Sight Seeing.
Walking around the Arc de Triomphe
Looking up at the names carved in the
Walls wondering if you’d see any names
Of distant relatives carved up there
Amongst the brave and fallen knowing
The coach would be waiting soon and
Wanting to see more and take in the
Atmosphere of the place trying to avoid
The other foreigners with their cameras
And tourist garb and glasses wishing to
Capture with your eyes images for your
Minds to feed on and remember when
You lie in bed and talk with the lights
Out and seeing now the coach driver and
Guide waving their arms you know it’s
Time for you and your lady to go back to
The coach and sit and wait for the next
City sight and the coming of a Paris night.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Dead Coach
At night when sick folk wakeful lie,
I heard the dead coach passing by,
And heard it passing wild and fleet,
And knew my time was come not yet.
Click-clack, click-clack, the hoofs went past,
Who takes the dead coach travels fast,
On and away through the wild night,
The dead must rest ere morning light.
If one might follow on its track
The coach and horses, midnight black,
Within should sit a shape of doom
That beckons one and all to come.
God pity them to-night who wait
To hear the dead coach at their gate,
And him who hears, though sense be dim,
The mournful dead coach stop for him.
He shall go down with a still face,
And mount the steps and take his place,
The door be shut, the order said!
How fast the pace is with the dead!
Click-clack, click-clack, the hour is chill,
The dead coach climbs the distant hill.
Now, God, the Father of us all,
Wipe Thou the widow’s tears that fall!
poem by Katharine Tynan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
There was a coach driver called Ken,
Took us to Newquay and back hyem,
We all rocked with laughter
At his Geordie banter,
That witty coach driver called Ken.
quote by by Edith Oram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
An Old Song Re-sung
As I went down through Dublin city
At the hour of twelve of the night,
Who did I see but a Spanish lady
Washing her feet by candle light.
First she washed them,
Then she dried them,
All by a fire of amber coals,
In all my life I never did see
A maid so neat about the soles.
I asked her would she come a-walking,
And we went on where the small bats flew,
A coach I called then to instate her,
And on we went till the grey cocks crew.
Combs of amber
In her hair were,
And her eyes had every spell,
In all my life I never did see
A maid whom I could love so well.
But when I came to where I found her,
And set her down from the halted coach,
Who was there waiting, his arms folded,
But that fatal swordsman, Tiger Roache?
Then blades were out,
And 'twas thrust and cut,
And never wrist gave me more affright,
Till I lay low upon the floor
Where she stood holding the candle light.
But, O ye bucks of Dublin city,
If I should see at twelve of the night,
In any chamber, such lovely lady
Washing her feet by candle light,
And drying o'er
Soles neat as hers,
All by a fire of amber coal
Your blades be dimmed! I'd whisper her,
And take her for a midnight stroll!
poem by Padraic Colum
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Trouble In The Gym
The gym is a place nobody wants to be,
you have the coach yelling at you,
the ropes get loose when you're climbing and you fall off,
people are shoving you down during inline hockey,
nobody calls a foul when you get run over in basketball,
you argue with the coach,
you have to take your shirt off in shirts versus skins football,
you look really skinny when you can't bear to look at anybody who's a skin,
the obstacle course is rather a torture device,
and you get beat down in track and field.
Don't you just want to avoid this torture?
The Joy if Church Fellowship Rightly Attended
In heaven soaring up, I dropped an ear
On earth: and Oh, sweet melody:
And listening, found it was the saints who were
Encroached for Heaven that sang for joy.
For in Christ's coach they sweetly sing,
As they to glory ride therein.
Oh, joyous hearts! Enfired with holy flame!
Is speech thus tassled with praise?
Will not your inward fire of joy contain:
That it in open flames doth blaze?
For in Christ's coach saints sweetly sing,
As they to glory ride therein.
And if a string do slip by chance, they soon
Do screw it up again, whereby
They set it in a more melodious tune
And a diviner harmony.
For in Christ's coach they sweetly sing,
As they to glory ride therein.
In all their acts, public and private, nay,
And secret too, they praise impart.
But in their acts divine and worship, they
With hymns do offer up their heart.
Thus in Christ's coach they sweetly sing,
As they to glory ride therein.
Some few not in; and some whose time and place
Block up this coach's way do go
As travelers afoot, and so do trace
The road that gives them right thereto,
While in this coach these sweetly sing,
As they to glory ride therein.
poem by Edward Taylor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Through Paris 1970
As you rode through Paris
in the packed coach
the radio played
Beethoven's Piano Concerto #5
and Mamie
sat beside you
her head to one side
sleeping
her mouth open
like some fish
out of water
her hands tucked
between her thighs
her blue skirt
riding high
and the slow movement
of the Beethoven piece
began
the piano playing softy
as the bright lights
of Paris
lit up
the dull space
inside the coach
and you closed your eyes
laying a hand
surreptiously
over hers
hearing the piano
and orchestra
as if in a dream
and Mamie
never minded
your hand
on hers
or so you thought then
and as now
it would seem.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Coney Island Baby
You know, man, when I was a young man in high school
You believe in or not I wanted to play football for the coach
And all those older guys
They said he was mean and cruel, but you know
Wanted to play football for the coach
They said I was to little too light weight to play line-backer
So I say Im playing right-end
Wanted to play football for the coach
cause, you know some day, man
You gotta stand up straight unless youre gonna fall
Then youre gone to die
And the straightest dude
I ever knew was standing right for me all the time
So I had to play football for the coach
And I wanted to play football for the coach
When youre all alone and lonely
In your midnight hour
And you find that your soul
Its been up for sale
And you begin to think bout
All the things that youve done
And you begin to hate
Just bout everything
But remember the princess who lived on the hill
Who loved you even though she knew you was wrong
And right now she just might come shining through
And the -
- glory of love, glory of love
Glory of love, just might come through
And all your two-bit friends
Have gone and ripped you off
Theyre talking behind your back saying, man
Youre never going to be no human being
And you start thinking again
bout all those things that youve done
And who it was and what it was
And all the different things you made every different scene
Ahhh, but remember that the city is a funny place
Something like a circus or a sewer
And just remember different people have peculiar tastes
And the -
- glory of love, the glory of love
The glory of love, might see you through
Yeah, but now, now
Glory of love, the glory of love
The glory of love, might see you through
Glory of love, ah, huh, huh, the glory of love
Glory of love, glory of love
Glory of love, now, glory of love, now
Glory of love, now, now, now, glory of love
Glory of love, give it to me now, glory of love see you through
Oh, my coney island baby, now
(Im a coney island baby, now)
Id like to send this one out for lou and rachel
And all the kids and p.s. 192
Coney island baby
Man, Id swear, Id give the whole thing up for you
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I manage a team, for beach soccer. I'm the coach. Player, coach.
quote by Eric Cantona
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The foolish pride
Being a kin to a coach’s owner
Sanctions me no right to ride the coach.
Yet I am foolishly proud of him
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
This year my role is clear: I am a coach, a coach to sportsmen.
quote by Anatoli Boukreev
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
When I was in university, my dream was to be a coach, like a high school track coach. Not to teach.
quote by Victoria Pratt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
There are times I might coach one or two workouts a year when the regular coach gets caught in traffic.
quote by Mark Spitz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
You've got to be actively involved in the process yourself and you've got to listen carefully to what the coach is saying, take that on board yourself and implement what the coach is saying.
quote by Lynn Davies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I'll wait for you in Paris
I'll wait for you in Paris
Under the mouth of the Eiffel tower
I'll wait under Van Gough's starry sky
I'll wait by the Mona Lisa's smile
I'll wait by the glitzy lights of the arms of the Moulin rouge
Here I'll always be waiting for you
I'll wait by the great doors of Notre Dame
Under the famous rose glass window
I'll wait for you by the frown of Arc de Triomphe
Standing above the lonely bones of the Unknown Soldier
I'll always wait for you
In this city where I have never died
I'll always wait for you
Till you are here by my side
poem by Guinevere Eveleigh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
But at some point, we've got to have disciplined play and have got to coach better. I'm not putting it on the players. We've got to coach them to tackle and block better. It's as simple as that. If we can do those things, we'll have a chance.
quote by Steve Spurrier
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
I'm a bit surprised that the Raiders turned to Art Shell to be their new head coach, not because Shell isn't a good head coach - he had success before as the Raiders' head coach - but because he's been away from the game so long and the game has changed a lot in those years.
quote by Ron Jaworski
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Day Jane Fainted
Jane fainted in the town
by the coach
on Saturday morning
and her mother
and other women
were around her
and you stood
a little way away
wondering what
had happened to her
I think it must be
that time of the month
you heard one woman say
maybe
her mother said
but she's not usually
like this
she added
will she be all right?
you asked
bending down
next to one
of the women
who had gathered
her mother looked at you
and said
yes it happens
at certain times
of the month
oh right
you said
none the wiser
gazing at Jane
at her dark hair
her eyes closed
her features
white and sweaty
best give her some air
her mother said
and you all stood up
and her mother
fanned her
with her hat
then after a minute or so
Jane opened her eyes
and said
what happened?
I went all funny
and everything went white
you fainted
her mother said
waving the hat
in front of Jane's face
I want to get up
Jane said
and so you
and her mother
helped her
to her feet
and she leaned
against the wall
of the bank
and looked around
she'll be all right now
a woman said
it happens
another said
after a few minutes
they went off
to the shops
leaving you
and your mother
and Jane
and her mother
standing by the coach
I'll be all right now
Jane said
ok
her mother said
and you all walked
along the street
to the shops
Jane walking behind
with you
her hand stealthily
reaching down
for yours and giving it
a little squeeze
then releasing it again
looking up at the sky
which had become dark
threatening rain.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Coach Of Life
Although her load is sometimes heavy,
The coach moves at an easy pace;
The dashing driver, gray-haired time
Drives on, secure upon his box.
At dawn we gaily climb aboard her
We're ready for a crazy ride,
And scorning laziness and languor,
We shout: 'Get on, there! Don't delay!'
But midday finds our courage wane,
We're shaken now: and at this hour
Both hills and dales inspire dread.
We shout: 'Hold on, drive slower, fool!'
The coach drives on just as before;
By eve we are used to it,
And doze as we attain our inn.
While Time just drives the horses on.
poem by Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Girl Who Held Your Hand
You got on the coach
for the day trip
organized by the chapel people
for kids who were poor
and this girl
sat next to you
and said
you can be my boyfriend
for the day
and she took hold
of your hand
and gave it a squeeze
and you looked out
of the window
at your mother
standing there
looking up at the coach
and you thought
is this part of the deal?
Is this girl for real?
And Mother waved
and smiled
and you smiled
uneasily back
with the girl’s hand
holding yours
out of sight
and she looked
over your shoulder
and waved
but no one
waved back to her
because her mother
wasn’t there
maybe she was off somewhere
or had to go to work
or maybe
she was still in bed
with another uncle
beneath the sheets
and maybe
he was holding her hand
and she was holding
something you never knew
or cared about
just sitting there
waving to Mother
beneath a sky of blue.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
On Time
I aint got time , only got a dime to make a last call
Im gettin soaking wet and it aint rained yet since last fall
I got myself a coach ticket on the southern railroad line
I dont have to worry cause I know it never leaves on time
Late last night we made love and evrything was all right
You walked out the door and the only thing I saw was the hall light
I got myself a coach ticket on the southern railroad line
I dont have to worry cause I know it never leaves on time
(break)
Why didnt you see that you dont feel the same way as I do
I understood before that you couldnt take much more as I knew
I got myself a coach ticket on the southern railroad line
I dont have to worry cause I know it never leaves on time
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!