Word Collision
Words are the tools of my trade
I live to play rugby - what am I?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Related quotes
The Welsh Rugby
The Welsh have feelings about rugby
No other Nation can describe
They sing all their rugby songs
To keep the game alive.
We hate to lose at rugby
And cannot stand defeat
Their songs are sang much louder
As they stand out of their seats.
The Millennium Stadium
Is their National rugby ground
You need to see a Welsh rugby match
To enjoy the immense sound.
The Three Feathers as a logo
Sits right above Welsh hearts
They sing their National Anthem
Before the Rugby starts.
So come on the Welsh rugby teams
Play the game like a proper side
Because the Nation is behind you
So play the game with pride.
poem by Katie Evans
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Stranger's Song
(As sung by Mr. Charles Charrington in the play of "The Three Wayfarers")
O MY trade it is the rarest one,
Simple shepherds all--
My trade is a sight to see;
For my customers I tie, and take 'em up on high,
And waft 'em to a far countree!
My tools are but common ones,
Simple shepherds all--
My tools are no sight to see:
A little hempen string, and a post whereon to swing,
Are implements enough for me!
To-morrow is my working day,
Simple shepherds all--
To-morrow is a working day for me:
For the farmer's sheep is slain, and the lad who did it ta'en,
And on his soul may God ha' mer-cy!
poem by Thomas Hardy
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Words
words are riddle
tools of my trade
what am I?
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Word Specific
Words are chosen stock tools
defining fermenting my memorable trade
what specific species of being be I?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Word Riddle
words are riddle
tools of my trade
what am I?
encased in image
landscape visage
symbolic privilege
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Plays & Scenes
You are an actor
Your work is beautiful
With your plays & scenes
You always know what to do
You play many characters
You play happy
You play sad
You play mean
You play yourself
Masks fade away unless they are waterproof(In this case they're not)
Your tools are tears
Your tools are faces
Your tools are glasses
Your tools are smiles and Moustaches
Lights, camera, action.
Scene 1: Laughter fills the air
You're being a goof
Laughing it up in class
Who would ever expect you of being sad
Nobody ofcourse
You are a genius
You fool everyone
That is everyone but yourself
Scene 2: You go into your room and scream into your pillow
You let out a wail
You're holding the pillow so tightly to your face
You feel as though you are sophocating
Angry words flash through your head
'I hate you! I wish you were dead! '
You feel no one cares
Understandable.
Yes or no?
Scene 3: Get out of the way
I never liked you
I never will! you exclaim
When will you wake up
I'm leaving and I'm never coming back!
You feel anger
I guess being mean
I know you don't want to admit it
But it's the truth
Scene 4: I'm loved by the people I love
I'm cared about by the people I care about
I love The Strokes & drawing pictures by hand(I'm not a cheater, sometimes)
I try my hardest & try not to give up
I never want to be alone but it is an issue I face
I cry a lot due to my issues
But I really don't care what people think
Yourself is me.
And even though I hate myself sometimes
I love being me
So, I'm not going anywhere yet.
poem by Kamilla Davila
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Big Speech
Sentences are big, small as well,
Their tailors stupidly work
And the tools split when words are built.
The tools are a spirit, a well-being, a promise,
The tools benefit us in soothing ways.
The sentences become a speech for the royal kings,
They think overall that they own them,
Giving work and problems, saving us, living with danger.
The intelligence of a wish is that of writing
And poetry.
Words spell what we know,
They always now keep magic
That the king sows deep in the land.
poem by Naveed Akram
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A vote for Japan is a vote for the future of rugby. We will do our best to make rugby a global sport.
quote by Yoshiro Mori
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Dont Paint Myself Into Corners
(rebecca lynn howard/trey bruce)
It took a while for me to see things as they were
In the light of truth
It wasnt you,it was me
I let myself get used to drowning in the hurt
Against the wall
Whod of thought,it was me
From there I couldnt even look over my shoulder
I kicked down all the walls and started all over
And I dont paint myself into corners anymore
In a brittle heart of clay
I threw my brushes away
The tools of the trade that chained your memory to me
Are out the door
I dont paint myself into corners anymore
When you left you left me with no other choice at all
But to sink
To my knees,and cry
I never knew just how far a soul could fall
Like a rock
I couldnt stop,didnt try
I locked myself behind shades of misery
But when I let you go,i set myself free
And I dont paint myself into corners anymore
In a brittle heart of clay
I threw my brushes away
The tools of the trade that chained your memory to me
Are out the door
I dont paint myself into corners anymore
The tools of the trade that chained your memory to me
Are out the door
I dont paint myself into corners anymore
song performed by by Trisha Yearwood
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Words are the basic tools, if you are a writer. But why? Why do you choose one set of tools rather than another?
quote by James D. Houston
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I like to think I play rugby as it should be played - there are no yellow or red cards in my collection - but I cannot say I'm an angel.
quote by Jonny Wilkinson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Saxon Song
Tools with the comely names,
Mattock and scythe and spade,
Couth and bitter as flames,
Clean, and bowed in the blade,--
A man and his tools make a man and his trade.
Breadth of the English shires,
Hummock and kame and mead,
Tang of the reeking byres,
Land of the English breed,--
A man and his land make a man and his creed.
Leisurely flocks and herds,
Cool-eyed cattle that come
Mildly to wonted words,
Swine that in orchards roam,--
A man and his beasts make a man and his home.
Children sturdy and flaxen
Shouting in brotherly strife,
Like the land they are Saxon,
Sons of a man and his wife,--
For a man and his loves make a man and his life.
poem by Victoria Sackville-West
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Without the right tools, we can't police our markets from illegal trade.
quote by Chris Chocola
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Box From The Attic
A Father's Medals World War One
The wrist band from a stillborn son
The first picture of the two (now three)
An Old Irish Fiddle, Left to me
My Rugby Jersey old and Blue
My Son’s first Rugby Jersey too
A silver frame, the self same smile
My wife’s Pennant (She ran the mile)
War department Telegram (a death)
My wife’s Mothers Christening dress
my first handcraft (a mat of reeds)
My Father’s Mothers Rosary beads
A picture of our son at play
a memento of my graduation day
My wife’s Pearl backed wedding book
Big Peter's number (what a crook)
The box is almost empty now
Forgotten memories, but how?
The pride, the Lose, the answered Call
The pain, the joy, I knew them all.
poem by Bill Mitton
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The National Game Of Australia
The National game of Australia is Australian Rules Football
And the Aussies who love their game say 'tis the greatest game of all
Soccer, Rugby Union and Rugby League and Cricket have their roots elsewhere
But no truer Aussie sportsman than an Aussie Rules footy player,
A game born on Australian soil it surely is Australia's own
And the legend of great footy players in their deaths has even grown
In September at the famed M C G in Melbourne on A F L Grand Final Day
Close to one hundred thousand people flock to watch Australia's best teams play
Though many like both codes of rugby and cricket and soccer a game that is played Worldwide
Australia's National game is Aussie Rules to many that's a source of pride
The National Game of Australia and it's great claim to fame
Is that it was born and bred in Australia and is the only true Australian Game
And it surely is a true Aussie as Aussie as can be
And though some others may like introduced games far better with what I say many would agree.
poem by Francis Duggan
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My own experience has been that the tools I need for my trade are paper, tobacco, food, and a little whisky.
quote by William Faulkner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Today I am sixteen again
A statue stands at the gate
of the school,
marking a place of distinction
where children get the highest grades
in the country
play rugby, cricket
and golf at international level.
Today I am sixteen again
and have to go home
as the school has been closed
because of intimidation
by union thugs, from a union
to which the teachers here
do not belong.
Five minibus taxis’s stopped
in the school yard
and black adults got out,
threw bricks through windows,
set the rugby, hockey and soccer fields alight
by splashing gasoline
and the police do not intervene.
The principal is scared
about our safety
and although the teachers here
are not on strike,
school has been cancelled
and the country is going to the ground,
falling to pieces
while a union is striking.
poem by Gert Strydom
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What that book does for me is give me the tools in the same way that I had the tools when I learned the regular scales or the alphabet. If you give me the tools, the syntax, and the grammar, it still doesn't tell me how to write Ulysses.
quote by David Baker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am a firm believer in free but fair trade. However the United States should not be on the losing end of trade agreements that are not enforced. It is time that we make China play fairly.
quote by Elizabeth Dole
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Be Happy And Live On
A wise man once told me
There is no reason to regret
He said life is way too short
Why must we always fret
I watched his eyes and smiled
He had answers and truth
The story he told me one day
And those words came proof
Be Happy And Live On
His hair was whiter then snow
His eyes a dull sleepy blue
Such a joyful smile in his face
And a heart of gold how true
A farmer in his own trade
Years of hard working hands
But he was so very much more
He was a to me a magic man
Be Happy And Live On
One day sad news came across
The old man had passed away
Tears ran down my eyes hard
I had nothing anymore to say
It's hard to really be so strong
But his words live on and on
Be Happy And Live On
poem by Suelynn Walters
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