In The Days Of Crinoline
A plain tilt-bonnet on her head
She took the path across the leaze.
- Her spouse the vicar, gardening, said,
'Too dowdy that, for coquetries,
So I can hoe at ease.'
But when she had passed into the heath,
And gained the wood beyond the flat,
She raised her skirts, and from beneath
Unpinned and drew as from a sheath
An ostrich-feathered hat.
And where the hat had hung she now
Concealed and pinned the dowdy hood,
And set the hat upon her brow,
And thus emerging from the wood
Tripped on in jaunty mood.
The sun was low and crimson-faced
As two came that way from the town,
And plunged into the wood untraced….
When separately therefrom they paced
The sun had quite gone down.
The hat and feather disappeared,
The dowdy hood again was donned,
And in the gloom the fair one neared
Her home and husband dour, who conned
Calmly his blue-eyed blonde.
'To-day,' he said, 'you have shown good sense,
A dress so modest and so meek
Should always deck your goings hence
Alone.' And as a recompense
He kissed her on the cheek.
poem by Thomas Hardy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Shoo Fly Pie & Apple Pan Dowdy
If you wanna do right by your appetite,
If youre fussy about your food,
Take a choo-choo today, head new england way,
And well put you in the happiest mood. with:
Shoo fly pie and apple pan dowdy
Makes your eyes light up,
Your tummy say howdy.
Shoo fly pie and apple pan dowdy
I never get enough of that wonderful stuff.
Shoo fly pie and apple pan dowdy makes the sun come out
When heavens are cloudy,
Shoo fly pie and apple pan dowdy,
I never get enough of that wonderful stuff!
Mama! when you bake,
Mama! I dont want cake;
Mama! for my sake
Go to the oven and make some ever lovin sh,
Shoo fly pie and apple pan dowdy
Makes your eyes light up,
Your tummy say howdy,
Shoo fly pie and apple pan dowdy
I never get enough of that wonderful stuff!
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lamia in Blackburn Wood
[In the form of traditional folk ballad.]
I
In Blackburn Wood a maid betrothed
that rode a garlanded mare
by cutthroat maimed for maidenhood
writhed in crimson there.
Dislimbed beneath a shrieking sun
and left for carrion-kite,
the savaged maid survived their beaks,
and slithered into night.
II
By summer's end, to Blackburn Wood
a sheath of night returned;
beneath its hood and tapered robe
maiden vengeance burned.
'Disrobe and yield or fall in blood,
this blade rejects all pleas:
I leave a maid a looping asp
that will not lift her knees.'
'I'll shed my robe and hood that am
no maid to fear such thing;
to chill your blazing blood I bear
a maiden's righteous sting.'
III
A lethal hiss cut short his grunts,
bestial snarl hardened to stone,
as ramping venom drained him faint
and pale as weathered bone.
Up from a clump of blasted weeds
there rose in mid-day light
from cutthroat's ribs and skull, pecked clean,
a flock of swollen kite.
A field away a sheath of scales,
resembling robe and hood,
curled round a broken garland
redeemed in Blackburn Wood.
*(Lamia in Greek myth is a serpent with the head
and breasts of a woman.)
poem by William F Dougherty
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Through The Wood
THROUGH the wood, the green wood, the wet wood, the light wood,
Love and I went maying a thousand lives ago;
Shafts of golden sunlight had made a golden bright wood
In my heart reflected, because I loved you so.
Through the wood, the chill wood, the brown wood, the bare wood,
I alone went lonely no later than last year,
What had thinned the branches, and wrecked my dear and fair wood,
Killed the pale wild roses and left the rose-thorns sere?
Through the wood, the dead wood, the sad wood, the lone wood,
Winds of winter shiver through lichens old and grey,
You ride past forgetting the wood that was our own wood
All our own--and withered as ever a flower of May.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Purple Stain
To finger paint is not a sin
I put my middle finger in
Your monthly blood is what I win
I'm in your house now let me spin
Python power straight from Monty
Celluloid loves got a John Frusciante
Spread your head and spread the blanket
She's too free and I'm the patient
Black and white a red and blue
Things that look good on you
And if I scream don't let me go
A purple stain - I know
Knock on wood we all stay good
'Cause we all live in Hollywood
With Dracula and Darla Hood
Unspoken words were understood
Up to my ass in alligators
Let's get it on with the alligator haters
Did what you did - did what you said
What's the point yo what's the spread
Black and white a red and blue
Things that look good on you
And if I scream don't let me go
A purple stain - I know
And if I call for you to stay
Come hit the funk on your way
It's way out there but I don't care
'Cause this is where - I go
Knock on wood we all stay good
'Cause we all live in Hollywood
With Dracula and Darla Hood
Unspoken words were understood
It's way out there
But I don't care
'Cause this is what
I want to wear
Knock on wood we all stay good
'Cause we all live in Hollywood
To finger paint is not a sin
I put my middle finger in
Your monthly blood is what I win
I'm in your house now let me spin
Feather light but you can't move this
Farley is an angel and I can prove this
Purple is a stain upon my pillow
Let's Sleep weeping willow
Black and white a red and blue
Things that look good on you
And if I scream don't let me go
A purple stain - I know
And if I call for you to stay
Come hit the funk on your way
It's way out there but I don't care
'Cause this is where - I go
Knock on wood we all stay good
'Cause we all live in Hollywood
With Dracula and Darla Hood
Unspoken words were understood
It's way out there
But I don't care
'Cause this is what
I want to wear
Knock on wood we all stay good
'Cause we all live in Hollywood
song performed by by Red Hot Chili Peppers from Californication
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Impromptu
On a young girl showing me a scar on her cheek where a stick of wood struck her.
In its own place 'tis very good
Always to have plenty of wood ;
But, striking fair maid, that is rude,
And puts me in an angry mood.
poem by James McIntyre
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In Bad Mood
I’m in bad mood
Don’t try to sooth
I’m ready to shoot
I’ll track till your root
I’m in bad mood
Don’t trick me smooth
I’m going to be no good
Even you run away to the wood
I’m in bad mood
Don’t need shielding hood
You’ll become my delicious food
And a fun play for my boot
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Variations on a Theme by Joyce
The war is in words and the wood is the world
That turns beneath our rootless feet;
the vines that reach, alive and snarled,
Across the path where the sand is swirled,
Twist in the night. The light lies flat.
The war is in words and the wood is the world.
The rain is ruin and our ruin rides
The swiftest winds; the wood is whorled
And turned and smoothed by the turning tides.
--There is rain in the woods, slow rain that breeds
The war in the words. The wood is the world.
This rain is ruin and our ruin rides.
The war is in words and the wood is the world,
Sourceless and seized and forever filled
With green vine twisting on wood more gnarled
Than dead men's hands. The vines are curled
Around these branches, crushed and killed.
The war is in words and the wood is the world.
poem by Weldon Kees
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Red Riding-hood
Into the wood - the dark, dark wood -
Forth went the happy child;
And, in its stillest solitude,
Talked to herself, and smiled;
And closer drew the scarlet Hood
About her ringlets wild.
And now at last she threads the maze,
And now she need not fear;
Frowning, she meets the sudden blaze
Of moonlight falling clear;
Nor trembles she, nor turns, nor stays,
Although the Wolf be near.
poem by Lewis Carroll
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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My Bonnet Of Blue
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
Its gossamer fineness I'll sing to you;
For a delicate fabric in sooth it was,
All trimmed and finified off with gauze.
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
How well I remember thy azure hue!
To church I wore it, one pleasant day,
Bedecked in ribbons of fanciful ray;
And all the while I sat on my seat
I thought of naught save my bonnet so neat.
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
Broke not my heart when I bade thee adieu?
When service was over, my steps I bent
Towards home, a-nodding my head as I went
But, alas for my bonnet! there came a wind
And blew it away, for the strings were not pinned.
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
What shifting scenes have been thine to pass through!
I raised my eyes to the calm, blue sky,
There sailed my bonnet serene and high!
O, what a feeling of hopeless woe
Stole over me then, no heart may know!
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
As clear as the sky was thy azure hue!
'Twas vain to mourn for my bonnet, and yet
It taught me a lesson I shall not forget;
'Twas, never to make you an idol of clay,
For when you best love them they'll fly away.
My bonnet of blue, my bonnet of blue,
I loved thee well, but thou wert untrue!
poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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The Wood By The Sea
I DWELL in the wood that is dark and kind
But afar off tolls the main,
Afar, far off I hear the wind,
And the roving of the rain.
The shade is dark as a palmer's hood,
The air with balm is bland:
But I wish the trees that breathe in the wood
Were ashes in God's hand.
The pines are weary of holding nests,
Are aweary of casting shade;
Wearily smoulder the resin crests
In the pungent gloom of the glade.
Weary are all the birds of sleep,
The nests are weary of wings,
The whole wood yearns to the swaying deep,
The mother of restful things.
The wood is very old and still,
So still when the dead cones fall,
Near in the vale or away on the hill,
You can hear them one and all.
And their falling wearies me;
If mine were the will of God,–oh, then
The wood should tramp to the sounding sea,
Like a marching army of men!
But I dwell in the wood that is dark and kind,
Afar off tolls the main;
Afar, far off I hear the wind
And the roving of the rain.
poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
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My Sage Green Robe
I sit on my bed, and look across at my sage green towelling robe,
hanging on the back of the bedroom door.
Does he still 'fancy' me,
when I'm wearing it,
probably not,
it's not 'sexy', rather 'frumpy' really,
not at all an 'exciting' piece of clothing.
A dowdy bird,
dowdy and unheard!
I think that's me!
A 'new' me, must emerge from that robe.
A butterfly from a chrysalis,
A rose from a bud.
I think I need an overhaul, and a new 'robe',
like you see the 'famous' wearing,
in their 'penthouses'.
A glorious creation of satin and silk,
like flowing cream and milk.
Mind you, my towelling robe, hangs next to his towelling robe,
so perhaps we will do the same, and remain side by side,
and perhaps he loves me for other things than just being,
glamorous.
Hanging there, they look at peace with each other,
so I think I'll stick with my sage green towelling robe,
it cuddles me, just like he does!
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Sea-Saw (more writing fun)
If I saw a wood boat afloat
Upon the sea,
Would what I see possibly be
The wood I cut from a tree?
For when I saw a tree
I would like to think I see,
What the wood I saw
Could be.
If all I saw in wood from a tree
Was all I saw that there was to see,
Would what I did saw
Be the wood that I now see?
And if the wood I once did saw
Was indeed made into that ship on the sea,
Would it even be possible to know that here what I see
Is the wood once sawed by me?
All I here would dare to share is:
I see what I saw, and I saw what I see,
And therefore the wood I do saw could one day be
The boat I may see, afloat upon the sea.
See?
poem by Smoky Hoss
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You don't have to be dowdy to be a Christian.
quote by Tammy Faye Bakker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Red Riding-Hood
Sweet little myth of the nursery story--
Earliest love of mine infantile breast,
Be something tangible, bloom in thy glory
Into existence, as thou art addressed!
Hasten! appear to me, guileless and good--
Thou are so dear to me, Red Riding-Hood!
Azure-blue eyes, in a marvel of wonder,
Over the dawn of a blush breaking out;
Sensitive nose, with a little smile under
Trying to hide in a blossoming pout--
Couldn't be serious, try as you would,
Little mysterious Red Riding-Hood!
Hah! little girl, it is desolate, lonely,
Out in this gloomy old forest of Life!--
Here are not pansies and buttercups only--
Brambles and briers as keen as a knife;
And a Heart, ravenous, trails in the wood
For the meal have he must,--Red Riding-Hood!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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In New York I was always offered the hot, sexy roles. But in L.A. I was offered the plain, dowdy roles. It says a lot about the difference between the coasts.
quote by Bebe Neuwirth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Little Red Riding Hood and the Wolf
As soon as Wolf began to feel
That he would like a decent meal,
He went and knocked on Grandma's door.
When Grandma opened it, she saw
The sharp white teeth, the horrid grin,
And Wolfie said, 'May I come in?'
Poor Grandmamma was terrified,
'He's going to eat me up!' she cried.
And she was absolutely right.
He ate her up in one big bite.
But Grandmamma was small and tough,
And Wolfie wailed, 'That's not enough!
I haven't yet begun to feel
That I have had a decent meal!'
He ran around the kitchen yelping,
'I've got to have a second helping!'
Then added with a frightful leer,
'I'm therefore going to wait right here
Till Little Miss Red Riding Hood
Comes home from walking in the wood.'
He quickly put on Grandma's clothes,
(Of course he hadn't eaten those).
He dressed himself in coat and hat.
He put on shoes, and after that,
He even brushed and curled his hair,
Then sat himself in Grandma's chair.
In came the little girl in red.
She stopped. She stared. And then she said,
'What great big ears you have, Grandma.'
'All the better to hear you with,'
the Wolf replied.
'What great big eyes you have, Grandma.'
said Little Red Riding Hood.
'All the better to see you with,'
the Wolf replied.
He sat there watching her and smiled.
He thought, I'm going to eat this child.
Compared with her old Grandmamma,
She's going to taste like caviar.
Then Little Red Riding Hood said, '
But Grandma, what a lovely great big
furry coat you have on.'
'That's wrong!' cried Wolf.
'Have you forgot
To tell me what BIG TEETH I've got?
Ah well, no matter what you say,
I'm going to eat you anyway.'
The small girl smiles. One eyelid flickers.
She whips a pistol from her knickers.
She aims it at the creature's head,
And bang bang bang, she shoots him dead.
A few weeks later, in the wood,
I came across Miss Riding Hood.
But what a change! No cloak of red,
No silly hood upon her head.
She said, 'Hello, and do please note
My lovely furry wolfskin coat.'
poem by Roald Dahl
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The Forest Pool
LOST amid gloom and solitude,
A pool lies hidden in the wood,
A pool the autumn rain has made
Where flowers with their fair shadows played.
Bare as a beggar's board, the trees
Stand in the water to their knees;
The birds are mute, but far away
I hear a bloodhound's sullen bay.
Blue-eyed forget-me-nots that shook,
Kissed by a little laughing brook,
Kissed too by you with lips so red,
Float in the water drowned and dead.
And dead and drowned 'mid leaves that rot,
Our angel-eyed Forget-me-not,
The love of unforgotten years,
Floats corpse-like in a pool of tears
poem by Mathilde Blind
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Murder!
Crime,
Murder,
Conversely;
It can be influenced on your mood,
But there are also prominent leaders around us.
Wood, mood, food, hood, rood;
I cam make a difference and you can make a difference too,
But not with murder!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Knock On Wood
I dont want to lose the good thing that Ive got
If I do, I will surely, I will lose a lot
For your love is better than any love other Ive know
Its like thunder, lightning
The way you love me is frightening
I better knock on wood
Baby
I got superstitious about you, but I cant take change
You got me spinning, baby, spinning in a trance
But your love is better than any other love Ive known
Its like thunder, lightning
The way you love me is frightening
You better knock on wood
Its no secret, but that woman fills my lovin cup
She sees, so ready, that I get enough
And her love is better than any other love Ive known
Its like thunder
Its like lightning
The way you love me is frightening
I better knock on wood
Baby
Better, yes, better
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) yes, I better
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) oh, knock on wood
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) you know I would, would
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) its no secret
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) no, oh, better
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) hangin above me
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) I cant leave her
(yes you better knock, knock, knock on wood) oh no, baby
Knock on wood, woo!
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hill slope
Down on the hill slope a tree was there with flowers on it,
Season came and season goes,
it remain there with shade and fruits to give,
Small wood pecker or big owl,
all were there as it was there home to live,
One day a wood cutter found it useful to him,
he thought it to cut and takes its wood to sell in city,
birds and squirrel on tree helplessly saw the tree,
they tried to make noise,
but it didn't affected the woodcutter in the need
he cut down the tree to take the wood,
the tree on hiill slope became log of wood,
weak protest of bird and animals,
on it was not enough,
to save the tree.
tree full of life became silent as saying what was my fault,
is it only there right to live,
but yes its true only humans here,
are powerfull and can do anything to live and win,
hill slope became barren and dry like desert
poor tree however it was home for many
didn't found the place on to live on earth.
the reason it don't understand
why it is weak and meek.not able to
survive and get its right to stay alive to give shade and life to others.
poem by Hemu Gupta
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