imagination to enjoy what they would dearly like to do.
I told the vicar to his face I thought he was a black disgrace
He mumbled something in reply but could not look me in the eye.
He knew I had divined his lustfulness. He knew I knew no need to guess.
He thought it best to move away but where he went I cannot say.
We have a lady vicar now who does not try to tell me how
I ought to dress for gardening.content to let me do my own thing.
She says that sometimes she, wishes she could act as naturally.
26-Oct-08
http: // blog my space.com.poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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After 'To Joanna
In his company Joanna laughed:
Clear she thought that he was daft
When he heard the mountains laughing
In his ravishment of mind.
Now the vicar who'd upbraided him
For carving in the rock
Upon whose meditation
The ravishment occurred,
Instead of laughing loudly
At his loftiness of word,
Smiled and looked astonished
Thinking, 'Jackass of a bird.'
Realising that he'd lost him
The poet came to earth,
Told the vicar in plain language
Of Joanna's certain anguish
As she drew into his side
For fear of something that she heard
But to which could put no word.
Now she's gone back to the city,
I miss her laughter, that's the pity.
That's why 'JOANNA'S ROCK'
Is what he's chiseled,
This jackass of a bird.
I wrote this in October-November 2011 mainly in my bed in Adelaide
after reading Wordsworth's
'To Joanna'. The thought about the jackass (kookaburra) I put into
the mind of the vicar comes from an
experience in which I was camping with a friend. Our tent blew in on us one
night and we couldn't be bothered getting out to re-erect it. Instead my friend
laughed hysterically all night. Next morning I overheard the man in the
nearby caravan muttering that if he'd had an axe he'd have killed that
laughing jackass last night.
My friend was like the poet, I was like Joanna, amused by rapture, and
the guy in the caravan was the vicar.
poem by Douglas Scotney
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The Vicar Of Bray
In good King Charles's golden days,
When loyalty no harm meant;
A furious High-Church man I was,
And so I gain'd preferment.
Unto my flock I daily preach'd,
Kings are by God appointed,
And damn'd are those who dare resist,
Or touch the Lord's anointed.
And this is law, I will maintain
Unto my dying day, sir,
That whatsoever king shall reign,
I will be Vicar of Bray, sir!
When Royal James possess'd the crown,
And popery grew in fashion;
The penal law I houted down,
And read the declaration:
The Church of Rome, I found would fit,
Full well my constitution,
And I had been a Jesuit,
But for the Revolution.
And this is law, I will maintain
Unto my dying day, sir,
That whatsoer king shall reign,
I will be Vicar of Bray, sir!
When William our deliverer came,
To heal the nation's grievance,
I turned the cat in pan again,
And swore to him allegiance:
Old principles I did revoke,
Set conscience at a distance,
Passive obedience is a joke,
A jest is non-resistance.
And this is law, I will maintain
Unto my dying day, sir,
That whatsoer king shall reign,
I will be Vicar of Bray, sir!
When glorious Anne became our queen
The Church of England's glory,
Another face of things was seen,
And I became a Tory:
Occasional conformists base,
I damn'd, and moderation,
And thought the Church in danger was,
From such prevarication.
And this is law, I will maintain
Unto my dying day, sir,
That whatsoer king shall reign,
I will be Vicar of Bray, sir!
When George in pudding time came o'er,
And moderate men looked big, sir,
My principles I chang'd once more,
And so became a Whig, sir:
And thus preferment I procur'd,
From our faith's great defender,
And almost every day abjur'd
The Pope, and the Pretender.
And this is law, I will maintain
Unto my dying day, sir,
That whatsoer king shall reign,
I will be Vicar of Bray, sir!
The illustrious House of Hanover,
And Protestant succession,
To these I lustily will swear,
Whilst they can keep possession:
For in my faith, and loyalty,
I never once will falter,
George, my lawful king shall be,
Except the times should alter.
And this is law, I will maintain
Unto my dying day, sir,
That whatsoer king shall reign,
I will be Vicar of Bray, sir!
poem by Anonymous Americas
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The Time Has Come...
The vicar went to the valley,
A mountain on either side,
He built a small log cabin
To comfort his future bride,
The wind between the mountains
Brought echoes of far-off plains,
More often than not in the heart of the night,
Someone called his name.
The voice was sometimes muffled,
The voice, it sometimes screamed,
Whole sentences were chanted
Broke in on the vicar's dreams,
The sounds were like a mirage
Half heard from a distant town,
Whenever the wind would begin to rise
He heard the strangest sounds.
A tap-tap-tap in the morning,
A tap-tap-tap at night,
As if someone was typing
Up on the mountain's height,
The rhythm was pervasive
As it typed some ancient log,
He heard the words: 'The quick brown fox
Jumps over the lazy dog.'
He ran from out of the cabin
And scanned the dusty plain,
His trusty dog was lying
Asleep on the track again,
When out from the brittle bushes
Aside of the narrow track,
A quick brown fox with a startled look,
Jumped over his old Ridge-back.
The vicar ran to the cabin
And fell on his knees in prayer,
What are you trying to tell me, lord,
That you're really, really there?
I thought you were, but I wasn't sure,
It'll take some getting used to!
A voice intoned: 'England expects
Each man to do his duty! '
The vicar jumped up off his knees
And praised the lord again,
You've saved my very soul, my lord,
From Hell, and the pits of pain,
I'd thought that God was mine alone,
And not for everyone,
But now I find - and it blows my mind;
'God is an Englishman! '
The wind was slowly rising,
It whined and whooped and roared,
It swooped along the valley,
Came in at the cabin door,
The vicar, sleeping restlessly
Heard everything, hale and hearty:
'The time has come for all good men
To come to the aid of the party.'
The vicar's not been seen of late
He's busy, light and dark,
With hammer, nails, and canvas sails
He's building himself an Ark,
While in a tiny township that
Lies hidden in mountain haze,
A typing teacher has just locked up,
And gone on his holidays.
12 April 2008
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Be Good
Be a good person
Goodness has no tribe
Goodness has no village
Goodness has no other name
Goodness thrives on any land
In the desert
Goodness is oasis
In the wilderness
Goodness is a pathway
Goodness is required anywhere
It is food to man
It nourishes the giver
And gives happiness to the receiver
Goodness is pleasant
So be good
poem by Babatunde Aremu
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When The Sleepy Man Comes
When the Sleepy Man comes with the dust on his eyes,
(Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)
He shuts up the earth, and he opens the skies.
(So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)
He smiles through his fingers, and shuts up the sun;
(Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)
The stars that he loves he lets out one by one.
(So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)
He comes from the castles of Drowsy-boy Town;
(Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)
At the touch of his hand the tired eyelids fall down.
(So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)
He comes with a murmur of dream in his wings;
(Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)
And whispers of mermaids and wonderful things.
(So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)
Then the top is a burden, the bugle a bane;
(Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)
When one would be faring down Dream-a-way Lane.
(So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)
When one would be wending in Lullaby Wherry,
(Oh, weary, my Dearie, so weary!)
To Sleepy Man's Castle, by Comforting Ferry.
(So hush-a-by, weary my Dearie!)
poem by Sir Charles George Douglas Roberts
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O, Falmouth Is a Fine Town
O Falmouth is a fine town with ships in the bay,
And I wish from my heart it's there I was to-day;
I wish from my heart I was far away from here,
Sitting in my parlor and talking to my dear.
For it's home, dearie home-it's home I want to be.
Our topsails are hoisted, and we'll away to sea.
O the oak and the ash and the bonnie birken tree,
They're all growing green in the old countrie.
In Baltimore a-walking a lady I did meet
With her babe on her arm as she came down the street;
And I thought how I sailed, and the cradle standing ready
For the pretty little babe that has never seen its daddie.
And it's home, dearie, home,-
O, if it be a lass, she shall wear a golden ring;
And if it be a lad, he shall fight for his king;
With his dirk and his hat and his little jacket blue
He shall walk the quarter-deck as his daddie used to do.
And it's home, dearie, home-
O, there's a wind a-blowing, a-blowing from the west,
And that of all the winds is the one I like the best,
For it blows at our backs, and it shakes our pennon free,
And it soon will blow us home to the old countrie.
For it's home, dearie, home-it's home I want to be.
Our topsails are hoisted, and we'll away to sea.
O, the oak and the ash and the bonnie birken tree,
They're all growing green in the old countrie.
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Oliver Goldsmith
Goldsmith wrote Deserted Village,
Now again reduced to tillage ;
Once happiest village of the plain,
Place now you look for it in vain ;
There but one man he doth make rich,
And hundreds struggle in the ditch ;
' Ill fare the land to many ills a prey
Where wealth accumelates but men decay.'
His honest Vicar of Wakefield
Forever he will pleasure yield.
poem by James McIntyre
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Our Time Is Coming
(kix brooks/ronnie dunn)
Times are hard and the moneys tight
Day to day we fight the fight
Nothing new, the same old grind
Uphill all the way
Boss man says forget the raise
Preacher says to keep the faith
Good things come to those who wait
Tomorrows another day
Our time is coming
Where or when the good lord only knows
Our time is coming
When this road were on will turn to the street of gold
As long as we keep love alive
Something tells me well survive
Its the little things thatll get us by
And hold us together
I feel it when you hold me close
Baby we got more than most
Steady through the highs and lows
Well go on forever
Our time is coming
Where or when the good lord only knows
Our time is coming
When this road were on will turn to the street of gold
Our time is coming
Where or when the good lord only knows
Our time is coming
When this road were on will turn to the street of gold
When this road were on will turn to the street of gold
song performed by by Wade Hayes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On The Road
I 's boun' to see my gal to-night--
Oh, lone de way, my dearie!
De moon ain't out, de stars ain't bright--
Oh, lone de way, my dearie!
Dis hoss o' mine is pow'ful slow,
But when I does git to yo' do'
Yo' kiss 'll pay me back, an' mo',
Dough lone de way, my dearie.
De night is skeery-lak an' still--
Oh, lone de way, my dearie!
'Cept fu' dat mou'nful whippo'will--
Oh, lone de way, my dearie!
De way so long wif dis slow pace,
'T 'u'd seem to me lak savin' grace
Ef you was on a nearer place,
Fu' lone de way, my dearie.
I hyeah de hootin' of de owl--
Oh, lone de way, my dearie!
I wish dat watch-dog would n't howl:--
Oh, lone de way, my dearie!
An' evaht'ing, bofe right an' lef',
Seem p'int'ly lak hit put itse'f
In shape to skeer me half to def--
Oh, lone de way, my dearie!
I whistles so's I won't be feared--
Oh lone de way, my dearie!
But anyhow I's kin' o' skeered,
Fu' lone de way, my dearie.
De sky been lookin' mighty glum,
But you kin mek hit lighten some,
Ef you 'll jes' say you's glad I come,
Dough lone de way, my dearie.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Vicar In A Tutu
I was minding my business
I was lifting some lead off
The roof of the holy name church
It was worthwhile living a laughable life
Just to set my eyes on the blistering sight
Of a vicar in a tutu
He's not strange
He just wants to live his life this way
A scanty bit of a thing
With a decorative ring
That wouldn't cover the head of a child
As rose collects the money in the cannister
Who comes sliding down the bannister ?
The vicar in a tutu
He's not strange
He just wants to live his life this way
Oh, the monkish monsignor
With a head full of plaster
Said : "my man, get your vile soul dry-cleaned"
As rose collects the money from the cannister
As natural as rain
He dances again
My god !
The vicar in a tutu
Oh yeah
Oh yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Oh ...
The vicar in a tutu
Oh yeah
Oh ...
The next day in the pulpit
With freedom and ease
Combatting ignorance, dust, and disease
As rose counts the money in the cannister
As natural as rain
He dances again and again and again
In the fabric of a tutu
Any man could get used to
And i am the living sign
I'm a living sign
I am a living sign
I'm a living sign
I am a living sign
I'm a living sign
Sign ...
I am a living sign
Oh ...
song performed by by Smiths
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Yes, I was a parish priest for five years. I was a curate in a large working class parish in Bristol and the Vicar of a village in Kent.
quote by John Polkinghorne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Irish Poets: Oliver Goldsmith
Goldsmith wrote Deserted Village,
Now again reduced to tillage;
Once happiest village of the plain,
Place now you look for it in vain;
There but one man he doth make rich,
And hundreds struggle in the ditch;
"Ill fare the land to many ills a prey
Where wealth accumelates but men decay."
His honest Vicar of Wakefield
Forever he will pleasure yield.
poem by James McIntyre
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Shopping
Were buying and selling your history
How we go about it is no mystery
We check it with the city, then change the law
Are you looking forward?
Now you want some more
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
Its easy when you got all the information
Inside help, no investigation
(no investigation, investigation)
No questions in the house, no give and take
Theres a big bang in the city
Were all on the make
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
Our gain is your loss, thats the price you pay
I heard it in the house of commons: everythings for sale
Were shopping
Were shopping
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
Ah ah ah, ah ah ah, ah ah ah, ah ah
Ah ah ah, ah ah ah, ah ah ah, ah ah
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
(were shopping
Were shopping
Were shopping
Were shopping
Were shopping)
song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Harmony restored for M lady Ernestine
The vicar, such a nice old gent.
Sees both sides of the argument.
But there is little he can do.
He will not choose between the two.
Maintains a strict neutrality
and prays for guidance reverently
The Sabbath should pass peacefully,
quite free from all hostility.
But Oh Dear Me it isn’t so
the organist will have to go.
So we regain tranquillity
and hear the choir properly.
The organist will take offence.
But we must act in self defence.
The vicar acts reluctantly
and grants the choirmaster’s plea.
The organist just has to go.
He played far too fortissimo.
05/11/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Pol Pot - he rounded up anybody he thought was intellectual and had them executed. And how he told someone was intellectual or not was whether they wore glasses. If they're that clever, take them off when they see him coming!
quote by Ricky Gervais
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Like Everyone She Knows
Like everyone she knows
Shes holding out for truelove
Waiting on an answer
Ready for a change
And everywhere she goes
Shes just a little bit on the lookout
A day might mean tomorrow
Questions still remain
Its not that shes so sad
She always was a happy soul
But lately she gets to wonder to herself
Whats the good of going on anymore
I see her in her room
Sitting at the window
Wondering if shes pretty
Feeling just a little small tonight
She thinks of going home
Giving up on the city
Maybe moving back down to mobile
Its not that far to fall
I know she wont see me
But I might just say anyhow
If I could be right there right now
As I myself was told
Hold tight to your hearts desire
Never ever let it go
Let nobody fool you into giving it up too soon
Tend your own fire
Lay low and be strong
Wait awhile
Wait it out
Wait it on out
Wait it out
Itll come along
I know she wont see me
But I might just say anyhow
If I could be right there right now
As I myself was told
Hold tight to your hearts desire
Never ever let it go
Let nobody fool you into giving it up too soon
Tend your own fire
Lay low and be strong
Wait it out
Wait it out
Wait it on out
Wait it out
Let it come along
Oh, wait awhile
Wait awhile
song performed by by James Taylor
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There Is A Goodness That Comes
When I feel a good deed is done,
I feel a goodness that comes over me.
And when I know I can let go of my woes,
I feel a goodness that comes over me.
I feel a goodness that comes.
A goodness that comes.
There is a goodness that comes over me.
I feel a goodness that comes.
I feel a goodness that comes.
There is a goodness that comes over me.
When I awaken from a peaceful sleep,
There is a goodness that comes over me.
There is a goodness that comes.
There is a goodness that comes.
There is a goodness that comes over me.
When I feel a good deed is done,
I feel a goodness that comes over me.
And when I know I can let go of my woes,
I feel a goodness that comes over me.
I feel a goodness that comes.
I feel a goodness that comes.
There is a goodness that I feel over me.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Love The Thought
Love the thought
Driving down an endless road
Taking friends or moving alone
Pleasure at the fairground on the way
Its always friends that feel so good
Lets make amends like all good men should
Pleasure at the fairground on the way
Walk around, be free and roam
Theres always someone leaving alone
Pleasure at the fairground on the way
(chorus:)
And I love the thought of coming home to you
Even if I know we cant make it
Yes I love the thought of giving hope to you
Just a little ray of light shining through
Love can bend and breathe alone
Until the end it finds you a home
Dont care what the people may say
Its always friends that feel so good
Lets make amends like all good men should
Pleasure at the fairground on the way
(chorus)
I love the thought of coming home to you
Even if I know we cant make it
Yes I love the thought of giving hope to you
Just a little ray of light shining through
Pleasure at the fairground on the way
(chorus)
I love the thought of coming home to you
Even if I know we cant make it
Yes I love the thought of giving hope to you
Just a little ray of light shining through
Love (love the thought)
Even if I know we cant make it
L-l-love the thought
L-l-love the thought
song performed by by Simply Red
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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