On the shelf
It was a proud day for Tuna
when her time came.
She had her name on the
front of the tin.
The new folk at 69
took her in.
Placed her on the shelf
in their kitchen.
There she stood
for 50 years
forgotten and entombed
until
in 2005
the new folk
tipped her out
and threw her in the bin
replacing her space
with a large Paprika
and Mixed Spice
who we never saw again.
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Hide Away Folk Family
Hide away folk family
Or else someones gonna get ya (someones gonna get ya)
Someones gonna get ya
Hide away folk family
Better hide away
Better hide away
Tippy-toe to the front door, mother,
cause theres a guy with a long, long fuse
And the one thing you cant hide is all the fear you feel inside
As the fuse is spelling out these words
Hide away folk family
Or else someones gonna get ya (someones gonna get ya)
Someones gonna get ya
Hide away folk family
Better hide away
Better hide away
Tippy-toe to the flat-bed, father,
Because theyre pouring out our gasoline
And sadly the cross-eyed bears been put to sleep behind the stairs
And his shoes are laced with irony
Hide away folk family
Or else someones gonna get ya (someones gonna get ya)
Someones gonna get ya
Hide away folk family
Better hide away
Better hide away
Hello. this is leslie down with the daily home astrology report.
Taurus: contemplate domestic turmoil.
Aquarius: abandon hope for future plans.
Hide away folk family
Or else someones gonna get ya (someones gonna get ya)
Someones gonna get ya
Hide away folk family
Better hide away
Better hide away (hide away)
Hide away (folk family) folk family (or else someones gonna get ya)
Someones gonna get ya
Hide away
Hide away
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Fairie's Fair
Who’s that dancing on the moonlight air,
Heel tapping, Toe-heel rapping?
Oberon opening the fairies’ fair
To jig away sorrow on the grave of Care.
Come along, old folk, cold fork, bold folk,
Drop your shears at the midnight stroke.
Elves are crying: "Who’ll come buying
Jugs of Joy from a fairy’s cloak?"
Mab is sitting on a silver shoe,
Bright eyes laughing, Light lips quaffing
Airy bubbles from a cup of dew,
Her bracelets tinkle with delights for you.
Come along tall folk, small folk, all folk,
Race the stream where the fat frogs croak,
Buy a bobbin! There goes Robin
Tying Time to a daisy’s yoke!
poem by Zora Bernice May Cross
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dead Folk Don't Talk
On the day she died they all came,
though I was shocked they recalled her name
but they drank our booze and ate our cake
yeah they ate our cake alright.
Maybe they meant well
maybe not
but you can't keep dead folk company
for dead folk, they don't talk.
Nobody came and nobody called
when she was ill and dying.
Nobody seemed to care at all
and now they're all here crying.
Maybe they meant well
maybe not
but you can't keep dead folk company
for dead folk, they don't talk.
So I sat there dazed and out of control
listening to them talking,
but when she were alive, the house was still,
just me and mother sighing.
Maybe they meant well
maybe not
but you can't keep dead folk company
for dead folk, they don't talk.
And afterwards, when they all went
I carried out her last requests.
I moved her gas fire, paid the rent
and left a note to the dairyman.
Nobody came and nobody called
when she was ill and dying.
Nobody seemed to care at all
and if they say they did, they're lying.
poem by Ruth Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rain Along Shore
Wan white mists upon the sea,
East wind harping mournfully
All the sunken reefs along,
Wail and heart-break in its song,
But adown the placid bay
Fisher-folk keep holiday.
All the deeps beyond the bar
Call and murmur from afar,
'Plaining of a mighty woe
Where the great ships come and go,
But adown the harbor gray
Fisher-folk keep holiday.
When the cloudy heavens frown,
And the sweeping rain comes down,
Boats at anchorage must bide
In despite of time or tide;
Making merry as they may
Fisher-folk keep holiday.
Now is time for jest and song
All the idle shore along,
Now is time for wooing dear,
Maidens cannot choose but hear;
Daffing toil and care away
Fisher-folk keep holiday.
Oh, the fretted reefs may wail,
Every man has furled his sail!
Oh, the wind may moan in fear,
Every lad is with his dear!
Mirth and laughter have their way,
Fisher-folk keep holiday.
poem by Lucy Maud Montgomery
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When Ida Puts Her Armor On
When Ida puts her armor on
And draws her trusty blade
The turnips in the bin turn pale,
The apples are afraid.
The quiet kitchen city wakes
And consternation feels,
And quick the tocsin pealeth forth
In long potato peels.
When Ida puts her armor on
The pots and pans succumb,
A wooden spoon her drum-stick is,
A mixing pan her drum;
She charges on the kitchen folk
With silver, tin and steel
She beat the eggs, she whips the cream,
The victory is a meal.
When Ida puts her apron on
Her breast-plate is of blue.
(Checked gingham ruffled top and sides)
Her gauntlets gingham, too;
And thus protected from assault
Of batter, stain and flour
She wars with vegetable foes
And conquers in an hour.
When Ida puts her armor on
She is so fair to see
Her battle with the kitchen folk
Is reproduced in me;
So sweet she is, armed cap-a-pie,
So good her kitchen art
I hardly know which loves her best
My palate or my heart.
poem by Ellis Parker Butler
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Old Town Types No 20 - Mr Blades the Butcher
Mr Blades, the butcher, was a large and beefy man,
'Best him at a cattle deal,' 'twas said, 'no other can.'
He ate a lot and drank a lot and had a lot to say,
And he jollied all the ladies in his large and airy way.
His family was numerous, and helped him in 'the trade,'
And townsfolk had a deal to say of money what they made.
But Mr Blades just went his way, and had his bit of fun;
And joked about his appetite, his girth, or else his 'run.'
His 'run' - a stretch of scrubland at the back of Connor's place -
Was a joke about the district; for it did not bear a trace
Of building or improvement. Yet some said Mr Blades
Had ambitions as a squatter, and a secret scorn for 'trades' . . .
Then the cattle duffers started in the district. Connors raved,
But folk said it was wonderful how Mr Blades behaved.
Tho' he lost a hundred stores one night. But soon began the rows
When people in the town began to lose domestic cows.
Police surprised the gang one night out in the mulga shades,
And took the lot, red-handed, with their leader - Mr Blades.
Of course, the trial stirred our town, as nothing's stirred it since;
But when bad Blades got 'three years hard,' he did not even wince.
His family still strove to carry on the butcher's shop,
For folk refused to pay them, and demanded with some heat:
'Think you can charge for selling us our milkers back as meat?'
When Mr Blades came out of goal, he did not seem ashamed;
A little thinner now, perhaps, but not the least bit tamed.
He told the folk he'd paid his debts, and so, by gum, should they.
So he summoned all his debtors, and his debtors had to pay.
'For our own thieved and slaughtered cows!' wailed these bewildered folk.
But Mr Blades, the butcher, had his last and richest joke,
And, on the day he left the town, people who saw him said
He looked the picture of content - so beefy, large, and red.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Folk rock was my real roots. I did a few gigs as a folk artist, in the style of Fairport Convention.
quote by Alan Parsons
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Borrowed Brains
Writer folk across the bay
Take the pains to see and say
All their upward palms in air:
'Joaquin Miller's cut his hair!'
Hasten, hasten, writer folk
In the gutters rake and poke,
If by God's exceeding grace
You may hit upon the place
Where the barber threw at length
Samson's literary strength.
Find it, find it if you can;
Happy the successful man!
He has but to put one strand
In his beaver's inner band
And his intellect will soar
As it never did before!
While an inch of it remains
He will noted be for brains,
And at last ('twill so befall)
Fit to cease to write at all.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When Kenny first came to me, I think he was thinking of making a nice little folk record, but in my opinion, folk music had come to an end and I felt he needed to go to the next step, the next generation.
quote by Jim Messina
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I really understand what that process is all about and how important it is, especially with young folk and creative folk that love looking for some platform that makes it easier for them to express themselves.
quote by Mick Fleetwood
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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We had a certain kind of really big prestige among, I suppose not just intellectual folk, but a sort of nice middle class intelligent folk of a very urban nature.
quote by Adolph Green
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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West Of Fanny O'Dea's
You’ll not find the name in geography books,
It isn’t marked on the map,
Nor mentioned in atlas or history,
Yet you’ve heard of the place mayhap.
The fairies lurk in the boreens there,
And the scent of the black-thorn haunts the air
Where Atlantic batters the coast of Clare
“West of Fanny O”Dea’s”
Now the old folk tell, in their cheerful chat
By the kitchen fire’s bright glow,
Of hurling matches, or dance or fair,
Of happenings of long ago.
How the heftiest fighters came from there,
Women and men who could do and dare,
From the very heart of the heart of Clare,
West of Fanny O’Dea’s.
From “West o’ Fanny’s” the folk went forth,
To the uttermost parts of the earth;
And the forest fell ‘neath their sturdy stroke,
The cabin rang with mirth.
They builded homes, and the faith was there
Living circles of love and prayer,
Far from the rocky coast of Clare,
West of Fanny O’Dea’s.
As the old folk chat at the kitchen fire
Of doings of long ago,
The young ones smile, with a tender scorn,
At a well-worn phrase they know:
“Now many strange countries and climes there be,
And many queer names o’er land and sea,
But
where
in the name of geography
Is ’West of Fanny O’Dea’s?”
poem by Alice Guerin Crist
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Attitudes.
The moon sheds soft and silver light
upon the newly fallen snow
A master piece for our delight.
The city folk will never know.
The snow that falls on city streets.
Is all too soon polluted by
the footprints left by passing feet.
In cities different rules apply.
Country folk accept the snow
They know there’s little they can do
but wait. In time the snow must go.
Something to look forward to.
But city folk impatiently
Demand the streets should be snow free.
Wednesday,06 January 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Following In Your Footsteps
(ian hunter/mick ronson)
Some folk leave courage,
Some folk leave you hope
Why am I out here hangin
Like a fool at the end o my rope
Some folk leave you wisdom,
Some folk leave you signs
You can never be sure
What went on before
Life is just a matter of time
Picture of you,
Clouding my view
Im following in your footsteps,
Tryin to make some sense of it all
Maybe its a sign of weakness,
But thats where my footsteps fall
Im following in your footsteps,
Tryin to hang on to your dreams
You never got what you wanted
So I never got what I need
Im following in your footsteps,
cos thats where the footsteps lead
Someone must have given me anger,
Someone must have given me hate
Or why would I stand here shakin,
When theres so many chances to take
Pictures of you,
Climb into view
Im following in your footsteps,
Tryin to make some sense of it all
Maybe its a sign of weakness,
But thats where my footsteps fall
Im following in your footsteps,
Watchin my children grow
Theyre following in my footsteps
Takin it on the road
Were following in your footsteps
cos thats where the footsteps go
Were following in your footsteps, yeah
cos thats where your footsteps go
song performed by by Ian Hunter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Down the airy mountain
Down the airy mountain
Through the rushing glen
We daren't go a- hunting
For fear of little men-
Good folk bright folk
trooping all together
With redcap, green coat and
white owl feather.
poem by Willow Cochrane
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It's Mine, Not Yours
Paradise, about to get lost,
Artisans losing sheen,
Intrusion ad invasion,
Did they ask the folk?
Felons barging into the territory,
Annihilating whatever coming their way,
Trampling over the agreed upon,
Deteriorating the beautiful vistas.
Shitty personas plundering the dell,
Screeching, “It’s mine, not yours.”
But did they enquire about the folk?
Gimcrack acts and fractious intruders,
With daggers, proceeding,
Blood flowing in rills,
Bloodshed in ginormous quantities,
Flanked by his entourage, came he
Attired in white, howled he,
“I am the czar here.”
Fractious figure, yelled he,
“I am the monarch here.”
Paradise heaving with crimson hues,
Snowcaped rocks blackened.
But did the folk permit you?
Blasts and sounds and echoes,
Lament and mourn and groan.
Paradise lost, we doomed.
Atrocities and deterioration and despise.
But did the folk support you?
Demagogue playing a gimmick,
Folk lured and invitation to hooliganism,
Holocaust all around,
Where would the kids and adults take refuge?
But did the folk walk along with you?
CONTRIBUTED BY: -
NEHA SHARMA
ENGLISH (HONS.) 2nd YEAR
JDMC, DU
poem by Neha Sharma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A 4th World
Here we are under these particular stars
Here we stand Victorian
Where the white folk can grow to no so
Very little about the black folk
The same folk who rightfully own
This piece of beauty that we call our home
Well negativity is often heard from society
With conviction they preach
Not even knowing of whom they speak
I guess its each to there own
Those that want to will know
I guess its each to there own
Because from the top the views are old and grey
Well I feel so ashamed
Of this system and these ways
The tiny hearts that lead our nation
And tiny minds that let them in
And I see your confusion
I see your pain
I see your pain and your confusion
And theres still some with my skin
Who still try and hide the reason
song performed by by Xavier Rudd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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