Tit for Tat
Have you been catching fish, Tom Noddy?
Have you snared a weeping hare?
Have you whistled 'No Nunny' and gunned a poor bunny,
Or blinded a bird of the air?
Have you trod like a murderer through the green woods,
Through the dewy deep dingles and glooms,
While every small creature screamed shrill to Dame Nature
'He comes - and he comes!'?
Wonder I very much do,Tom Noddy,
If ever, when off you roam,
An ogre from space will stoop a lean face,
And lug you home:
Lug you home over his fence, Tom Noddy,
Of thorn-sticks nine yards high,
With your bent knees strung round his old iron gun
And your head a dan-dangling by:
And hung you up stiff on a hook, Tom Noddy,
From a stone-cold pantry shelf,
Whence your eyes will glare in an empty stare,
Till you are cooked yourself!
poem by Walter de la Mare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
The Green Woods Of Truagh
In the green woods of Truagh we met without fear,
Your kiss on my lips, and your voice in my ear,
Your tender arms about me, and your eyes glad and clear–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
In the green woods of Truagh the days go on wings,
On every brown branch a gladsome bird sings
And the fragrant amber blossom of the honey-suckle swings–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
In the green woods of Truagh the bracken stands high,
And wells of spring-water in deep hollows lie,
And the red deer is browsing in the cool shadows nigh–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
In the green woods of Truagh no sorrow dared stay,
The lark called me early at dawn o' the day,
And o'er my sleep at night pleasant dreams used to play–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
In the green woods of Truagh you wait till I come–
I left home and you for the stranger's far home,
To bring a hoard of yellow gold across the grey foam–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
In the green woods of Truagh–if God hears my prayer–
I shall reach you, O true love, my empty hands there,
For little of the yellow gold has fallen to my share–
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
In the green woods of Truagh–your heart on my own,
And your bright hair in ringlets across my cheek blown
Now where in all the wide, wide world, could greater bliss be known?
Ochón, the Green Woods of Truagh!
poem by Anna Johnston MacManus
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Deep Clay (Stream V)
In mourning,
Your last morning
Bright and clear.
Clearly you wouldn't see it
For you were now blind.
I blinded by tears,
Me on this earth
You laid in earth.
Deep in your wooden home
Far from home,
In clay deep and cold.
I now lie cold
Alone on my side
Your side empty
I avoid the void
Avoid your space.
My space,
An empty space.
Empty heart
Broken heart,
No glue can mend.
poem by Paul Brookes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ogre
The ogre has round beady eyes
Children beware do not stare
Or he'll gobble you up
quick as a flash
You must make haste and dash
The ogre is twenty feet high
When he walks with his head in the sky
He swallows all the aeroplanes that go by
The ogre is a menace
He eats up little children with names like Cyril or Dennis
CHILDREN BEWARE THE OGRE.
poem by Margaret Beil
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Folk Tune
It's not that the Muse feels like clamming up,
it's more like high time for the lad's last nap.
And the scarf-waving lass who wished him the best
drives a steamroller across his chest.
And the words won't rise either like that rod
or like logs to rejoin their old grove's sweet rot,
and, like eggs in the frying pan, the face
spills its eyes all over the pillowcase.
Are you warm tonight under those six veils
in that basin of yours whose strung bottom wails;
where like fish that gasp at the foreign blue
my raw lip was catching what then was you?
I would have hare's ears sewn to my bald head,
in thick woods for your sake I'd gulp drops of lead,
and from black gnarled snags in the oil-smooth pond
I'd bob up to your face as some Tirpitz won't.
But it's not on the cards or the waiter's tray,
and it pains to say where one's hair turns gray.
There are more blue veins than the blood to swell
their dried web, let alone some remote brain cell.
We are parting for good, my friend, that's that.
Draw an empty circle on your yellow pad.
This will be me: no insides in thrall.
Stare at it a while, then erase the scrawl.
poem by Joseph Brodsky
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Somewhere In France
mother is in a coma
and I am somewhere in France
and you left me all alone at the school dance
I was sweet sixteen
you were going on sixty four
Your eyes were blue
but your words untrue 'love? '
You stood me up and left me standing at the door
I must confess in my distress I said
'I've never seen that boy before! '
But you were long gone
Before I got over you
The boy who played the trumpet
you were rotten to the core
You left me standing all alone
In the middle of the floor
and while other sweethearts jived and bopped
I sipped my lemonade and sat alone,
Gave up on love as a cruel masquerade
Disconnected every phone
Mother's in coma
And I'm a dreamer on the run
And life aint fun and I'm on the run
I'm somwhere lost in France
By the Eiffel Tower I shiver and cower
As I recall that cruel school dance
and you are probably middle aged
chronologically right for your body
your probably married a wife with Big Ears
And drive around in a car like Noddy
mother is out of her coma
And I'm catching the next train home
I'll stay for a while but then I must fly
For a long weekend in Rome
Where I will wander among the ruins
And try really hard to forget
The boy who once trumped on his trumpet
Eating a soggy bagette,
Married divorced with a wayward kid
Then I 'll fly off to spain with a heart full of rain
To relive the sorry saga over, again and again!
poem by Yvette Smith
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Song: When You Got No-One
When you got no-one,
To go home to,
And you dread the moving walls;
An empty space, you cannot face,
It ain't no place at all.
When you got no-one,
To come home to,
No warming hearth recalls,
You got no-one and then you're done,
And the whole damned thing appalls!
When you got no-one,
To go home to,
You haunt the shopping malls.
You tell yourself that's what you want:
To hang out with the girls.
When you got no-one,
To go home to;
No lusting lover just for you.
At the setting sun,
When the night's begun,
The twilight slips to blue...
When you got no reason,
To come home,
'Cause home ain't home no more.
A twisted life of constant strife's,
Not what you signed up for!
And now it's open season,
On the down and out and poor:
The billionaires shout treason,
And spin revolving doors.
When you got no-one,
To go home to,
You got no-one at all.
No bosom chums, to share the crumbs,
And turn largess to small.
When you got no-one,
No web is spun,
No gentle plan or program run;
When you got no-one,
It ain't no fun,
And the whole damned thing appalls!
When you got no home,
To go home to,
You got no home at all.
You're on your own, you're so alone.
You need shelter from the storm.
A catacomb or a covered dome,
A tomb of steel, all polished chrome;
When you got no home.
You're forced to roam,
The drop-zone when you fall.
That ain't no home at all!
poem by Dave SmithWhite
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Nine Little Goblins
They all climbed up on a high board-fence--
Nine little Goblins, with green-glass eyes--
Nine little Goblins that had no sense,
And couldn't tell coppers from cold mince pies;
And they all climbed up on the fence, and sat--
And I asked them what they were staring at.
And the first one said, as he scratched his head
With a queer little arm that reached out of his ear
And rasped its claws in his hair so red--
'This is what this little arm is fer!'
And he scratched and stared, and the next one said,
'How on earth do _you_ scratch your head?'
And he laughed like the screech of a rusty hinge--
Laughed and laughed till his face grew black;
And when he choked, with a final twinge
Of his stifling laughter, he thumped his back
With a fist that grew on the end of his tail
Till the breath came back to his lips so pale.
And the third little Goblin leered round at me--
And there were no lids on his eyes at all--
And he clucked one eye, and he says, says he,
'What is the style of your socks this fall?'
And he clapped his heels--and I sighed to see
That he had hands where his feet should be.
Then a bald-faced Goblin, gray and grim,
Bowed his head, and I saw him slip
His eyebrows off, as I looked at him,
And paste them over his upper lip;
And then he moaned in remorseful pain--
'Would--Ah, would I'd me brows again!'
And then the whole of the Goblin band
Rocked on the fence-top to and fro,
And clung, in a long row, hand in hand,
Singing the songs that they used to know--
Singing the songs that their grandsires sung
In the goo-goo days of the Goblin-tongue.
And ever they kept their green-glass eyes
Fixed on me with a stony stare--
Till my own grew glazed with a dread surmise,
And my hat whooped up on my lifted hair,
And I felt the heart in my breast snap to
As you've heard the lid of a snuff-box do.
And they sang 'You're asleep! There is no board-fence,
And never a Goblin with green-glass eyes!--
'Tis only a vision the mind invents
After a supper of cold mince-pies,--
And you're doomed to dream this way,' they said,--
'_And you sha'n't wake up till you're clean plum dead!_'
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Poor Wayfaring Stranger
(traditional)
I am a poor, wayfaring stranger
Wandering oer this world of woe
And theres no sickness, toil or danger
In that bright land to which I go
Im going home to see my father
Im going home, no more to roam
Im only going over jordan
Im only going over home
I know dark clouds will gather round me
I know my way is rough and steep
But beautious fields lie just before me
Where men redeemed their vigils keep
Im going home to see my mother
Im going there, no more to roam
Im only going over jordan
Im only going over home
song performed by by Dusty Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Better not take a dog on the space shuttle, because if he sticks his head out when you're coming home, his face might burn up.
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This House is no Longer a Home
As I walk down the lonely street
Knees get weak, can barely keep my feet
I see the fence, the gate, the porch
From where you gazed and lit my torch
I see the house, the room, the bed
Your voice still ringing in my head
You said you didn't love anymore
And you walked out the door
The walls were painted antique white
Semi-gloss to bring in the light
Pictures hung on every wall
With memories of us all
Now the fence is falling, the flowers dying
Tears fall through the cracks from all the crying
The gate is broken and no one can come in
It's a shame even the birds won't sing
But this house is no longher a home
You chose freedom, you chose to roam
This house is no longer a home
Like a beer without foam
A classic car without chrome
You chose to roam
Now this house is no longer a home
I recall that first night
We made love in the full moonlight
Tfhe air was filled with ecstasy
Our moans sang a symphony
Our bodies became one
As we ventured till the morning sun
But love doesn't live here anymore
I can still hear the slamming of the door
I can feel the vibration of every picture frame
As I stand here wondering who's to blame
poem by Alfred Ramos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A fish
He said 'there are plenty of fish in the sea.
All you have to do is go swimming to see.'
True, it would be easy to accomplish this.
But catching a fish... is not what I wish.
What fun would that be, to fish.
I need something better then that...A fish.
'Ha! , You fool that does not exist.'
My friend sometimes you should open your eyes.
Because catching everything that swims by, is not always the prize.
What if I told you to dig deep instead.
'Then I would say there is something wrong with your head.'
Perhaps you would be right, I'm sure it would be a tougher fight.
Digging hole after hole for something that is not in sight.
But what if I stumbled across a clam at the bottom of this sea.
So shiny...So bright it made all the other fish a terrible site.
And my friend whats even better then that.
Inside this clam is something to ewww and awww at.
A pearl inside of it so perfect you would be amazed.
That you would be able to do nothing but sit and gaze.
Would that be worth something to keep.
'I'm sure it would, but you have to dig so deep'
Well that's better then catching just a pretty fish, at least that's what I wish.
poem by Christopher Litten
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To a Sleeping Child
Lips, lips, open!
Up comes a little bird that lives inside
Up comes a little bird, and peeps, and out he flies.
All the day he sits inside, and sometimes he sings,
Up he comes, and out he goes at night to spread his wings.
Little bird, little bird, whither will you go?
Round about the world, while nobody can know.
Little bird, little bird, whither do you flee?
Far away around the world, while nobody can see.
Little bird, little bird, how long will you roam?
All round the world and around again home;
Round the round world, and back through the air,
When the morning comes, the little bird is there.
Back comes the little bird and looks and in he flies,
Up wakes the little boy, and opens both his eyes.
Sleep, sleep, little boy, little bird’s away,
Little bird will come again, by the peep of day;
Sleep, little boy, the little bird must go
Round about the world, while nobody can know.
Sleep, sleep sound, little bird goes round,
Round and round he goes; sleep, sleep sound.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Miss Loo
When thin-strewn memory I look through,
I see most clearly poor Miss Loo,
Her tabby cat, her cage of birds,
Her nose, her hair -- her muffled words,
And how she'd open her green eyes,
As if in some immense surprise,
Whenever as we sat at tea,
She made some small remark to me.
It's always drowsy summer when
From out the past she comes again;
The westering sunshine in a pool
Floats in her parlour still and cool;
While the slim bird its lean wires shakes,
As into piercing song it breaks
Till Peter's pale-green eyes ajar
Dream, wake; wake, dream, in one brief bar;
And I am sitting , dull and shy
And she with gaze of vacancy,
And large hands folded on the tray,
Musing the afternoon away;
Her satin bosom heaving slow
With sighs that softly ebb and flow,
And her plain face in such dismay,
It seems unkind to look her way:
Until all cheerful back will come
Her cheerful gleaming spirit home:
And one would think that poor Miss Loo
Asked nothing else, if she had you.
poem by Walter de la Mare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Balltrap
(rod stewart)
Well my brother said he saw you in a downtown bar
With a price on your head and a black man on your arm
Cmon sister, I aint quite as dumb as I seem
Id rather see you dead with a rope round your neck
Or see you paralyzed in both your thighs
Cmon honey you got me crawling down on my knees
If you say its all over Ill pack up and go
But this time tomorrow youll be screamin on the phone
Come back baby and lets get naked tonight
Well I cant say yes and I cant say no
My heart wants to love you but my soul says go
Cmon sugar why dont you let your man off the hook
You got me in a balltrap
Lord Im eating outta your hands
You got me in a balltrap, hung up on a one-night stand
You got me in a balltrap, strung out on a midnight tram
First time I had you up on ol park lane
You didnt know my name even when I came
As I recall you let me walk home in the rain
You said Im cute but tell the truth
Its my body you want with the red hot juice
Cmon honey lets call the whole thing off
You got me in a balltrap
Lord, Im eating outta your hands
You got me in a balltrap, hung up on a one-night stand
You got me in a balltrap, strung out on a midnight tram
My mama dont like you and I aint surprised
You got poison lips, you got amphetamine eyes
She keeps on saying why dont you find a nice country girl
But ma I aint never been in love before
I cant sleep or eat all week
But friday night Ill be alright
On the midnight trampoline
Its a balltrap
Lord, Im eating outta your hands
You got me in a balltrap, hung up on a one-night stand
You got me in a balltrap, strung out on a midnight tram
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cold As Stone
(pal waaktaar)
Youre back again
You roam the streets
And crack again
Youre back again
Youre travel-worn
Standing here in the town
Where you were born
Its not your home
The mirror sees you
So alone
...cold as stone
Yeah
Youre not your own
You feel a chill
Go through your bones
Youre not your own
Theres something wrong
You call you doctor
On the phone
Hes not at home
You leave a message
After the tone
Im cold as stone
Emerald green neon lights above
Sapphire red falls on you below
Cold as stone
Emerald green neon lights above
Sapphire reds fall on you below
Youre back again
You send a curse out
In to the night
Youre back again
Youre travel-worn
Standing here
In the town you were born
Its not your home
The mirror sees you
So alone
...cold as stone
Cold as stone
song performed by by A-Ha
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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This Must Be The Place
Home is where i want to be
Pick me up and turn me round
I feel numb - burn with a weak heart
(so i) guess i must be having fun
The less we say about it the better
Make it up as we go along
Feet on the ground
Head in the sky
It's ok i know nothing's wrong . . nothing
Hi yo i got plenty of time
Hi yo you got light in your eyes
And you're standing here beside me
I love the passing of time
Never for money
Always for love
Cover up + say goodnight . . . say goodnight
Home - is where i want to be
But i guess i'm already there
I come home - -she lifted up her wings
Guess that this must be the place
I can't tell one from another
Did i find you, or you find me?
There was a time before we were born
If someone asks, this where i'll be . . . where i'll be
Hi yo we drift in and out
Hi yo sing into my mouth
Out of all tose kinds of people
You got a face with a view
I'm just an animal looking for a home
Share the same space for a minute or two
And you love me till my heart stops
Love me till i'm dead
Eyes that light up, eyes look through you
Cover up the blank spots
Hit me on the head ah ooh
song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Railroad
Along the iron rails
Plod still with panting power,
Range still the empty trails
Hour after hour;
Stare still where looms ahead
Each signal-skeleton,
Whose jerking arms forbid
Or bid you on,
Whose grim lamps rule the glooms
With stringent red or green—
Forget your sunny home's
Wild-paths between
Primrose and violet,
Your breeze-lit fields of rye...
Your golden sheaves forget—
Forget, or die.
poem by Elizabeth Daryush
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ogre [2]
I had bought two-dozen eggs,
some baking soda, baking meal
along with the other groceries,
beef, chicken, lamb,
vegetables and fruit
and had forgotten
to buy icing sugar
on your command.
I carried the groceries
from the car
and placed them
in the pantry, the fridge,
or where ever they belonged.
You were baking cake
and preparing some cookies
and like a blizzard
went through the shopping bags
searching for items.
Demented, for me forgetting
icing sugar, the ogre
awakened in you
and I saw it peering
through your eyes.
First a glass mixing bowl
went flying to the ground
shattering into pieces of glass
and in shock fascination
I watch you
put a plastic bowl
on a red hot stove plate
before slamming it
right into my face.
I screamed in terror
and tried to wipe
sizzling molten plastic
from my forehead
and cheeks,
(thanking God you missed
my eyes) .
You screamed something
smashing the eggs on the floor
and then somehow
the ogre went back
to the cave
where it was hiding in you
and I knew
what the word maniac
in manic bipolar depression meant.
poem by Gert Strydom
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A Very Angry Fisherman
He'd battled waves and elements
Had risen before the sun
Took grandaughter and fishing partner
Headed off.....as all for one
Cleaned the decks, checked the nets
Before setting of out to sea.
Followed the path, known by all
Out to..... best, place to be.
They fished all day whilst sipping
Hopeful of fisherman's tales
Chirpily wishing for that perfect catch
Prepared was the ice, decks and pales
The day was ending
Nets still empty
Barring a few small fish
Nowhere enough to make a living
Nor enough to fill a dish
The seagulls they came to beg for the off
Was.... too much ridicule to bear
Angry is an understatement
Risen upon his neck, his hair
The birds they screamed and begged and swooped
Hoping to steal, small prize
Angry and spitting feathers
(He grabbed and stared one bird in the eye)
'Will you eff off? ! ! '
He screamed at the bird
Who stared and squawked and flew
The angry fisherman returned home
With barely a cud to chew...
poem by Karen Sinclair
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Maybe
Yesterday the odds were stacked in favor of my expectations
Flyin' above the rest, never fallin' from the nest
Tuesday came and went and I'm in a little situation
Maybe it's for the best
I could live alone, I guess
Maybe I could stand alone
Maybe I'm strong as stone
Even though the bird has flown
Maybe she'll fly on home
Excuse me if I'm keeping you apart from better conversation
Hung up on all my doubt
Trying to sort the whole thing out
Tell me that I'm smart enough to deal with all the information
Spinning inside my head
Every word she ever said
Maybe I could stand alone
Maybe I'm strong as stone
Even though the bird has flown
Maybe she'll fly on home
song performed by by Garth Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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