Related quotes: Drugs made Pauline vague. She...

Drugs Made Pauline Vague

Drugs made Pauline vague.
She sat one day at the breakfast table
Fingering in a baffled way
The fronds of the maidenhair plant.

Was it the salt you were looking for dear?
said Dulcie, exchanging a glance with the Brigadier.

Chuff chuff Pauline what's the matter?
Said the Brigadier to his wife
Who did not even notice
What a handsome couple they made.

poem by Stevie Smith
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Bottle-O Benny

Chuff! Chuff! Chuff! With a rumble and a rattle,
Waking every echo on the old bush road;
Waking, too, the wonder of the wayside cattle
With the clatter of his engine and his strange, mixed load;
With his front wheels a-wobble and his back brake squealing,
Skirting here the table-drain, grazing there a tree,
His hand upon the steering, but his mind upon his dealing,
Comes Bottle-o Benny in his old Model T.

'Any ole iron, sir? Fat, sir? Bottles, sir?
Cast-off clobber, or any ole rags?
(Pretty sticky patch that, down by the wattles, sir.)
Any ole machinery or secon'-and bags?
Charf bags, bran bags? Taken 'em orf yer 'an's, sir
Best city prices, spot cash. That's me!
This 'ere dealin' life's as 'ard as any man's, sir.'
Says Bottle-o Benny from his old Model T.

He pokes about the rubbish heap; he roots around the stable there;
He loiters in the lumber-shed and says, 'Times is lean.
Give you 'arf-a-dollar, now, for that ole table there.
Square an' all an' honest, sir, I'd 'ardly make a bean!
Yes; I've counted up the bottles; two dozen's wot I make 'em, sir.
Wot? Them sauce an' pickle 'uns?
But, jist for ole acquaintance like, I'll rid yer 'an's an' take 'em, sir.'
And he magically packs them in his old Model T.

Chuff! Chuff! Chuff! With a rattle and a rumble,
Off goes Benny by the Burnt Stump Bend.
His echoes scarce have died away ere Mum begins to grumble:
Where's that copper kettle that I put out to mend?'
And Lil says, 'Last year - (I've always had a feeling)
Last year a clothes-line went when Benny went,' says she.
But Benny won't be back again for twelve months, dealing
For unconsidered trifles in his old Model T.

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Pauline With Generous Heart

Pauline with her bright blue eyes
ha a big heart deep inside.
She took me to lunch on my very first day
she appreciated I came to work right away.
Pauline makes sure everyone is feed
she always has delicious food for me instead.
She has two adorable and smart grandchildren
Pauline gave my Krendoll coloring books to them.
Pauline wears very fashionable clothes
along with stylish earrings that sparkles and glows.
Earrings are from Sonya for Pauline supports the arts
she believes we all have potential and tells us from the heart.
Pauline has lived an exciting and interesting life
she still has a lot of energy and is soaring high.

Written by Suzae Chevalier on October 30,2012
www.suzae.com

poem by Suzae Chevalier
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Song Of A Brigadier

I wear a splendid uniform;
I ride a splendid nag;
I talk both loud and valiantly
Of Honor and the Flag;
But let the South be easy still,
Her soldiers need not fear.
Ne'er shot nor blow shall lay them low
While I'm a Brigadier.

I canter gaily through the streets,
Attended by my staff,
Unheeding vulgar little boys
Who hoot and stare and chaff;
And such a staff! all foreign names,
Quite wonderful to hear,
Plain Yankee boys aren't good enough
For such a Brigadier.

I've Baron This and Duke of That,
And Prince of 'Tother, too,
The people ask me, 'What on earth
I have for them to do?'
'Tis plain to all but vulgar minds,
I want a kindred sphere;
There's nought like title, blood and style,
To aid a Brigadier!

No bloody wounds or hurts for me
Perhaps I am a sham;
But Politics and Influence
Have placed me where I am;
I give my dinners, draw my pay,
Drink brandy, wine or beer,
And mean to have a jolly time
While I'm a Brigadier.

Investigations pass me by,
Committees raise no row,
No one expects that I will fight --
And faith, I don't know how!
I'm not for use, but ornament,
So each day I appear,
In buttons, braid, in gold arrayed --
A fancy Brigadier.

There are plenty in the field
Who really like to fight --
Give me money and good clothes,
And I'll be harmless quite,
Yet there is something on my mind,
That I can't quite make clear,
How can the Government afford
My style of Brigadier!

poem by Anonymous Americas
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Interior

In the cool of the night time
The clocks pick off the points
And the mainsprings loosen.
They will need winding.
One of these days
they will need winding.

Rabelais in red boards,
Walt Whitman in green,
Hugo in ten-cent paper covers,
Here they stand on shelves
In the cool of the night time
And there is nothing . . . .
To be said against them . . . .
Or for them . . . .
In the cool of the night time
And the docks.

A man in pigeon-gray pyjamas.
The open window begins at his feet
And goes taller than his head.
Eight feet high is the pattern.

Moon and mist make an oblong layout.
Silver at the man's bare feet.
He swings one foot in a moon silver.
And it costs nothing.

(One more day of bread and work.
One more day . . . .so much rags .

The man barefoot in moon silver
Mutters "You" and "You"
To things hidden
In the cool of the night time,
In Rabelais, Whitman, Hugo,
In an oblong of moon mist.

Out from the window . . . . prairielands.
Moon mist whitens a golf ground.
Whiter yet is a limestone quarry.
The crickets keep on chirring.

Switch engines of the Great Western
Sidetrack box cars, make up trains
For Weehawken, Oskaloosa, Saskatchewan;
The cattle, the coal, the corn, must go
In the night . . . . on the prairielands.

Chuff-chuff go the pulses.
They beat in the cool of the night time.
Chuff-chuff and chuff-chuff . . . .
These heartbeats travel the night a mile
And touch the moon silver at the window
And the hones of the man.
It costs nothing.

Rabelais in red boards,
Whitman in green,
Hugo in ten-cent paper covers,
Here they stand on shelves
In the cool of the night time
And the clocks.

poem by Carl Sandburg
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Pauline And Dwd Oct 13th,2012

Pauline and DWD Oct 13th,2012

By
James Bredin

Pauline Marois, premier of Quebec, wants death with dignity,
But she has a minority government, so can't get too finicky yet,
Did our Supreme Court made it national, with Sue Rodriguez decision?
Are Ottawa aristocrats looking at this with much precision?

Despite this; Pauline Marois is our kind of political lady,
She's up front with her ideas and not one bit shady,
And if she gets death with dignity for Quebec; that would be great,
Though she only speaks French and I can't understand the debate.

She is at that Francophone meeting getting lots of attention,
She may even cause us a bit of English-speaking tension,
Unfortunately, the media moguls don't like her much,
But if she can get DWD; she will have the common touch.

Oct 13th,2012

poem by James Bredin
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Quebec Death With Dignity Oct 21st,2012

Our biggest breach of justice was the Sue Rodriguez case,
When all normal Canadians got a pompous slap in the face,
Denied death with dignity; no matter what your cancer disease,
It might be a provincial issue if Pauline says 'Please.'

Pauline Marois, premier of Quebec, wants death with dignity,
But she has a minority government, so can't get finicky,
And we live in a land where less than half the people vote,
Where Charter of Rights and democracy may run on remote.

Pauline Marois is the only premier that can get their attention,
True enough, she might cause some federal-provincial tension,
But death with dignity should be part of all provincial health events,
And provincial politicians should not bow down and relent.

poem by James Bredin
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The Train Misser

At Union Station

'Ll where in the world my eyes has bin--
Ef I hain't missed that train ag'in!
Chuff! And whistle! And toot! And ring!
But blast and blister the dasted train--!
How it does it I can't explain!
Git here thirty-five minutes before
The durn things due--! And, drat the thing
It'll manage to git past-shore!

The more I travel around, the more
I got no sense--! To stand right here
And let it beat me! 'Ll ding my melts!
I got no gumption, ner nothin' else!
Ticket Agent's a dad-burned bore--!
Sell you a tickets all they keer--!
Ticket Agents ort to all be

Prosecuted-- and that's jes what--!
How'd I know which train's fer me?
And how'd I know which train was not--?
Goern and comin' and gone astray,
And backin' and switchin' ever'-which-way!

Ef I could jes sneak round behind
Myse'f, where I could git full swing,
I'd lift my coat, and kick, by jing!
Till I jes got jerked up and fined--!
Fer here I stood, as a durn fool's apt
To, and let that train jes chuff and choo
Right apast me-- and mouth jes gapped
Like a blamed old sandwitch warped in two!

poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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This movie is a toupee made up to look like honest baldness.

quote by Pauline Kael
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Making Breakfast - a study in consciousness

Breakfast. Slick operation. You could
make it in your sleep..
you’ve refined the quantities,
the cooking and the timing
like a pro..

and eating it – you’re even more
brilliant at that – you can
eat breakfast, read the paper,
listen to the radio or tv,
half listen to the wife and kids,
make and take those cellphone calls;
then bestow a salty bacon,
sweet marmaladey kiss on several lips
or cheeks – and off..

But today something gotten to you:
the sun is shining; all’s well with the world;
this isn’t Monday breakfast, this is
Saturday breakfast…

You find yourself making breakfast
as if you’d never made it in your life before;
you hear the cereal on its way
from the packet to the bowl;
smell the coffee before drinking it;
never has the toast been browner, crisper,
eggs more eggy, tomatoes so.. well, tomatoey;
sweet meeting salt in tasting mouth..
the world’s made new today; and
somehow, you feel as if
you know that much more about yourself;
some sure sense of direction
seems to fill your heart and mind;
you’re on good terms with
the Creation as of now.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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The World Health Organisation has a lot of its medical experts sitting in Geneva while hospitals in Africa have no drugs and desperate patients are forced to seek medication on the black market.

quote by Pauline Hanson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Made Me A Man

As I work with the sweat upon my brow
As so to support my family my wife and child
I do for them, all that I can,
As GOD, he made me a man.

I Protect all which is mine and what I own
Which includes my possessions and also my home
At my wife’s side I will always stand
As GOD, he made me a man

I will never ever lie or cheat or steal
Never hurt anyone when instead I could heal
As I know what is in my greater plan
As GOD, he made me a man.

I will never ever start a war or even a fight
Whether I be wrong and they be right
I will talk with them, until we both understand
As GOD, he made me a man.

I will not break the vows I made to my wife
No matter the problems or even the rife
I know years from now in front of GOD I will stand
As GOD, he made me a man.

A soul and a life GOD he gave me
He showed me the roads and told me to be free
I gave up being a boy from worries I had not ran
As GOD, he made me a man.

As I say my prayers alone at night
I humble myself to the Lord and his might
I know that GOD, he made me a Man
But I am the one, who made me who I am.

poem by Randy McClave
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