How We Were Introduced
—for perfidious protectors
I was playing in the street
no one paid attention to me
as I made forms out of sand
mumbling Rimbaud under my breath
once an elderly gentleman overheard it
—little boy you are a poet
just now we are organizing
a grass-roots literary movement
he stroked my dirty head
gave me a large lollypop
and even bought clothes
in the protective coloring of youth
I didn’t have such a splendid suit
since first communion
short trousers and a wide
sailor’s collar
black patent leather shoes with a buckle
white knee-high socks
the elderly gentleman took me by the hand
and led the way to the ball
other boys were there
also in short trousers
carefully shaven
shuffling their feet
—well boys now it’s time to play
why are you standing in the corners
asked the elderly gentleman
—make a circle holding hands
but we didn’t want tag
or blindman’s buff
we had enough of the elderly gentleman
we were very hungry
so we were seated promptly
around a large table
given lemonade
and pieces of cake
now disguised as adults
with deep voices
the boys got up they praised us
or slapped us on our hands
we didn’t hear anything
didn’t feel anything
staring with great eyes
at the piece of cake
that kept melting
in our hot hands
and this sweet taste the first in our lives
disappeared inside our dark sleeves
poem by Zbigniew Herbert
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Related quotes
Pachyderm
O' my elderly world, am I getting too bold?
The ones who go first were the elderly ones
Leaving spawns of unfertile aftermaths
Leaving my elderly world high and dry
O' my elderly world, am I getting out of control?
Doing everything that crosses my mind
Like there is no tomorrow
Like there are no rules
O' my elderly world, am I worthy of being alive?
When all my tendency contributes are turmoils
When my currupted mind only grieves others'
Like I own this elderly world...
O' my elderly world, are the rulers doing well?
When all they can offer are blood, tears and lives taken
When the rich becomes richer
When the poor becomes poorer
Like they own this elderly world...
O' my elderly world, do I still have the time?
Am always envious of time
Am always running out of time
Hope I won't be here when your time runs out
O' my elderly world...
poem by Chosen Reject
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Inner-City Nights
Gangs of teenagers hanging about
the smell of dope in the air
girls scream and run around
every evening they are there.
Even when it rains they turn up
a shop doorway or bus stop will do
there to drink bottles of cider
and to smoke and sniff glue.
Nervous people peep out
at the sound of very loud noise
but the police won't come out
they can't arrest young girls or boys.
Bring back national service
says the elderly gentleman
as a drunken teenager
throws at him an empty beer can.
Adults long for peace and quiet
but the yobs just want to make noise
but they know they'll get away it
as police can't arrest young boys.
poem by Kevin Halls
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The Posh Tart
The posh Tart.
She, an old fashioned girl, when walking past me
dropped her handkerchief, gallantly I picked it up.
and hand it to her, it was scented and had enticing
aroma of womanhood. Said her price and my face
fell into the street where it was dragged along by
a cleaning car. She didn´t look that way- short skirt
beret and red handbag-. Said she only picked up
gentlemen, I was going home from a literary party
consisting of pork pie, hot air and warm red wine.
I walked into a bar, had a double whisky thought
about what she had said… calling me a gentleman.
From the inside of the bar I saw her dropp her silk
hankie again, like bait, this time she caught a fish
and off they went to make posh love, I marveled
over my everlasting naivety and wondered if she
called him a gentleman too.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Undivided Attention
I 'use' to wonder as a child,
Why there were so many elderly people...
Packed inside the church,
My mother made sure...
She would take my sister and I,
Faithfully on Sunday and choir rehearsals...
As children.
When I turned 60,
I realized...
I could talk to myself,
And not get a batted eye of attention...
From anyone!
That piece of the puzzle,
No longer remains a mystery.
Now I know for a fact...
What those who are elderly know.
God is the only 'One'...
To have ever given undivided attention.
Most in their youth take for granted!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Old Hay-Mow
The Old Hay-mow's the place to play
Fer boys, when it's a rainy day!
I good-'eal ruther be up there
Than down in town, er anywhere!
When I play in our stable-loft,
The good old hay's so dry an' soft,
An' feels so fine, an' smells so sweet,
I 'most ferget to go an' eat.
An' one time wunst I _did_ ferget
To go 'tel dinner was all et,--
An' they had short-cake--an'--Bud he
Hogged up the piece Ma saved fer me!
Nen I won't let him play no more
In our hay-mow where I keep store
An' got hen-eggs to sell,--an' shoo
The cackle-un old hen out, too!
An' nen, when Aunty she was here
A-visitun from Rensselaer,
An' bringed my little cousin,--_he_
Can come up there an' play with me.
But, after while--when Bud he bets
'At I can't turn no summersetts,--
I let him come up, ef he can
Ac' ha'f-way like a gentleman!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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When I was young I had an elderly friend who used often to ask me to stay with him in the country. He was a religious man and he read prayers to the assembled household every morning. But he had crossed out in pencil all the passages that praised God. He said that there was nothing so vulgar as to praise people to their faces and, himself a gentleman, he could not believe that God was so ungentlemanly as to like it.
quote by W. Somerset Maugham
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hollywood does not write parts for people like me, an elderly gentleman, and when they find out you're crippled, forget about it. No, I'll never work again.
quote by Ricardo Montalban
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Roseville
Since All Of My Remembering
Of Times So Innocent And So Clean
These Images Rush In With A Roar
Of Times And Acts That Were A Horror
My Folks Moved To Roseville When We Were So Young
To Protect Us From The Hazards Of A World Gone Wrong
Little Did They Know What A Mess They've Made
By Moving Us Out Here A Price Would Be Paid
A Childhood Spent Having Innocent Fun
Between 5 And Eight With My Friends We'd Run
Playing In The Fields Across The Street
Little Did We Know Just What We'd Meet
Older Boys Came Along Just To Play With Us
Spinning Us Around, Beneath Our Skirts With Thrusts
Diddling All Around In Between Our Legs
Little Did We Know We Were Being Pegged
They Would Fumble Here And Grumble There
Unzipping Their Old Trousers Just To Have A Share
Being Little Girls, What All Did We Know
We'd Just Play Along Until They Would Go
This Type Of Thing Went On Every Spring Til Fall
We'd Be Wondering What They Were Doing At All
We Were Happy That They Would Take Time With Us
We Were Just So Young What Was All The Fuss
Then One Day A Big Brother Of My Friend Appeared
Said To The Other Older Boy's "Hands Off My Sisters, Hear? "
In My Mind It All Then Became Oh So Clear
That These Older Boys Were Just Being Queer
The Next Time That They All Came Running Around
I Said I Don't Like The Way You Want To Play Around
But They Didn't Listen All And Penetrated My Best Friend
I Ran As Fast As I Could Hoping It Would End
But I Was Chased And That Raji Did Say
Don't Tell Anyone As I Ran Away
But I Cut My Foot To The Bone So Cruel
Being So Innocent, Didn't Know What To Do
Didn't Tell My Mom, Didn't Tell My Dad
I Was So Ashamed That I'd Been So Had
How Could Playing Around Turn To Something So Foul
So I Wrapped My Foot And Began To Howl
Did This Kind Of Thing Happen Everywhere
With Everyone Around, Not Even Saying Whats Fair
We Believed In The Justice Of Living Out A Good Life
How Could So Much Go Wrong And Cause So Much Strife
Living In Roseville Did Mess Up My Head
With So Many Queer Folk Boys And Men So Dead
To The Rights And The Thoughts Of What's All Good And Fair
With Their Pedophilic Actions To Do Such Wrong Down There
These Are My Images Of Growing Up So Serene
And Protected From The Filth Of Detroit And That Scene
What A Joke Now Do I So Realize
That Living In Roseville Was Just A Cradle Of Lies
poem by Talile Ali
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Perfect Gentleman
There is no doubt about it
Im one of a kind, baby
I am le dartagnan de coeur
As you may see, candy
And Im talkin with my eyes
And I walk in different styles
Im the genuine man!
Yes I am
I am a perfect gentleman
Yes I am
I am a perfect gentleman
Kneel down, inhale my odor
Come, kiss my hand, angel
Dare to explore my higher
Grounds
Strive to deserve me,
Ma cherie
And my winds
Surpass perfume
Im charismatic at full bloom
Im the genuine man!
Yes I am
I am a perfect gentleman
Yes I am
I am a perfect gentleman
Yes I am, I am, yes I am
(perfect)
Oh lord, what can I do
I cant resist my own
Reflection
How would possibly anyone?
Cause I am (perfect)
Yes I am (perfect)
Oh lord I am (perfect)
Yes I am
I am a perfect gentleman
Yes I am
I am a perfect gentleman
song performed by by Helloween
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet- The Elderly
Show consideration for an aged man;
Show courtesy to elderly persons;
Inhuman ways to human lives, you ban;
To do a thing, have sufficient reasons.
Their frame is frail and mind is filled with fear;
Assault of any kind, they cannot bear;
They can’t see well or sleep or even hear;
The elderly need special love and care.
Their growing age is their sweet punishment;
They flex with age and become like a child;
Their Will-power is their great armament;
Their days are numbered- why should we turn wild?
Let’s look after the elderly with pride!
Their words are wise and let’s therefore abide.
7-1-2001
poem by John Celes
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The Precocious Baby - a Very True Tale
An elderly person - a prophet by trade -
With his quips and tips
On withered old lips,
He married a young and a beautiful maid;
The cunning old blade!
Though rather decayed,
He married a beautiful, beautiful maid.
She was only eighteen, and as fair as could be,
With her tempting smiles
And maidenly wiles,
And he was a trifle past seventy-three:
Now what she could see
Is a puzzle to me,
In a prophet of seventy - seventy-three!
Of all their acquaintances bidden (or bad)
With their loud high jinks
And underbred winks,
None thought they'd a family have - but they had;
A dear little lad
Who drove 'em half mad,
For he turned out a horribly fast little cad.
For when he was born he astonished all by,
With their "Law, dear me!"
"Did ever you see?"
He'd a pipe in his mouth and a glass in his eye,
A hat all awry -
An octagon tie -
And a miniature - miniature glass in his eye.
He grumbled at wearing a frock and a cap,
With his "Oh, dear, oh!"
And his "Hang it! 'oo know!"
And he turned up his nose at his excellent pap -
"My friends, it's a tap
Dat is not worf a rap."
(Now this was remarkably excellent pap.)
He'd chuck his nurse under the chin, and he'd say,
With his "Fal, lal, lal" -
"'Oo doosed fine gal!"
This shocking precocity drove 'em away:
"A month from to-day
Is as long as I'll stay -
Then I'd wish, if you please, for to toddle away."
His father, a simple old gentleman, he
With nursery rhyme
And "Once on a time,"
Would tell him the story of "Little Bo-P,"
"So pretty was she,
So pretty and wee,
As pretty, as pretty, as pretty could be."
But the babe, with a dig that would startle an ox,
With his "C'ck! Oh, my! -
Go along wiz 'oo, fie!"
Would exclaim, "I'm afraid 'oo a socking ole fox."
Now a father it shocks,
And it whitens his locks,
When his little babe calls him a shocking old fox.
The name of his father he'd couple and pair
(With his ill-bred laugh,
And insolent chaff)
With those of the nursery heroines rare -
Virginia the Fair,
Or Good Goldenhair,
Till the nuisance was more than a prophet could bear.
"There's Jill and White Cat" (said the bold little brat,
With his loud, "Ha, ha!")
"'Oo sly ickle Pa!
Wiz 'oo Beauty, Bo-Peep, and 'oo Mrs. Jack Sprat!
I've noticed 'oo pat
MY pretty White Cat -
I sink dear mamma ought to know about dat!"
He early determined to marry and wive,
For better or worse
With his elderly nurse -
Which the poor little boy didn't live to contrive:
His hearth didn't thrive -
No longer alive,
He died an enfeebled old dotard at five!
MORAL.
Now, elderly men of the bachelor crew,
With wrinkled hose
And spectacled nose,
Don't marry at all - you may take it as true
If ever you do
The step you will rue,
For your babes will be elderly - elderly too.
poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Nothing
Pain
All consuming
Like a fire
I can't breathe
There's nothing left
What have you done?
My hands are shaking
I can't sit still
My mind is racing
My heart is breaking
Strangled gasps
Heart races
It's all a blur
Where am I?
What happened?
Who are you?
You stole my breath
My mind
My heart
My body
Are you a thief?
Are you a liar?
Who is it that can do something so small,
Yet so large
That I have nothing left
Only pain
Only rage
Only hurt
Only tears
Only blood
Only fears
Only death
Have you stolen everything?
Or is my life still left?
I hear naught
I see naught
I feel naught
I smell naught
I taste naught
Am I nothing?
Are you nothing?
There's nothing left
I sense nothing
I know nothing
This must mean I am nothing
It must mean you are nothing
Am I nobody?
Like a myth
Like a legend
Like a story
Does this make everything I've said
And done
And felt
Unreal
Like a dream
Or a story
Or a thought
So it never happened?
You didn't make me love you?
You didn't hurt me?
You didn't make me cry?
Make me bleed?
Make me suffer?
You didn't leave me there
On the street
On a sidewalk
So I could bleed out?
You didn't hold a knife?
You didn't violate me?
You didn't kill me?
You didn't walk away?
You didn't lie?
I didn't exist meaning
You didn't exist so
You must not have
Meaning
I am not dead because
I just never existed
And you are not alive
Because you never existed
We are just nothing
poem by Gwenevere Cornwell
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Trouble Boys
Trouble Boys
------------
The Trouble Boys came in
I guess they'd been out fighting and a'raving
It wasn't long before they moved in
And picked up the girls that we'd brought to
It closed at ten o'clock I had to move fast
To get my baby back from the Trouble Boys
Twenty-five guys from the east side of the city
Kings of hell-raising in the neigborhood
One of them walked up and started dancing with my baby
Who was crying because I didn't stop him
All I could say honey was "This guy is bigger than the both of us"
Trouble Boys, and the Trouble Boys all around me
No one like getting sand kicked in their face
But I don't know anyone who'd stand face to face with the Trouble Boys
Yes the Trouble Boys
I thought to myself it was time to make a move
I breathed my last sigh and I started to groove with my babe
Who was still dancing with the other guy
By the look in her eye I was a martyr
'Cause no one cuts in on the Trouble Boys
Twenty-five gorillas standing all around
I was shaking like a leaf on an Autumn tree
The leader came up and took me by the hand
He shook it like a brother
He didn't crush it after all
He said, "You're ok, you're the only one who's stood up to the Trouble Boys
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Immigrant
coming from where he did
he was turned away from
every door like joseph
to even the toughest among us
that would be too much
he didn't know what it was
to be black
'til they gave him his change but didn't want to touch
his hand
to even the toughest among us
that would be too much
isn't it just enough
how hard it is to live
isn't it hard enough
just to make it through a day
the secret of their fear
and their suspicion
standing there looking
like an angel
in his brown shoes
his short suit
his white shirt
and his cuffs a little frayed
coming from where he did
he was such a dignified child
to even the toughest among us
that would be too much
isn't it just enough
how hard it is to live
isn't it hard enough
just to make it through a day
coming from where he did
he was turned away from
every door like joseph
to even the toughest among us
that would be too much
he didn't know what it
was to be black
'til they gave him his change but didn't want to touch
his hand
to even the toughest among us
that would be too much
song performed by by Sade
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Reading Laozi
Speak person not know know person silent
This saying I hear from old gentleman
If Way old gentleman be know person
Reason what confident five thousand characters
Those who speak do not know, those who know are silent,
I heard this saying from the old gentleman.
If the old gentleman was one who knew the way,
Why did he feel able to write five thousand words?
The Three Quiet Gentlemen
There is a quiet gentleman a-motoring in France
(Oh, don’t you hear the honking of a British motor-car?)—
Like any quiet gentleman that you may meet by chance,
Who doesn’t wear a uniform, and doesn’t sport a star.
Another quiet gentleman is sitting by his side
(Oh, do you hear the “shuffling feet” tonight in Gay Paree?)—
The honking of their motor-car, when they go for a ride,
Is louder than the biggest gun that’s made in Germany.
Another quiet gentleman, who’s very like the first
(Oh, don’t you hear the tinkle of the sleigh-bells on the snow?)
Is riding out in Russia now to watch the best and worst.
Oh, hear the bells of Petrograd a-ringing soft and low—
The Christmas bells of Petrograd, that hail the birth of Christ;
The sleigh-bells from the opera that hail the birth of Sin—
While eyes of men are dried in Hell and hearts of men are iced—
Are louder than the loudest blare that’s blaring in Berlin.
poem by Henry Lawson
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I Know What Boys Like
Boys, boys
He you wanna know something?
Boys, boys
Boys like girls
I know what boys like
I know what guys want
I know what boys like
I've got what boys want
Uh huh, uh huh, uh huh
I know what boys like
I know what guys want
I seem them looking (looking)
I make them want me
I like to tease them
And they want to touch me
I never let them
I know what boys like
I know what guys want
I know what boys like
Boys like, boys like me
I got my cat moves
That so upsets them
Zippers and buttons
Fun to frustrate them
They get so angry
Like pouty children
Denied their candy
I laugh right at them
I know what boys like
I know what guys want
I know what boys like
I've got what boys want
Uh huh, uh huh, uh huh
I know what boys like
I got what boys want
I know what boys like
Boys like, boys like, boys like me
I think you're special
I might let you
You're so much different
I might let you
There's no one like you
I might let you
Or would you like that?
I might let you
Sucker!
Boys, b-b-boys
Boys, b-b-b-boys
G-g-g-g-got what boys want
G-g-g-got
I know what boys like
I know what guys want
I know what boys like
I've got what boys want
Uh huh, uh huh, uh huh
I know what boys like
I got what boys want
I know what boys like
Boys like, boys like, boys like me
I know what boys like
I got what boys want
I know what boys like
Boys like, boys like, boys like me
Yeah, I know what boys like
Come on girls, you know what they like
It ain't no secret
I know what boys like
I know what guys want
I know what boys like
I've got what boys want
Uh huh, uh huh, uh huh
song performed by by Vitamin C
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Janice and You and the Spider
You stood
in the playground
of St Jude's school
which was really
the basement
of a bombed out house
which had been gutted
and the basement tarmaced
and the walls
were still there
where kids climbed up
and around
the thin ledge
when Janice
put her hands
over your eyes
and said
guess who?
and you put
your hands
into the pockets
of your short trousers
and said
Miss Murphy
or Miss Ashdown?
no
Janice said
it's me
and she removed
her hands
from over your eyes
and you turned around
and looked at her
and she had
her red beret on
and a pink scarf
around her neck
to keep out
the cold
you must
have known
it was me
she said
who else
would put their hands
over your eyes?
her eyes were bright
and you thought
you could see yourself
in them
as if they were small mirrors
Jupp might do
or maybe Carmody
you said smiling
she didn't smile back
but pulled her lips
tight in a line
then she took your hand
and pulled you
along the path
that led
to the school toilets
and pushed you
inside a cubicle
and shut the door
behind you both
and said
don't you love me?
there was a large spider
hanging from
the cistern chain
close to
her red beret
and it hung there
suspended
swaying back
and forth
and you said
of course I do
right down
to your white socks
but there's a spider
above your head
and she looked up
and screamed
and a voice
outside the door
asked
are you all right
in there?
Janice's eyes widened
and she watched
as the spider
moved up the chain
and she said
yes it's all right
Miss Murphy
just a small spider
and you stood there
next to Janice
wondering what
Miss Murphy
would say
if she saw you
and Janice
in the lavatory
together
and the voice said
ok as long
as you
are all right
and the footsteps
moved away
and Janice took
your hand in hers
and you sensed
how cold it was
slightly blue
and it was just
9 year old Janice
and the big spider
and 9 year old you.
poem by Terry Collett
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Tommy's Dead
YOU may give over plough, boys,
You may take the gear to the stead,
All the sweat o' your brow, boys,
Will never get beer and bread.
The seed's waste, I know, boys,
There's not a blade will grow, boys,
'Tis cropped out, I trow, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
Send the colt to fair, boys,
He's going blind, as I said,
My old eyes can't bear, boys,
To see him in the shed;
The cow's dry and spare, boys,
She's neither here nor there, boys,
I doubt she's badly bread;
Stop the mill to-morn, boys,
There'll be no more corn, boys,
Neither white nor red;
There's no sign of grass, boys,
You may sell the goat and the ass, boys,
The land's not what it was, boys,
And the beasts must be fed:
You may turn Peg away, boys,
You may pay off old Ned,
We've had a dull day, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
Move my chair on the floor, boys,
Let me turn my head:
She's standing there in the door, boys,
Your sister Winifred!
Take her away from me, boys,
Your sister Winifred!
Move me round in my place, boys,
Let me turn my head,
Take her away from me, boys,
As she lay on here death-bed,
The bones of her thin face, boys,
As she lay on her death-bed!
I don't know how it be, boys,
When all's done and said,
But I see her looking at me, boys,
Whenever I turn my head;
Out of the big oak tree, boys,
Out of the garden-bed,
And the lily as pale as she, boys,
And the rose that used to be red.
There's something not right, boys,
But I think it's not in my head,
I've kept my precious sight, boys, --
The Lord be hallowéd!
Outside and in
The ground is cold to my tread,
The hills are wizen and thin,
The sky is shrivelled and shred,
The hedges down by the loan
I can count them bone by bone,
The leaves are open and spread,
But I see the teeth of the land,
And hands like a dead man's hand,
And the eyes of a dead man's head.
There's nothing but cinders and sand,
The rat and the mouse have fed,
And the summer's empty and cold;
Over valley and wold
Wherever I turn my head
There's a mildew and a mould,
The sun's going out overhead,
And I'm very old,
And Tommy's dead.
What am I staying for, boys,
You're all born and bred,
'Tis fifty years and more, boys,
Since wife and I were wed,
And she'd gone before, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
She was always sweet, boys,
Upon his curly head,
She knew she'd never see't, boys,
And she stole off to bed;
I've been siting up alone, boys,
For he'd come home, he said,
But it's time I was gone boys,
For Tommy's dead.
Put the shutters up, boys,
Bring out the beer and bread,
Make haste and sup, boys,
For my eyes are heavy as lead:
There's something wrong i' the cup, boys,
There's something ill wi' the bread,
I don't care to sup, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
I'm not right, I doubt, boys,
I've such a sleepy head,
I shall nevermore be stout, boys,
You may carry me to bed.
What are you about, boys?
The prayers are all said,
The fire's raked out, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
The stairs are too steep, boys,
You may carry me to the head,
The night's dark and deep, boys,
Your mother's long in bed,
'Tis time to go to sleep, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
I'm not used to a kiss, boys,
You may shake my hand instead.
All things go amiss, boys,
You may lay me where she is, boys,
And I'll rest my old head:
'Tis a poor world, this, boys,
And Tommy's dead.
poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A New John Bull
A tall, slight, English gentleman,
With an eyeglass to his eye;
He mostly says “Good-Bai” to you,
When he means to say “Good-bye”;
He shakes hands like a ladies’ man,
For all the world to see—
But they know, in Corners of the World.
No ladies’ man is he.
A tall, slight English gentleman,
Who hates to soil his hands;
He takes his mother’s drawing-room
To the most outlandish lands;
And when, through Hells we dream not of,
His battery prevails,
He cleans the grime of gunpowder
And blue blood from his nails.
He’s what our blokes in Egypt call
“A decent kinder cove.”
And if the Pyramids should fall?
He’d merely say “Bai Jove!”
And if the stones should block his path
For a twelve-month, or a day,
He’d call on Sergeant Whatsisname
To clear those things away!
A quiet English gentleman,
Who dots the Empire’s rim,
Where sweating sons of ebony
Would go to Hell for him.
And if he chances to get “winged,”
Or smashed up rather worse,
He’s quite apologetic to
The doctor and the nurse.
A silent English gentleman—
Though sometimes he says “Haw.”
But if a baboon in its cage
Appealed to British Law
And Justice, to be understood,
He’d listen all polite,
And do his very best to set
The monkey grievance right.
A thoroughbred whose ancestry
Goes back to ages dim;
Yet no one on his wide estates
Need fear to speak to him.
Although he never showed a sign
Of aught save sympathy,
He was the only gentleman
That shamed the cad in me.
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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