Everyday Characters I - The Vicar
Some years ago, ere time and taste
Had turned our parish topsy-turvy,
When Darnel Park was Darnel Waste,
And roads as little known as scurvy,
The man who lost his way, between
St. Mary's Hill and Sandy Thicket,
Was always shown across the green,
And guided to the Parson's wicket.
Back flew the bolt of lissom lath;
Fair Margaret, in her tidy kirtle,
Led the lorn traveller up the path,
Through clean-clipt rows of box and myrtle;
And Don and Sancho, Tramp and Tray,
Upon the parlour steps collected,
Wagged all their tails, and seemed to say--
'Our master knows you--you're expected.'
Uprose the Reverend Dr. Brown,
Uprose the Doctor's winsome marrow;
The lady laid her knitting down,
Her husband clasped his ponderous Barrow;
Whate'er the strangers caste or creed,
Pundit or Papist, saint or sinner,
He found a stable for his steed,
And welcome for himself, and dinner.
If, when he reached his journey's end,
And warmed himself in Court or College,
He had not gained an honest friend
And twenty curious scraps of knowledge,--
If he departed as he came,
With no new light on love or liquor,--
Good sooth, the traveller was to blame
And not the Vicarage, nor the Vicar.
His talk was like a stream, which runs
With rapid change from rocks to roses:
It slipped from politics to puns,
It passed from Mahomet to Moses;
Beginning with the laws which keep
The planets in their radiant courses,
And ending with some precept deep
For dressing eels, or shoeing horses.
He was a shrewd and sound Divine,
Of loud Dissent the mortal terror;
And when, by dint of page and line,
He 'stablished Truth, or startled Error,
The Baptist found him far too deep;
The Deist sighed with saving sorrow;
And the lean Levite went to sleep,
And dreamed of tasting pork to-morrow.
His sermon never said or showed
That Earth is foul, that Heaven is gracious,
Without refreshment on the road
From Jerome, or from Athanasius:
And sure a righteous zeal inspired
The hand and head that penned and planned them,
For all who understood admired,
And some who did not understand them.
He wrote, too, in a quiet way,
Small treatises, and smaller verses,
And sage remarks on chalk and clay,
And hints to noble lords--and nurses;
True histories of last year's ghost,
Lines to a ringlet, or a turban,
And trifles for the Morning Post,
And nothings for Sylvanus Urban.
He did not think all mischief fair,
Although he had a knack of joking;
He did not make himself a bear,
Although he had a taste for smoking;
And when religious sects ran mad,
He held, in spite of all his learning,
That if a man's belief is bad,
It will not be improved by burning.
And he was kind, and loved to sit
In the low hut or garnished cottage,
And praise the farmer's homely wit,
And share the widow's homelier pottage:
At his approach complaint grew mild;
And when his hand unbarred the shutter,
The clammy lips of fever smiled
The welcome which they could not utter.
He always had a tale for me
Of Julius Cæsar, or of Venus;
From him I learnt the rule of three,
Cat's cradle, leap-frog, and Quae genus:
I used to singe his powdered wig,
To steal the staff he put such trust in,
And make the puppy dance a jig,
When he began to quote Augustine.
Alack the change! in vain I look
For haunts in which my boyhood trifled,--
The level lawn, the trickling brook,
The trees I climbed, the beds I rifled:
The church is larger than before;
You reach it by a carriage entry;
It holds three hundred people more,
And pews are fitted up for gentry.
Sit in the Vicar's seat: you'll hear
The doctrine of a gentle Johnian,
Whose hand is white, whose tone is clear,
Whose phrase is very Ciceronian.
Where is the old man laid?--look down,
And construe on the slab before you,
'Hic jacet GVLIELMVS BROWN,
Vir nulla non donandus lauru.'
poem by Winthrop Mackworth Praed
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Our Topsy-Turvy World
In the very very topsy-turvy world
Straight lines are elliptically curled
Way above is found below
Jungles covered up with snow
In the very very topsy-turvy world
In the world, so very very topsy-turvy
Ascorbic acid always brings on scurvy
Books with empty pages
Are read by all the sages
In the world, so very very topsy-turvy
The world of topsy-turvy consternation
Filled with topsy-turvy complications
Where the right is on the left
The most happy, most bereft
In this world of topsy-turvy situations
Foolish topsy-turvys heed no warnings
Sure there’s no such thing as global warming
They’re happy on their land
With their heads down in the sand
Where brain-less topsy-turvys bury warnings
In our world of topsy-turvy politicians
Concerned enough to better our conditions
They’ll be always there for you
With an honest point of view
In our world of topsy-turvy politicians
In our world where topsy-turvy is the norm
Where we’re taught the only way is to conform
Where nothing is quite sane
Where peace can never reign
So long as topsy-turvy is the norm
poem by Stanley Cooper
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Parables of Jesus: The Kingdom of Heaven: The Wheat and the Darnel Gospel, Matthew 13: 24-30
Then Jesus told another parable:
‘Kingdom of Heaven- Wheat and the darnel'
Heaven can be compared to that of a man,
Who sowed only good seed in his whole field.
But just when everybody fell asleep,
His enemy had come and sown darnel,
Amongst the wheat and sped away quite fast.
And when the new wheat sprouted very well,
The darnel too appeared amidst the same;
His labourers all went to him and said,
‘Wasn't it good seed that you sowed in your field?
He told them, ‘Some enemy had done this! '
When they asked if they should pull the weeds out,
He told, ‘No, as the wheat would come with it! '
‘Let them both grow until the harvest-time;
And then I will instruct my reapers all,
‘Collect the darnel first; burn the bundles!
Gather the good wheat all into my barn! '
poem by John Celes
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The Vicar
SOME years ago, ere time and taste
Had turn’d our parish topsy-turvy,
When Darnel Park was Darnel Waste,
And roads as little known as scurvy,
The man who lost his way between
St. Mary’s Hill and Sandy Thicket
Was always shown across the green,
And guided to the parson’s wicket.
Back flew the bolt of lissom lath;
Fair Margaret, in her tidy kirtle,
Led the lorn traveller up the path
Through clean-clipp’d rows of box and myrtle;
And Don and Sancho, Tramp and Tray,
Upon the parlor steps collected,
Wagg’d all their tails, and seem’d to say,
“Our master knows you; you ’re expected.”
Up rose the reverend Doctor Brown,
Up rose the doctor’s “winsome marrow;”
The lady laid her knitting down,
Her husband clasp’d his ponderous Barrow.
Whate’er the stranger’s caste or creed,
Pundit or papist, saint or sinner,
He found a stable for his steed,
And welcome for himself, and dinner.
If, when he reach’d his journey’s end,
And warm’d himself in court or college,
He had not gain’d an honest friend,
And twenty curious scraps of knowledge;
If he departed as he came,
With no new light on love or liquor,—
Good sooth, the traveller was to blame,
And not the vicarage, nor the vicar.
His talk was like a stream which runs
With rapid change from rocks to roses;
It slipp’d from politics to puns;
It pass’d from Mahomet to Moses;
Beginning with the laws which keep
The planets in their radiant courses,
And ending with some precept deep
For dressing eels or shoeing horses.
He was a shrewd and sound divine,
Of loud dissent the mortal terror;
And when, by dint of page and line,
He ’stablish’d truth or startled error,
The Baptist found him far too deep,
The Deist sigh’d with saving sorrow,
And the lean Levite went to sleep
And dream’d of tasting pork to-morrow.
His sermon never said or show’d
That earth is foul, that heaven is gracious,
Without refreshment on the road
From Jerome, or from Athanasius;
And sure a righteous zeal inspir’d
The hand and head that penn’d and plann’d them,
For all who understood admir’d,
And some who did not understand them.
He wrote too, in a quiet way,
Small treatises, and smaller verses,
And sage remarks on chalk and clay,
And hints to noble lords and nurses;
True histories of last year’s ghost;
Lines to a ringlet or a turban;
And trifles to the Morning Post,
And nothings for Sylvanus Urban.
He did not think all mischief fair,
Although he had a knack of joking;
He did not make himself a bear,
Although he had a taste for smoking;
And when religious sects ran mad,
He held, in spite of all his learning,
That if a man’s belief is bad,
It will not be improv’d by burning.
And he was king, and lov’d to sit
In the low hut or garnish’d cottage,
And praise the farmer’s homely wit,
And share the widow’s homelier pottage.
At his approach complaint grew mild,
And when his hand unbarr’d the shutter
The clammy lips of fever smil’d
The welcome which they could not utter.
He always had a tale for me
Of Julius Cæsar or of Venus;
From him I learn’d the rule of three,
Cat’s-cradle, leap-frog, and Quæ genus.
I used to singe his powder’d wig,
To steal the staff he put such trust in,
And make the puppy dance a jig
When he began to quote Augustine.
Alack, the change! In vain I look
For haunts in which my boyhood trifled;
The level lawn, the trickling brook,
The trees I climb’d, the beds I rifled.
The church is larger than before,
You reach it by a carriage entry:
It holds three hundred people more,
And pews are fitted for the gentry.
Sit in the vicar’s seat: you ’ll hear
The doctrine of a gentle Johnian,
Whose hand is white, whose voice is clear,
Whose tone is very Ciceronian.
Where is the old man laid? Look down,
And construe on the slab before you:
“Hic jacet Gulielmus Brown,
Vir nullâ non donandus lauro.”
poem by Winthrop Mackworth Praed
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Topsy-turvy
I'm upside down, inside out.
Cannot figure what I'm about.
I'm sometimes up, sometimes down,
sometimes smile and sometimes frown.
Topsy-turvy is what I am.
Seems I'm always in a jam.
Need to get my head on straight.
Probably need to meditate.
Slow right down and just let loose.
Just stop being a silly goose.
Topsy-turvy is what I am.
Seems I'm always in a jam.
Need to take a good deep look.
Make myself an open book.
Need to figure out what's wrong.
Bring back the peace where I belong.
Topsy-turvy, not anymore.
Got my feet straight on the floor.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Tipsy Dazy
Miss Tipsy Dazy you're topsy turvy
Say one minute everything seem fine
Tipsy Dazy you're topsy turvy
The next minute we're in a puss and dog fight
That's not really right
Seems as the day grow old
Our love grow cold
Remember you been told
Love can't be bought nor sold
Tipsy Dazy you're topsy turvy
Say one minute everything's just right dynamite
Tipsy Dazy you're topsy turvy
Next minute we're in this great big fight
That ain't my style of life
When everything seem secure
I can't just be too sure
'Cause you can wake up one day
Not in love any more
Hey! Remember you've been told
Love can't be bought nor sold
Seems as the days grow old
Our love grow cold
Tipsy Dazy topsy turvy saying
One minute everything seem right
Tipsy Dazy you're topsy turvy
Next minute we're in this great big fight
That's not really right
Once more can't say you never been told
Love can't be bought or sold
But it seems as tehm days grow
Our heat grow cold
Tipsy Dazy your're topsy turvy
One minute everything just fine really divine
Tipsy Dazy you're really turvy
Next next minute next minute next minute yea
Tipsy, Tipsy Dazy topsy, really turvy
One minute we're in a great big fight
song performed by by Ziggy Marley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Demolition Derby
We're gonna take you to a demolition derby (yeah)
It's on a Saturday night and the boys want to rock
Gotta get some action, not yourself
Meet you at the ally
Everybody get about at night
School's out and we can't keep still
Gotta hold myself back and wait until
Tonight's the night
All hell's gonna break loose
We're gonna take you to a demolition derby
We're gonna make you topsy-turvy
We're gonna take you to a demolition derby
Now now now now now now now
The neighbors are screamin' "hey, stop that noise"
Give 'em a wink and shout "kill him, boys"
My daddy saw me now
He wouldn't let me out for a week
Trooby's got a sprain and Blondy's got his back
Noodle's with his action, better watch him for that
I've got my shoe shine in my pocket
Everybody's ready, let's go
We're gonna take you to a demolition derby
We're gonna make you topsy-turvy
We're gonna take you to a demolition derby
Now now now now right now
We're gonna take you to a demolition derby
We're gonna make you topsy-turvy
We're gonna take you to a demolition derby
Now now now now now now now NOW!
No no nooooooooooo!!
We're gonna take you to a demolition derby
We're gonna make you topsy-turvy
We're gonna take you to a demolition derby
Now now now now now now
We're gonna take you to a demolition derby
We're gonna make you topsy-turvy
We're gonna take you to a demolition derby
Now now now now now now now
We're gonna take you
We're gonna make you
We're gonna take you to a demolition derby
Now now now now now now now now
Now now n
song performed by by Quiet Riot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On Your Midnight Pallet Lying
On your midnight pallet lying,
Listen, and undo the door:
Lads that waste the light in sighing
In the dark should sigh no more;
Night should ease a lover's sorrow;
Therefore, since I go to-morrow,
Pity me before.
In the land to which I travel,
The far dwelling, let me say--
Once, if here the couch is gravel,
In a kinder bed I lay,
And the breast the darnel smothers
Rested once upon another's
When it was not clay.
poem by Alfred Edward Housman
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Sonnet- The World Today(3)
The world around look so topsy-turvy!
Nothing is permanent or ultimate;
Gone are the days of dropsy and scurvy;
Now people think they can all levitate.
And politics invades all other fields;
Most nations are riddled by corruption;
Black-money, clout and ‘goondas’ power wields;
Nothing happens by mere assumption.
Red-tapism has people on their knees;
Professionals have been much humbled oft;
Both individuals and nations have no peace;
To acts of injustice, God appears soft!
O God, when will an order new set in?
When will all earthlings shun away from sin?
poem by John Celes
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Life is a Battle Field; Fight and Fight
Hello! Hello! Oh, yellow bellied fellow -
Runs for everything yet gets nothing, a lily-livered fellow,
Life is ethereal some say yet cruel i see, oh anserine fellow
Life is a kind of sirocco, lo, chickenhearted fellow.
Topsy-turvy life, tipsy-nervy life and Jumpy-jolty life
As my life sucks for bucks - vocalized Booby, Boo! Boo!
Childhood is besotted with education - marked by fecklessness,
Youth is wasted in illusion - marked by forlornness,
Mild age is passed in the delusion - harkened by groundlessness,
Old age is lasted in dissimulation - darkened by hopelessness.
Topsy-turvy life, tipsy-nervy life and Jumpy-jolty life
As my life sucks for bucks - vocalized Booby, Boo! Boo!
Someone says life a fantasy yet be watchful,
Others say life is beautiful yet be dutiful,
Some others say life is a puzzle yet is playful,
Yet others say life is carrying donkeys load yet be cheerful.
Topsy-turvy life, tipsy-nervy life and Jumpy-jolty life
As my life sucks for bucks - vocalized Booby, Boo! Boo!
Life is a battle field; fight and fight till you reach the glory,
Life is a mountain; climb and claim until you reach the top,
Life is a boxing bout; punch and punch till you reach victory,
Life is a marathon race; run and run to reach heaven's sop.
Topsy-turvy life, tipsy-nervy life and Jumpy-jolty life
As my life sucks for bucks - vocalized Booby, Boo! Boo!
poem by Harindhar Reddy
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This Lonely Self
The search for sense amidst life’s solitude
Has topsy-turvy turned beliefs for years.
Is happiness goal sought, or flight from fears,
Sensed as years’ tears, insensitive, intrude?
Life jokes at our expense, all feel pursued
Or haunted by time passed where chimes’ arrears
No substitute may pay when Death appears.
Experience must always be renewed.
Links into future tense we seem when viewed,
Yet each bud’s snipped by Time’s sharp scissor shears.
Soon all returns to naught. Night swiftly smears
Experiments ephemeral yet crude.
Let who would trace indelible here ink
For second thoughts upon life’s sonnet think...
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Topsy-turvy
They're robbing Peter,
To pay Paul on their debts.
And things are getting out of hand...
To leave some feeling quite upset.
A groaning moaning,
Is heard from dusk 'til dawning.
A smile once there...
Is now a frown most give and get!
Have we been hoo-dooed,
By someone doing voodoo.
What had been up...
Is now topsy-turvy.
That half filled cup,
Is leaking towards the bottom.
Could it be bad luck...
That a rut is stirring in our guts!
Have we been hoo-dooed,
By someone doing voodoo.
What had been up...
Is now topsy-turvy.
They're robbing Peter,
To pay Paul on their debts.
And things are getting out of hand...
To leave some feeling quite upset.
Have we been hoo-dooed,
By someone doing voodoo.
What had been up...
Is now topsy-turvy.
A groaning moaning,
Is heard from dusk 'til dawning.
A smile once there...
Is now a frown most give and get!
Have we been hoo-dooed,
By someone doing voodoo.
What had been up...
Is now topsy-turvy.
They're robbing Peter,
To pay Paul on their debts.
And things are getting out of hand...
To leave some feeling quite upset.
That half filled cup,
Is leaking towards the bottom.
Could it be bad luck...
That a rut is stirring in our guts!
And we must hang in and toughen up!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Don't Waste Your Time
[Mary]
Lately I've got this funny feeling
Something don't feel the same
But he's telling me I'm the one to blame
Yes I know that he still gives me good loving
But when he's deep inside
There's somebody else on his mind
[1] - [Aretha] Don't waste your time
[Mary] But it gets so hard to know
[Aretha] Just walk away
[Mary] You say that I gotta let go
[Both] Seen it a millions times before
[Aretha] You shouldn't take his stuff no more
[Mary] Can't waste my time
[Aretha] Girl
song performed by by Mary J Blige from Mary
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When the husband is a hen and the wife is a cock, the house is topsy-turvy.
Topsy-Turvy
You would have seen
Flowers bearing fruits.
Have you seen
Fruits producing flowers?
Yes! Nature is made artificial!
How is it? Can you surmise?
It is the art
Of carving colourful flowers
From different fruits!
Nature is turned topsy-turvy!
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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The sound principle of a topsy-turvy lifestyle in the framework of an upside-down world order has stood every test.
quote by Karl Kraus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Since I Met You 1051 Sandrine Bonnant after William Shakespeare Sonnet XI
Since I met you my eye is in my mind,
And all which makes me be, eat, sleep, or drink
Now functions, now suspended, partly blind,
Dares seeks to see, yet can't on others think,
Refusing to deliver to the heart
Images of bird, bloom, shape - none match!
No objects span attention's scan apart,
Enchantment when mind glimpse of you can catch.
Black's put to flight, as multi-coloured light
Overwhelms the senses lost to time,
Nirvana topsy turvy turns day, night,
Naturally flows through sonnet rhyme.
As lost for words to praise, I lose my way
To you mind turns, returns, with you would stay.
(13 November 2004)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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~ Scoop Slowly Be Not Edgy Nervy ~
~ Scoop Slowly Be Not Edgy Nervy ~
Ms. Nivedita
UK
June 22,2010
Sion is full of zippy
Missy ~ Milky
Cioccolato ~ Finery
Yummy ~Yummy
Smoothie ~ Smoothie
Bubbly ~ Teeny ~ Bonnie.
With zilch zero topsy turvy
Bask bloomy blushy sonsie curvy.
Missy ~ Milky.
It’s your Nivy ~ Nivy.
Muse mull as flossy.
Scoop slowly be ne’er edgy nervy.
====
Glossary: With humility some glossary given for what I tried to express.
[1] Sion ~ Imaginary place considered to be perfect or ideal
[2] Zippy ~ Marked by lively action
[3] Cioccolato [Italian] ~ Chocolate
[4] Zilch ~ Quantity of no importance
[5] Topsy turvy ~ Into state of utter confusion
[6] Sonsie ~ With pleasing curves [of a woman's body]
[7] Nivy ~ Name of a damsel
[8] Flossy ~ Soft as down
--
Copyright reserved by author
poem by Ms. Nivedita Bagchi Spc. Uk.
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Memories On A Park Bench
He sat on a park bench
just to pass the time away
when he saw her there
from the corner of his eye.
She was older now,
but her beauty had not faded.
She turned in his direction
and he smiled at her.
At first, she looked at him strangely
until there was recognition.
She smiled back
and then joined him.
They sat there on the park bench
the sun smiling down on them
as the daffodils swayed in the breeze.
For both of them came a flood
of memories of when they were young
before the world spirited them away.
Both had walked down many roads,
had some hard knocks along the way.
Both recalled them now
the way old friends meeting do.
As they sat there
recalling memories from happier days.
All too soon they would be parting
and as they would go,
they would take with them
a little of each other
in the form of memories
that they acquired on a park bench.
5 April 2009
poem by David Harris
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Our Rampant Coat-Of-Arms
The Lion and the Unicorn
Of England's Coat-of-Arms
Seldom make bold, so we are told,
To ravage English farms.
In fact, 'tis said by travellers
Who lately have been there,
That lions hardly ever roam
About the dales and dells at Home,
And unicorns are rare.
But in this topsy-turvy land
Where often - inter alia
Strange forms of bird, in ways absurd,
Are grafted to mammalia.
And beasts have bills to fit the goose,
Our crazy Coat-of-Arms breaks loose
To roam at night and play the deuce
'Mid farmers in Australia.
The Lion and the Unicorn
Stay put and emplematic;
But kangaroos bluntly refuse
To function, staid and static.
And emus stray to ruin farms,
Raising excursions and alarms;
Which proves such things, on Coats-of-Arms
Are plainly too erratic.
Far better chain them to the shield
Like unicorns in Britain.
Else, by what chance may we 'advance'
As in the motto written?
If not, and they get out of hand,
Before the nations we must stand
Ever a topsy-turvy land
By its own emblem smitten.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Slow-nerve-action
Its all a waste of time again
She used to mow the lawn
She always wasted everyone
She always turned me on
Now shes turned a kind
That isnt so much in demand
And all us vegetables
Can waste our time on someone else
She had a cool invisible
Dog that she called paul
Wed always sit around her house
Watchin her feed the dog
Now shes got a man
Who dont like dogs, who just likes cars
Shes just got a job
cause times got hard, so paul is gone
Now shes turned a kind
That isnt so much in demand
All us vegetables
Can waste our time on someone else
Its all a waste of time again (4x)
song performed by by Flaming Lips
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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