Richmond upon Thames
I read my poem
about the maroon fairy
to a goose with orange legs
maybe it was the clash of colours
or the aroma of a varnish- flavoured sorbet
that caused him to stand stock-still
in front of the boat-house milk-bar
who's Oberon?
king of the fairies
I like the bit about
a cowslip-bell of dew he said
and
with a backward glance
his head turned one hundred and eighty degrees
does he have orange legs?
poem by STEPHEN BRIAN Brady
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Related quotes
Leg
I know your legs are
On the legs of Baali the demon king
I know your legs are
On the head of Bharata your brother
I know your legs are on the
Head of Uddhaba your follower.
You have no leg I heard.
I Know you are present everywhere
Everytime and in everybody.
I do not know what a leg is.
I know the insect has six legs
I know the animal has four legs
I know the bird has two legs.
Your leg is my project paper
I do not know howmany legs you have
I do not know I a leg is.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Red And Orange
Ther's a red house,
Inside there's an orange door.
Beside that there's a red carpet,
On top of an orange floor.
There's a red table,
Below an orange ceiling.
Upstairs there's a red bed,
Inside an orange room.
There's a couple of red people sleeping soundly,
Next door two orange ones too.
Outside there's a red truck,
No one knows what to do.
I don't see the proble,
Why don't you leave us all alone.
But now I see the red more clearly,
And I know what's done is done.
And I'll float away with the cloudy smoke,
Before the inevertable happens and I start to choke.
Good bye red house,
So long orange door.
I'm going for a long sleep noe,
Six feet under the floor.
The Rose Fairy
When God created the very first rose,
All the forest fairies were thrilled!
They formed a queue to line up for a smell,
Each swooning at its delightful fragrance.
The king of the fairies called them to his throne,
Reminding them that each flower is blessed,
With each one appointed its own fairy...
But who could they choose for the rose! ?
All the fairies not yet appointed flew near,
Each pointing to herself as the right choice!
Then the queen of the fairies calmed them down,
'Settle down, impetuous ones! ' she said...
So all the female fairies flapped their wings no more,
Settling once again upon the ground...
'Come, come! ' she scolded! 'None of you will do! '
The fairies' faces went blood red with shame!
The king looked at them in turn, loving them all.
Such enthusiasm, such devotion, but who would do?
The queen pointed directly to the king himself!
'You, Your Majesty, you must be the rose fairy! '
'What! ? ' remarked the king! 'That's unheard of! '
She held his hand with love and told him,
'There's no-one greater than you for this rose! '
The fairies leapt with joy! Flying here and there!
Doing athletics flips and backward somersaults!
When the king saw the joy of all the fairies, he smiled.
He was humbled by this wondrous spectacle
And he stood up, wiped away a tiny tear and told them,
'Never has a king been so blessed as I feel today! '
And so it was that the rose fairy was announced.
And God looked down upon the fairies in the forest
And smiled... and smiled... and smiled...
Denis Martindale, copyright, June 2012.
poem by Denis Martindale
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Prince Of Orange
Look at these hands
Spokes of the sun God delay you, spray you
Prince of orange, climb the ladder
Prince of orange will die.
Brass robinettes
Trumpet and drums for the taking, baking
Prince of orange, climb the ladder
Prince of orange will die.
All the food he steals is all right
Far the tall and gentle poplar
Causing fanfare to those listening
Now
Drape round your head
Mischief and secrets in green kelt, all hell
Prince of orange, climb the ladder
Prince of orange will die.
Look at these lands (--- --- ---)
Youll get no books for your dinner
Sinner
Prince of orange, climb the ladder
Prince of orange will die
song performed by by Xtc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Orange And Green Will Carry The Day
Ireland! rejoice, and England! deplore
Faction and feud are passing away.
'Twas a low voice, but 'tis a loud roar,
'Orange and Green will carry the day.'
Orange! Orange!
Green and Orange!
Pitted together in many a fray
Lions in fight!
And linked in their might,
Orange and Green will carry the day.
Orange! Orange!
Green and Orange!
Wave them together o'er mountain and bay.
Orange and Green!
Our King and our Queen!
'Orange and Green will carry the day!'
Rusty the swords our fathers unsheathed
William and James are turned to clay
Long did we till the wrath they bequeathed,
Red was the crop, and bitter the pay!
Freedom fled us!
Knaves misled us!
Under the feet of the foemen we lay
Riches and strength
We'll win them at length,
For Orange and Green will carry the day!
Landlords fooled us;
England ruled us,
Hounding our passions to make us their prey;
But, in their spite,
The Irish UNITE,
And Orange and Green will carry the day!
Fruitful our soil where honest men starve;
Empty the mart, and shipless the bay;
Out of our want the Oligarchs carve;
Foreigners fatten on our decay!
Disunited,
Therefore blighted,
Ruined and rent by the Englishman's sway;
Party and creed
For once have agreed
Orange and Green will carry the day!
Boyne's old water,
Red with slaughter!
Now is as pure as an infant at play;
So, in our souls,
Its history rolls,
And Orange and Green will carry the day!
English deceit can rule us no more;
Bigots and knaves are scattered like spray
Deep was the oath the Orangeman swore,
'Orange and Green must carry the day!'
Orange! Orange!
Bless the Orange!
Tories and Whigs grew pale with dismay,
When from the North
Burst the cry forth,
'Orange and Green will carry the day!'
No surrender!
No Pretender!
Never to falter and never betray
With an Amen,
We swear it again,
ORANGE AND GREEN SHALL CARRY THE DAY.
poem by Thomas Davis
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Orange And Green Will Carry The Day
AIR--_The Protestant Boys._
I.
Ireland! rejoice, and England! deplore--
Faction and feud are passing away.
'Twas a low voice, but 'tis a loud roar,
'Orange and Green will carry the day.'
Orange! Orange!
Green and Orange!
Pitted together in many a fray--
Lions in fight!
And linked in their might,
Orange and Green will carry the day.
Orange! Orange!
Green and Orange!
Wave them together o'er mountain and bay.
Orange and Green!
Our King and our Queen!
'Orange and Green will carry the day!'
II.
Rusty the swords our fathers unsheathed--
William and James are turned to clay--
Long did we till the wrath they bequeathed,
Red was the crop, and bitter the pay!
Freedom fled us!
Knaves misled us!
Under the feet of the foemen we lay--
Riches and strength
We'll win them at length,
For Orange and Green will carry the day!
Landlords fooled us;
England ruled us,
Hounding our passions to make us their prey;
But, in their spite,
The Irish UNITE,
And Orange and Green will carry the day!
III.
Fruitful our soil where honest men starve;
Empty the mart, and shipless the bay;
Out of our want the Oligarchs carve;
Foreigners fatten on our decay!
Disunited,
Therefore blighted,
Ruined and rent by the Englishman's sway;
Party and creed
For once have agreed--
Orange and Green will carry the day!
Boyne's old water,
Red with slaughter!
Now is as pure as an infant at play;
So, in our souls,
Its history rolls,
And Orange and Green will carry the day!
IV.
English deceit can rule us no more;
Bigots and knaves are scattered like spray--
Deep was the oath the Orangeman swore,
'Orange and Green must carry the day!'
Orange! Orange!
Bless the Orange!
Tories and Whigs grew pale with dismay,
When from the North
Burst the cry forth,
'Orange and Green will carry the day!'
No surrender!
No Pretender!
Never to falter and never betray--
With an Amen,
We swear it again,
ORANGE AND GREEN SHALL CARRY THE DAY.
poem by Thomas Osborne Davis
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Orange Leaf
Orange leaf passing by
The air is stiff
And cold
Orange leaf passing by
Flying over the snow
Orange leaf passing by
Riding over the snow.
Past the oak tree
The old house is silent
Orange leaf
Fly with the wind
And snow
Fly past the frozen lake
Fish sleeping beneath
Its crystal surface
Orange leaf
fly to the sea
And wait
To be picked up
And carried off
Orange leaf passing by
The air is stiff
And cold
Orange leaf passing by
Flying over the snow
poem by Jesse love
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A Tiger
Life as a tiger would be prowling around
Hunting swiftly without making a sound
Black and orange stripes falls across his skin
Little do you know about the roar it has within
The tiger quickly moves upon to his feet
Searching the jungle looking for something to eat
The lion might be king of the jungle
But the tiger kills and they still stay humble
The rare colours of orange and the black
If He sees pray he’s sure to attach
There eyes in night time can see twenty twenty
Black is the colour of death and it has killed plenty
People see tigers as quite violent creatures
But if you dig deep inside you’ll find some peaceful features’
The tiger tooth is white and pointed all around
The lion is called the king but the tiger should be crowned
So when you see a tiger
And you don’t feel very prepared
Just have a read of this poem
Then you wont feel that more scared
By Chizom Okpara and my freind Sami Amusan
poem by Chizom Okpara
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Ode To Orange Chgicken
Orange chicken, oh orange chicken,
how much I love you.
You're sweet, sticky, and tangy, all at the same time,
you go great wi th soy sauce, but never with lime.
ode to orange chicken, which I love to devour,
it's been in my mouth so often, it knows that i have power.
It knows the names of my taste buds, Jill, Lil, and Bill,
sometimes the orange chicken is happy, but sometimes it's held against it's will.
Whenever I eat orange chicken, it goes CRUNCH, CRUNCH,
and I have to have chow mein, and that goes MUCH, MUNCH!
Ode to orange chicken, it is always in a bowl,
but did I mention, i also love eggrolls.
poem by Aubrey Harmel
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The Daddy Long-Legs and the Fly
Once Mr Daddy Long-Legs,
Dressed in brown and gray,
Walked about upon the sands
Upon a summer's day;
And there among the pebbles,
When the wind was rather cold,
He met with Mr Floppy Fly,
All dressed in blue and gold.
And as it was too soon to dine,
They drank some Periwinkle-wine,
And played an hour or two, or more,
At battlecock and shuttledore.
Said Mr Daddy Long-legs
To Mr Floppy Fly,
'Why do you never come to court?
I wish you'd tell me why.
All gold and shine, in dress so fine,
You'd quite delight the court.
Why do you never go at all?
I really think you ought!
And if you went, you'd see such sights!
Such rugs! and jugs! and candle-lights!
And more than all, the King and Queen,
One in red, and one in green!'
'O Mr Daddy Long-Legs,'
Said Mr Floppy Fly,
'It's true I never go to court,
And I will tell you why.
If I had six long legs like yours,
At once I'd go to court!
But Oh! I can't, because my legs
Are so extremely short.
And I'm afraid the King and Queen
(One in red and one in green)
Would say aloud, 'You are not fit,
You Fly, to come to court a bit.'
O Mr Daddy Long-Legs,'
Said Mr Floppy Fly,
'I wish you'd sing one little song!
One mumbian melody!
You used to sing so awful well
In former days gone by,
But now you never sing at all;
I wish you'd tell me why:
For if you would, the silvery sound
Would please the shrimps and cockles round,
And all the crabs would gladly come
To hear you sing, 'Ah, Hum di Hum!''
Said Mr Daddy Long-Legs,
'I can never sing again!
And if you wish, I'll tell you why,
Although it gives me pain.
For years I could not hum a bit,
Or sing the smallest song;
And this the dreadful reason is,
My legs are grown too long!
My six long legs, all here and there,
Oppress my bosom with despair;
And if I stand, or lie, or sit,
I cannot sing one single bit!'
So Mr Daddy Long-Legs
And Mr Floppy Fly
Sat down in silence by the sea,
And gazed upon the sky.
They said, 'This is a dreadful thing!
The world has all gone wrong,
Since one has legs too short by half,
The other much too long!
One never more can go to court,
Because his legs have grown too short;
The other cannot sing a song,
Because his legs have grown too long!'
Then Mr Daddy Long-Legs
And Mr Floppy Fly
Rushed downward to the foaming sea
With one sponge-taneous cry;
And there they found a little boat
Whose sails were pink and gray;
And off they sailed among the waves
Far, and far away.
They sailed across the silent main
And reached the great Gromboolian plain;
And there they play for evermore
At battlecock and shuttledore.
poem by Edward Lear
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After School Tea.
Mother said
you were to go back
to Mrs Clark's house
for tea after school
and she would pick
you up later
after work
and so when
the bell went
for the end
of the school day
you went with Mrs Clark
and her daughter Helen
for tea and Mrs Clark
talked all the way
to her house
her words rough
as hewn stones
going over your head
to which you just nodded
or shook your head
and when you arrived
at the house
which smelt
of past dinners
and washing drying
and the baby's nappies
she said
What would you like for tea?
Bread and butter
bread jam
bread and Bovril
or dripping?
and how about
a large mug of tea?
Helen said
I'm having bread and jam
and a mug of tea
why don't you too?
you said
Yes that will be fine
and shyly sat in a chair
by the window
looking out
at the backyard
where washing hung
on a clothesline
and an old doll's pram
sat rusting by a wall
and Helen came
and sat next to you
in her grey skirt
and off white blouse
and swung her legs
back and forth
under the chair
her white ankle socks
and black scuffed shoes
coming in
and going out
of view
and she said
After tea
I'll show you my dolls
and the doll's house
my daddy made
out of orange boxes
and as Mrs Clark
made the tea
you sensed Helen's small hand
run along your arm
which set alarm bells ringing
in your head
and a sweating in your palm.
poem by Terry Collett
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If I could make the big orange sun
If I could make the big orange sun
hang forever
over the horizon
and the magic colours
that is light yellow, golden
and goes from orange to red
touch some clouds
and could also get
the blue of the sky,
it would have been
a beautiful painting
and I would want it like
Vincent van Gogh’s
starry night.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Orange Moon
Im an orange moon
Im an orange moon
Reflecting the light of the sun
Many nights he was alone
Many many many nights
His light was too bright so they truned away and he
Stood along every night and every day
Then he turned to me he saw his
Reflection in me and he smiled at me
When he turned to me
Then he said to me
How good it is, how good it is, how
Good it is, how good it is
Im an orange moon
Im brighter than before
Brighter than ever before
Im an orange moon and I shine so
Bright cause I reflect the light
Of my sun
I praise the day he turned my way
And smiled at me
He gets to smile and I get to be
Orange that I love to be
How good it is (8x)
Shine so bright
He rules the day, Ill rule the night
Shine shine shine
How good it is (6x)
How good he is
How God he is
Im an orange moon Im brighter than
Before brighter
Reflecting the light of the sun
song performed by by Erykah Badu
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Orange juice
Orange juice mom says drink
When i am sick
It can make me thick
Orange juice i have to pick
licking mom says no
Drinking i have to do
Hate orange juice, mom says i know
Vitamin C it has
And i need to take
for my own sake
Healthy it can make me
Power it can give me
Orange juice
Is all i need
When i am in lead
With the kids at the lake.! :)
poem by michelle al G
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Night was coming
Night was coming
with a piercing huge orange sun
breaking through
white and black clouds
in the west.
It found a gap
and the sun was hanging
like a orange ball
above the street
and it was blinding.
Cars passed barely visible
above the orange glare
and some had already
turned their lights on.
The sun dipped down
below some trees
and for a time
it glowed behind them
and soon it would be dark
and the first stars
were already appearing
and a full yellow moon
was rising,
but below bright lights
was already burning
right across the city
in colours of amber
streetlights
green, yellow and red
traffic lights,
blue lights flashing
on police cars
and almost every bright colour
caught on neon signs
while people came and went
to different destinations
some smiling and relaxed,
others in a hurry
and some others
locked in a world of their own.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Simplest Bliss
the night as backdrop
an easy chair to rest my legs
a soft pillow where my head leans
an orange glass vase
a bud of red rose
a single leaf
hushing wind from the sea
my hands on my thighs
i dream
my heart beats always
you know
for you,
far, far away
like a distant island on the
shoreless sea
how i wish my thoughts
are dead
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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An Ode for David
Inspiration
From a lopsided table?
Words written down
Told as a fable
Strange request you have
My dear friend
Inspiration I will find
This I do intend
Wooden Table
Possess my tongue
Wintered table
Cry from my lungs
Pen striking paper
You shall be my muse
May the bleeding ink
Cry of your blues
Splintered skin
In a corner rest forgotten
Winding legs
You stand wild as cotton
Pen stroke slide
Across your lofty floor
Three legs you stand
When you should have four
Awkward table
You have no friend
Ancient table
You've reached your bitterend
Should my pen learn sea legs
I'd love you once more
But, on three legs you stand
When you should have four
poem by Kay Gardner
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To His Coy One
SEEST thou yon smiling Orange?
Upon the tree still hangs it;
Already March bath vanish'd,
And new-born flow'rs are shooting.
I draw nigh to the tree then,
And there I say: Oh Orange,
Thou ripe and juicy Orange,
Thou sweet and luscious Orange,
I shake the tree, I shake it,
Oh fall into my lap!
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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The Orange Bears
The Orange bears with soft friendly eyes
Who played with me when I was ten,
Christ, before I'd left home they'd had
Their paws smashed in the rolls, their backs
Seared by hot slag, their soft trusting
Bellies kicked in, their tongues ripped
Out, and I went down through the woods
To the smelly crick with Whitman
In the Haldeman-Julius edition,
And I just sat there worrying my thumbnail
Into the cover---What did he know about
Orange bears with their coats all stunk up with soft coal
And the National Guard coming over
From Wheeling to stand in front of the millgates
With drawn bayonets jeering at the strikers?
I remember you would put daisies
On the windowsill at night and in
The morning they'd be so covered with soot
You couldn't tell what they were anymore.
A hell of a fat chance my orange bears had!
poem by Kenneth Patchen
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