Friday Is Limerick Day
There once lived a poet named George
near the Falls of Carnarvon Gorge.
He ran out of ideas
and to us it appears
that he secretly started to forge.
So he copied from Chaucer and Suess
which of course was a blatant abuse.
When he went to the printer
in the middle of winter
he'd manufactured his noose.
In the bookstore he sat, smugly signing,
many copies, the people were lining
all the streets from the park
until way after dark,
with the moon and the streetlights shining.
At the stroke of the midnight hour
from the clock of the old Limerick Tower
through the door wandered Suess
with an ancient recluse
and for George the whole world went sour.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Related quotes
A Turtle Named George
There was a little turtle named George
On his food he would always gorge
He popped out of his shell
And said what the hell
And George was a turtle no more!
My feeble attempt at humor!
poem by Donna Nimmo
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Signing Off
Signing off
Signing off
Does it surprize you
I wont need your lips anymore
Signing off
Cant idolize you
My heart crossed your name off the door
Signing off
Now that Ive told you
That this is just where I came in
Signing off
Why should I hold you
Youve already said I cant win
Its strange how the rest of the world knows
The things you should see at a glance
And I want what all of the world knows
A person to person romance
Signing off
I cant pretend dear
My trip to the stars took a spill
Were all through
This is the ending
Because you only wanted a thrill
Im signing off
Ill always remember the pleasure
Of friendship and all that its worth
I know that its something to treasure
>from here to the ends of the earth
Signing off
Happy I met you
So please make me happy again
And be sure I wont forget you
The best of everything until then
Im signing off
Signing off
Transcribed by amber
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Culver Moon
I live in a small town . . . deep in la
About five miles north of where the lakers play
Everybody heres from someplace else
Working all together just like santas elves
Baby, culver me
And Ill culver you
When the streets are shining with the smoggy dew
When the lights are glowing with the mists of june
And the whole world is lit up by the culver moon
Baby dont worry bout angelyne
She aint the prettiest thing Ive ever seen
Nothing she wears ever fits her right
And her complexion is just a little too tight
And the way she looks down from so high above
Makes me think the poor childs never been in love
Baby, culver me
And Ill culver you
When the streets are shining with the smoggy dew
When the lights are glowing with the mists of june
And the whole world is lit up by the culver moon
Baby Im going to love you til the stars come down
til they park their limos and they walk to town
til the l.a. river overflows its banks
til the whole alternative nation bows its knobby head in thanks
til the fish are jumping in ballona creek
til the earth is inherited by the meek
Baby, culver me
And Ill culver you
When the streets are shining with the smoggy dew
When the lights are glowing with the mists of june
And the whole world is illuminated by the culver moon
Under the rainbow and behind versailles
From the aisles of fedco to the 405
From mgm to veterans park
Way down at chippendales fumblin in the dark
Where the ghostly specter of howard hughes
Hovers in the smoke of a thousand bar-b-ques
Baby, culver me
And Ill culver you
When the streets are shining with the smoggy dew
When the lights are glowing with the mists of june
And the whole world is lit up by the culver moon
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The house burned an hour before midnight on the last day of April. The wild, distant ringing of the fire bells woke George Hazard. He stumbled through the dark hallway, then upstairs to the mansion tower, and stepped outside into the narrow balcony.
quote by John Jakes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cookoo Clock
He lives each day
one hour at a time
listening to the old
and rusty gears
inside his cookoo clock
where the thoughts spin
until midnight's stroke
then calls twelve times
in his dreams.
poem by Poet Dragon
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My Literary Friend
Once I wrote a little poem which I thought was very fine,
And I showed the printer’s copy to a critic friend of mine,
First he praised the thing a little, then he found a little fault;
‘The ideas are good,’ he muttered, ‘but the rhythm seems to halt.’
So I straighten’d up the rhythm where he marked it with his pen,
And I copied it and showed it to my clever friend again.
‘You’ve improved the metre greatly, but the rhymes are bad,’ he said,
As he read it slowly, scratching surplus wisdom from his head.
So I worked as he suggested (I believe in taking time),
And I burnt the ‘midnight taper’ while I straightened up the rhyme.
‘It is better now,’ he muttered, ‘you go on and you’ll succeed,
‘It has got a ring about it—the ideas are what you need.’
So I worked for hours upon it (I go on when I commence),
And I kept in view the rhythm and the jingle and the sense,
And I copied it and took it to my solemn friend once more—
It reminded him of something he had somewhere read before.
Now the people say I’d never put such horrors into print
If I wasn’t too conceited to accept a friendly hint,
And my dearest friends are certain that I’d profit in the end
If I’d always show my copy to a literary friend.
poem by Henry Lawson
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To be Carved on a Stone at Ballylee
I, the poet William Yeats,
With old mill boards and sea-green slates,
And smithy work from the Gort forge,
Restored this tower for my wife George;
And may these characters remain
When all is ruin once again.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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To be Carved On A Stone At Thoor Ballylee
I, THE poet William Yeats,
With old mill boards and sea-green slates,
And smithy work from the Gort forge,
Restored this tower for my wife George;
And may these characters remain
When all is ruin once again.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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George Of The Jungle
George, george, george of the jungle
Strong as he can be
Ahhh
Watch out for that tree
George, george, george of the jungle
Lives a life thats free
Ahhh
Watch out for that tree
When he gets in scrapes
When he makes his escapes
With the help of his friend
An ape named ape
Then away hell schlep
On his elephant shep
While fella and ursula
Stay in step with
George, george, george of the jungle
Friend to you and me
Ahhh
Watch out for that tree
Watch out for that (ahhh) (oooh) tree
George, george, george of the jungle
Friend to you and me
song performed by by Weird Al Yankovic
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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At This Hour.
Like a jazz trumpet
You sunset
A crowded room.
Like a flower
You choose to bloom
At this hour.
I am just a psychedelic
1960's relic.
To romance you
In a dance
Who
Will chance
Wishing on midnight moons.
In lovers trance
This poet swoons
- Who plays
London's arty cafe's
Painting breezes
As they applaud.
My words are my sword.
In Van Gogh fashion
My manic passion
Rhyming with the masters last breath.
Both famous after our death.
Our beauty
Hangs in galleries apart.
Yet
Both with brush stroke
Are the choke of a heart.
Praying a love won't depart.
And you rise
In a blue mist
Of a full moon's eyes.
At this hour.
Your naked steps
Waltz
On virgin sand
I cower,
As oceans are fanned
With
Breathless adieus.
Until you choose
Your star.
Left tapping on a darkened door.
This poet raps no more.
Now silent and poor.
Dreams -
Pacing the floor
With echoing shoes.
I lose.
Will kisses now ripen
Or sour.
The flower of our seed
Or stranded garden weed.
Mean I slowly bleed
Fading with that promise
At this hour.
poem by Kevin East
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Bamborough Castle
Ye holy Towers that shade the wave-worn steep,
Long may ye rear your aged brows sublime,
Though, hurrying silent by, relentless Time
Assail you, and the winds of winter sweep
Round your dark battlements; for far from halls
Of Pride, here Charity hath fixed her seat,
Oft listening, tearful, when the tempests beat
With hollow bodings round your ancient walls;
And Pity, at the dark and stormy hour
Of midnight, when the moon is hid on high,
Keeps her lone watch upon the topmost tower,
And turns her ear to each expiring cry;
Blessed if her aid some fainting wretch may save,
And snatch him cold and speechless from the wave.
poem by William Lisle Bowles
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Once Upon A Poem
In the Mad-Poetic world,
Of a lonely Ivory Tower,
Was a Poet never heard,
For it never was his hour.
He had gone and warned the World,
Of impending, danger, power,
But the people kept on dancing,
Just like fools, around his tower.
Poets, Idealists and Lovers,
This old World has never changed,
Poets, stay in Ivory Tower
And pretend you are deranged.
poem by Sandra Feldman
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Dark Winter Blues
The darkness of winter in some parts of the world,
The blues that it brings to make them sick;
But who is able to challenge nature?
Dark winter blues,
From the middle of November to the end of January;
There our hopes lied so low in the North of the Arctic Circle.
Dark winter blues,
To endure the long dark nights of the Arctic winter;
With pastel shades of blue and violet wrapped in the snow.
Snow ballls,
Snow falls;
The dark winter does have negative effects on some people,
But the earth will keep on moving.
Wrapped in the cold of the snow,
With seasonal moods from the winter blues;
But this sadness of winter cannot be wiped away so easily.
There is no place to escape to with this claustrophobic,
But it is a matter of patience to push the days away;
And the orbit of the earth is all that makes the difference.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Ain't Goin' Down ('Til The Sun Comes Up)
( Jenny Yates, Garth Brooks)
Six o'clock on Friday evening
Momma doesn' t know she's leaving
'Til she hears the screen door slamming
Rubber squealin', gears a-jamming
Local country station just a blaring on the radio
Pick him up at seven and they're headin' to the rodeo
Momma's on the front porch screamin' out her warning
Girl you better get your red head
Back in bed before the morning
Nine o'clock the show is ending
But the fun is just beginning
She knows he's anticipating
But she's gonna keep him waiting
Grab a bite to eat
And then they're heading to the honkey tonk
But loud crowds and line dancing
Just ain't what they really want
Drive out to the boondocks and park down by the creek
And where it's George Strait 'til real late
And dancing cheek to cheek
Ain't going down 'til the sun comes up
Ain't givin' in 'til they get enough
Going 'round the world in a pickup truck
Ain't goin' down 'til the sun comes up
Ten 'til twelve is wine and dancing
Midnight starts the hard romancing
One o'clock that truck is rocking
Two is coming, still no stopping
Break to check the clock at three
They're right on where they want to be
Four o'clock get up and going
Five o'clock that rooster's crowing
Ain't going down 'til the sun comes up
Ain't givin' in 'til they get enough
Going 'round the world in a pickup truck
Ain't goin' down 'til the sun comes up
Six o'clock on Saturday
Her folks don't know he's on his way
The stalls are clean, the horses fed
They say she's grounded 'til she's dead
Well here he comes around the bend
Slowing down, she's jumping in
Hey mom, you're daughter's gone
And there they go again
Ain't going down 'til the sun comes up
Ain't givin' in 'til they get enough
Going 'round the world in a pickup truck
Ain't goin' down 'til the sun comes up
song performed by by Garth Brooks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For The Birthday of Edgar Allan Poe
(January 19, 1909)
Poet of doom, dementia, and death,
Of beauty singing in a charnel house,
Like the lost soul of a poor moon-mad maid,
With too much loving of some lord of hell;
Doomed and disastrous spirit, to what shore
Of what dark gulf infernal art thou strayed,
Or to what spectral star of topless heaven
Art lifted and enthroned?
The winter dark,
And the drear winter cold that welcomed thee
To a world all winter, gird with ice and storm
Thy January day-yea! the same world
Of winter and the wintry hearts of men;
And still, for all thy shining, the same swarm
That mocked thy song gather about thy fame,
With the small murmur of the undying worm,
And whisper, blind and foul, amid thy dust.
poem by Richard Le Gallienne
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The Winter Moon
Its the sweet sultry taste of winter on my lips,
the shadow of the pale moonlight on my eyes,
and behind the thin drapes of midnight clouds,
amidst the stars shining bright and clear,
smiles the radiance of the winter moon.
If I had seen heaven,
I would admit I had seen it,
hiding shyly behind the curtains of the night,
the winter moon at zenith, smiles down at me.
Its this breeze blowing gently,
mixing the scent of the winter with the moon,
and I stay awake,
my heart filled to the brim with love,
appreciating the splendour of the winter moon!
poem by Amatulla Mohammadi
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It is the eve of St. George's Day. Do you not know that tonight, when the clock strikes midnight, all the evil things in the world will have full sway?
quote by Bram Stoker
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Deliverance
It is nearly midnight; I can read the clock inside of my mind.
I can see through the darkness
Wicked hands reaching forward- with dagger- like fingers-
Sharp and threatening-
I am surrounded by vicious animals,
Hungry snakes and people who wish to harm me?
I would open that golden door to freedom if I could, if only to
Escape this terrifying world that
Surrounds me- I have no key and the lock
Is hanging off some invincible being's wrist as would a bracelet-
Tinted gold as the door that bars me, and striking- though
Not beautiful but hideously distorted-
I can still read the clock inside of my mind
Which I can read through the bleakest darkness- I see a door to freedom although
The lock and most likely, the key have been lost- All eyes are upon me and
All voices are threatening; all beings wishing me harm are loudening-
I cannot escape through this door toward unreachable liberty,
I hope I am dreaming and this is none but a nightmare-
This world is closing in on me from many directions- as my tongue forks out,
I still wonder why is the whole world against me?
It is past midnight and I foresee no escape from doomsday except for
That door to freedom that is locked and I own no key-
The lock and key would be my saviors - I don't believe in a higher being-
Evil eyes are upon me; I have come to full awareness that
I could awaken and darkness would still prevail,
Even though the sun is brilliant on a cloudless day, only because
Present in my awakened state I foresee no door opening toward freedom-
The sun is shining, and there is a rainbow on the horizon-
But I see my shadow fading into bleak darkness and despair-
Voices inside of my mind are commanding and I know-
I know and don't need to be told-
My whole world is darkening because since the day I was born into this world,
I have been a victim of abuse, confusion and disorientation and
The lights inside the womb that carried me burnt out before my birth and
My whole life has been a nightmare, and here I can no longer persevere, so I shall
Escape and follow my shadow, as I light a candle illuminating the world of my fantasies
Hopefully to guide me towards salvation…
poem by Claudia Krizay
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In the Midnight Hour
When we meet
in the midnight hour
country girl
I will bring you night flowers
coloured like your eyes
in the moonlight
in the midnight
hour
I remember
Your cold hand
held for a moment among strangers
held for a moment among dripping trees
in the midnight hour
I remember
Your eyes coloured like the autumn landscape
walking down muddy lanes
watching sheep eating yellow roses
walking in city squares in winter rain
kissing in darkened hallways
walking in empty suburban streets
saying goodnight in deserted alleyways
in the midnight hour
Andy Williams singing `We'll keep a Welcome in the
Hillsides' for us
When I meet you at the station
The Beatles singing `We Can Work it Out' with James
Ensor at the harmonium
Rita Hayworth in a nightclub singing `Arcade Mia'
I will send you armadas
of love vast argosies of flowers
in the midnight hour
country girl
when we meet
in the moonlight
midnight
hour
country girl
I will bring you
yellow
white
eyes
bright
moon
light
mid
night
flowers
in the midnight hour.
poem by Adrian Henri
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In The Middle Of The Night
Nice man george, newsagent on the corner,
Not very rich, but never any poorer,
Jaunty old george, a happy sixty-three,
Not very tall, but healthier than me.
He whistles timeless tunes as he saunters down the street,
Springs in his legs and elastic in his feet.
But in the middle of the night,
He steals through your garden,
Gives your hosiery a fright,
And doesnt say pardon.
As soft as a breeze,
With an arm full of underwear,
On his hands and knees,
Dreams about the knicker scare.
Hello there george, newsagent on the corner,
Hows the old car, yes the climates getting warmer,
Chatty old george as you get your morning paper,
Read about the knicker thief, underwear taker.
Bids you good day, as you wander out the door,
Never closes early, always cleans the floor.
But when darkness hits the town,
And theres washing on your line,
Get your knickers down,
Before the dreaded sign.
When the clock strikes eight,
And youre snuggled up in bed,
Hell be at the garden gate,
Filling underwear with dread.
Nice man george, newsagent on the corner,
He was closed today, maybe gone to mow the lawn,
I had to go further down the road to get me current bun,
Hello - isnt that george on page one ?
No it couldnt be, but yes it is,
Difficult to see from these photofits.
But they are after him,
Of that you can be sure,
Theyve called him on the phone,
Theyve knocked on his door.
A-but hes gone away,
Gone to stay with some mates,
He got the papers early,
And saw his own face.
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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