Hector The Collector
Hector the Collector
Collected bits of string,
Collected dolls with broken heads
And rusty bells that would not ring. Bent-up nails and ice-cream sticks,
Twists of wires, worn-out tires,
Paper bags and broken bricks.
Old chipped vases, half shoelaces,
Gatlin' guns that wouldn't shoot,
Leaky boasts that wouldn't float
And stopped-up horns that wouldn't toot. Butter knives that had no handles,
Copper keys that fit no locks
Rings that were too small for fingers,
Dried-up leaves and patched-up socks.
Worn-out belts that had no buckles,
'Lectric trains that had no tracks,
Airplane models, broken bottles,
Three-legged chairs and cups with cracks.
Hector the Collector
Loved these things with all his soul--
Loved them more then shining diamonds,
Loved them more then glistenin' gold.
Hector called to all the people,
'Come and share my treasure trunk!'
And all the silly sightless people
Came and looked ... and called it junk.
poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
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Related quotes
London Bells
Two sticks and an apple,
Ring the bells at Whitechapel.
Old Father Bald Pate,
Ring the bells Aldgate.
Maids in white aprons,
Ring the bells at St. Catherine`s.
Oranges and Lemons,
Ring the bells at St. Clement`s.
When will you pay me?
Ring the bells at the Old Bailey.
When I am rich,
Ring the bells at Fleetditch.
When will that be?
Ring the bells of Stepney.
When I am old,
Ring the great bell at Paul`s.
Threads
The threads are collected, my art is this,
For the beating of our brain.
I hastily chase the boxes of string
To finally attach these threads,
They are harming my head,
But the problems are getting solved.
The hassle is enormous and banned by most,
But my stringing is the one solution.
They are normally quiet, sounds are collected,
But the threading is managed by me.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Ring Them Bells
Ring them bells yea heathen from the city that dreams
Ring them bells from the sanctuaries cross the valleys and streams
For they're deep and they're wide
And the world's on it's side
And time is running backwards and so is the bride
Ring them bells
Ring them bells
Ring them bells
Ring them bells!
Ring them bells Saint Peter where the four winds blow
Ring them bells with an iron hand so the people will know
That the rush hour is now on the wheel and the plow and the sun is going down upon the sacred cow
Ring them bells
Ring them bells
Ring them bells
Ring them bells
Ring them bells Saint Martha for the poor man's son
Ring them bells so the world will know that God is one
For the shepherd is asleep where the willows weep
And the mountains are filled with little lost sheep
Ring them bells for the blind and the deaf
Ring them bells for all of us who are left
Ring them bells for the chosen few who would judge the many when the game is through
Ring them bells for the time that flies
song performed by by Heart from Desire Walks On
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bangles
In festival seasons,
Miles walked bangle sellers
Tread the vennel unforgettable,
On feet, worn and torn,
With white clothe bundles,
Full of bangles and their lives,
On their heads wobble,
Whose calls village girls listen,
Break their clay pots,
In which they had collected coins,
And buy bangles
In hues and designs diverse.
Some unknown artists
Shaped the designs on bangles,
Who never came to the limelight,
Instead, wages collected
And withdrew in to silence.
Village girls put on bangles;
Always mesmerised beauty little pains out kept.
Jingling arms love CDs inserted
In to the heart-players of rustic guys,
Who always combed their hairs.
Girls keep and care the bangles,
Like virginity, till the nuptials.
Bracelet turns bracelets,
Often, after the wed locks.
Uncared…
Broken…
And discarded bangles:
“All Fate”, they say…yes!
In kitchens, a few scattered;
Into wells, a few thrown;
And, also, a few burnt in flames.
Unalloyed simple joys,
Experienced worn bangles,
Like virginity, left village girls.
poem by Fabiyas M V
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I don't necessarily write everything as automatically assuming it will be collected, there's nothing that says Hitman will be collected, though it might be.
quote by Garth Ennis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Collected In My Kingdom
No harm is going to come,
To anyone...
If they are connected.
If they are connected.
If they are connected.
No harm will be done,
To anyone...
If they are connected.
No harm,
If connected!
To anyone.
And,
If they are connected.
My Father,
Said to me...
If they are connected,
I will love them...
Collected,
In My Heart.
Collected,
In My Soul.
Collected...
In My Kingdom!
If they are connected.
I will love them...
Collected,
In My Heart.
Collected,
In My Soul.
Collected...
In My Kingdom!
If they are connected.
If they are connected.
If they are connected.
If they are connected.
If they are connected.
No harm will be done,
To anyone...
If they are connected.
And,
If they are connected.
My Father,
Said to me...
If they are connected,
I will love them...
Collected,
In My Heart.
Collected,
In My Soul.
Collected...
In My Kingdom
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Ring Out, Solstice Bells
Now is the solstice of the year,
Winter is the glad song that you hear.
Seven maids move in seven time.
Have the lads up ready in a line.
Ring out these bells.
Ring out, ring solstice bells.
Ring solstice bells.
Join together beneath the mistletoe.
By the holy oak whereon it grows.
Seven druids dance in seven time.
Sing the song the bells call, loudly chiming.
Ring out these bells.
Ring out, ring solstice bells.
Ring solstice bells.
Praise be to the distant sister sun,
Joyful as the silver planets run.
Seven maids move in seven time.
Sing the song the bells call, loudly chiming.
Ring out those bells.
Ring out, ring solstice bells.
Ring solstice bells.
Ring on, ring out.
Ring on, ring out.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ring Them Bells
Ring them bells ye heathen from the city that dreams
Ring them bell from the sanctuaries, 'cross the valleys and streams
For they're deep and they're wide, and the world's on its side
And time is a-runnin' backwards and so is the bride
Ring them bells St. Peter where the four winds blow
Ring them bells with an iron hand so the people will know
Oh it's rush hour now. on the wheel of the plow
And the sun is a-goin' down upon the sacred cow
Ring them bells sweet Martha for the poor man's son
Ring them bells so the world will know that God is one
For the shepherd is asleep where the willow weep
And the mountain is filled with lost sheep
Ring them bells - for the blind and the deaf
Ring them bells - all those who are left
Ring them bells - for the chosen few
Who'll judge the many when the game is through
Ring them bells - for the time that flies
For the child who cries when innocence dies
Ring them bells St. Catherine from the top of the roof
Ring the bells from the fortress for the lilies that bloom
For the lines are long and the fighting is strong
And they're breakin' down the distance between right and wrong
song performed by by Alice In Chains
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Seven Side On
a universal history of iniquity
plays prose writings and poems
collected poems
collected poems
kindling
globalhead
welcome to the monkey house
poem by Michael Emine
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Ring Them Bells
Ring them bells ye heathen from the city that dreams
Ring them bells from the sanctuaries cross the valleys and streams
For theyre deep and theyre wide
And the worlds on its side
And time is running backwards and so is the bride
Ring them bells saint peter where the four winds blow
Ring them bells with an iron hand so the people will know
Oh its rush hour now
On the wheel and the plow
And the sun is going down upon the sacred cow
Ring them bells sweet martha for the poor mans son
Ring them bells so the world will know that God is one
For the shepherd is asleep
Where the willows weep
And the mountains are filled with lost sheep
Ring them bells for the blind and the deaf
Ring them bells for all of us who are left
Ring them bells for the chosen few
Who will judge the many
When the game is through
Ring them bells for the time that flies
For the child that cries
When innocence dies
Ring them bells saint catherine from the top of the room
Ring them from the fortress for the lilies that bloom
For the lines are long
And the fighting is strong
And theyre breaking down the distance between right and wrong
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ring Them Bells
Ring them bells ye heathen from the city that dreams
Ring them bell from the sanctuaries, cross the valleys and streams
For theyre deep and theyre wide, and the worlds on its side
And time is a-runnin backwards and so is the bride
Ring them bells st. peter where the four winds blow
Ring them bells with an iron hand so the people will know
Oh its rush hour now. on the wheel of the plow
And the sun is a-goin down upon the sacred cow
Ring them bells sweet martha for the poor mans son
Ring them bells so the world will know that God is one
For the shepherd is asleep where the willow weep
And the mountain is filled with lost sheep
Ring them bells - for the blind and the deaf
Ring them bells - all those who are left
Ring them bells - for the chosen few
Wholl judge the many when the game is through
Ring them bells - for the time that flies
For the child who cries when innocence dies
Ring them bells st. catherine from the top of the roof
Ring the bells from the fortress for the lilies that bloom
For the lines are long and the fighting is strong
And theyre breakin down the distance between right and wrong
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Something's Broken
I think something's broken
Then again nothing's smokin'
Or shakin' or chokin' like my ol' truck
But I think something's broken
And I think it's worth notin'
It started about the time
She got all packed up
Could be my ego, could be my pride
Could be my calm, cool, collected side
Might be my heart's comin' eye to eye
With the truth that she wasn't jokin'
I think something's broken
Cause I just been layin' 'round hopin'
That maybe any moment
I'll get on track
I think something's broken
All locked up or frozen cause I can't go forward
And I sure can't go back
Could be my ego, could be my pride
Could be my calm, cool, collected side
Might be my heart's comin' eye to eye
With the truth...
I think it's my heart, comin' eye to eye
With the truth, she wasn't jokin'
I know something's broken
Cause I just started smokin'
And shakin' and chokin'
Like my old truck
song performed by by Tim McGraw
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nothing Gets Collected But Dust On Rust
If you wait too long,
Something will go wrong in your lifetime.
Hesitate,
Believing this eliminates it...
But nothing gets collected but dust,
On rust.
If you wait,
Too long...
Something will go wrong,
In your lifetime.
Hesitate,
Since you wanna and you're gonna.
But nothing gets collected but dust,
On rust.
You put up all your screens on your dreams.
Distrusting they would go or be taken away.
You put up all your reasons to demean!
Believing this would keep your dreams from being seen.
If you wait too long,
Something will go wrong in your lifetime.
Hesitate,
Believing this eliminates it...
But nothing gets collected but dust,
On rust.
If you wait,
Too long...
Something will go wrong,
In your lifetime.
Hesitate,
Since you wanna and you're gonna.
But nothing gets collected but dust,
On rust.
You put up all your screens on your dreams.
Distrusting they would go or be taken away.
You put up all your reasons to demean!
Believing this would keep your dreams from being seen.
If you wait,
Too long...
Something will go wrong,
In your lifetime.
Hesitate,
Since you wanna and you're gonna.
But nothing gets collected but dust,
On rust.
Nothing gets collected but dust,
On rust.
Nothing gets collected but dust,
On rust.
Nothing gets collected but dust,
On rust!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Bloody Paper Dolls
They bleed an ink of green blood
Cut them out
Faces of drawn misfortune
Bodies of frail dresses
Minds of empty blue lines
Given names of whores from distorted streets
Megan molly Shannon mind so weak
Created world of plagiarized lives
These bloody paper dolls have no eyes
They see not the tears upon her face
They bleed words onto the page
Green ink dripping
Soft words describing a life
Take there heads the lose all purpose
Fixed scissors this time ill make a man
Green ink bleeds from the cut up words
And the body it forms
These dolls aren’t real they are a shaken reality
Let her be she has dreams
And I cut the words from this page
I lost my age
I’m old... and still
I have bloody paper dolls all around
They rule my life
They are my reality
My friends
These words now just letters
Green ink stains my finger tips
My bloody dolls you are it.
poem by Victoria Martinez
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Escape
When the silence is as taut as a violin string
the rest awaits as you climb past the invitation
of an open window, your day in shopping bags
that redden the joints of your hands, as if you
wait helpless at a busy junction, the heavy trucks
that throw warmth and grit in your face,
this is graceless, like worn slippers under a hospital bed
or an unread letter full of secrets, next to a glass full
of whiteness, rooms full of old cameras and shavers,
as if everything could be started, not just this
ring of concerned faces and mumbles at doorways,
you cannot leave as an angel, you are full of broken glass.
poem by Leslie Philibert
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His Usual Routine...
last night he made love to her
on longer hours
his tongue working out her nipples
genitals on deeper penetrations
trying to reach the deepest part of
the wells of
their souls
it was unusual
attempting to achieve what was never there for once
new techniques of pleasures
unlearning traditions of
the missionary positions
time is elongated
there is a new fantasy
of an abstract
painting a la
Picasso at the back
of his mind
a woman with two faces
a man with a twisted jaw
a guitar with
a broken string
a river without visible
banks
a ship without a port
abandoned lighthouse
dark clouds
boundless seas
trees without leaves
hands with nails removed
detached arms
half man half horse
a lion with the tails of
a fish
ceiling without beams
rusty nails on walls
about to collapse
(how can he tell her that he never had
an ejaculation?
that there is something in him that is never understood
and tapped)
as lays there in bed
snoring
he stares at the ceiling
silently
composing all the possible
questions
still without any
drafted answers
he is a submarine on uncharted
depths of
deep blue oceans
charting out
the bottom
where due to so much pressure
he shall shrink
like a crumpled
paper
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Brown Paper Bag
Brown paper bag
Squalid incomplete
slumped to the side of the street
Like unwanted sacks of garbage
She left her track her smell
And like the brown paper bag
She had travelled well
She had a whole world in her head
Her first love
The man she wed
And the drink and the smoke
And the four o clock bloke
That returned with a bottle in a brown paper bag
And better days before
When she had carried her first round fruit
When the brown paper bag was waxed new
And he carried his bride to the door
Then the four o clock bloke
Full of stale wine and stale smoke
With a bottle in a brown paper bag
How he called her a hag
And that first punch to the floor
And the brown paper bags fell by her side
Crumpled and stained
And the liquor cans and the four o clock man
Who never spoke
Left her broke
Bones shattered in pieces
Flesh bare to the wind
Body out on the street
Skin tanned dirt brown
Hair matted locks
And two brown paper bags tied with string to her feet
yvette m smith 11.2.09
poem by Yvette Smith
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Dried Apples
We fear to say, and yet we must,
Dried apples once were full of dust,
And you all know it is no joke.
Saturate with tobacco smoke,
And the hole where string did go through
Was nest for animalcule,
And collected the kitchen steam.
But process now is sweet and clean,
Viewed with pleasure by spectator,
Work of the evaporator.
poem by James McIntyre
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I Walk A Nameless River
I walk a nameless river
One which collects water from the houses,
The streets and such,
A river of rain that carry small sticks,
Cigarettes butts and, bits of paper
A shadow river that moves pap like rocks
A river trapped in the street cars’ tracks
A river rushing past ants and praying mantises
Against butterflies and worms that comes up and leave
Body tracks in the mud.
A river fed by puddles and cracks; indents in the sidewalks
By downward slanted driveways and situated front yards
By small streams on window glass and streams down sycamore trucks,
Maple, oak and such.
A cleaning river of gutterized rain,
A leaf drooping rain of green things,
River of no name
Too thin to carry twigs
Easily distracted by my foot
Easily stagnated into a nameless pond
When the sky has dried out.
I walk a one street river
A shallow river of clinched fists
A narrow river of butterflies in the nameless sky
A concrete river of feet saturated against the maple rocks
A river of bodies coming up leaving a river of cracks
A river of cigarettes of worms of sycamore trunks, oak
Marble and such.
A thin river of destruction, of gutters and traped tracks
Of sticks collected among themselves like dead praying mantises
In the rush of houses and driveways stacked in the water
Of a small rainy sky.
poem by David E. Patton
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Sensitivity And Imagination In The World Of Poetry
the pebble that you have
collected from the shore
last spring
breathes like a tick
the paper clip that lays on your
study table
begins to
move like a maggot
something is more beautiful than
this
sensitivity widens
imagination
paving more pathways to
the colored world
of dreams
the blank paper begins to have
a face
shaping a mouth
a tongue
that shapes a smile for you
the table becomes the sea
where sailboats take its long journey
nothing
no one falls at the edge
they just fade.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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