Junk
Motorcars, handlebars, bicycles for two broken hearted jubilee parachutes, army boots, sleeping bags for two na na na na jamboree buy buy... motorcars, handlebars, bicycles for two broken hearte
Ilee parachutes, army boots, sleeping bags for you na na na jamboree buy buy... ... the shopwindow why why, says the sign in the yard buy buy, says the sign in the shop window why why, says the
In the yard
song performed by by Beatles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Junk
Junk
Motorcars, handlebars, bicycles for two
Brokenhearted jubilee
Parachutes, army boots, sleeping bags for two
Sentimental jamboree
Buy, buy says the sign in the shop window
Why, why says the junk in the yard
Ya da da da da la da da da
Buy, buy says the sign in the shop window
Why, why says the junk in the yard
Ya da da da da da da la la la la la
Candlesticks, building bricks,
Something old and new
Memories for you and me
Words and music by paul mccartney
song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Junk
Motor cars, handle bars
Bicycles for two
Broken hearted jubilee
Parachutes, army boots
Sleeping bags for two
Sentimental jamboree
Buy buy
Says the sign in the shop window
Why why
Says the in junk the yard
Candlesticks, building bricks
Some old and new
Memories for you and me
Buy buy
Says the sign in the shop window
Why why
Says the in junk in the yard
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Three Boys On their Bicycles
Along the quiet back streets pedalling up and down
Three boys on their bicycles in the old country town
The prime years of their lives a decade ahead
The future belong to the youth as has often been said
The magpie on a street tree is fluting his song
As three boys on their bicycles pedal along
Chatting of football stars and the fortunes of their favourite football team
To be great football players they do often daydream
With their football boots slung across the handlebars to the football oval bound
'Tis every young players dream for to be best on ground
At the famed M C G on Grand Final Day
Though that for them over a decade away
Full of young ambition and dreams of renown
They pedal along the back streets of the town.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mrs. Ward
On friday afternoon at three o'clock
A passing lady looked into a shop
Her eyes lit up as this the sign she read
Recruiting office, that is what it said
Exacitedly she stepped inside to see
How her sons would fair if they were militry
The man in charge to her was very sweet
And said, "please sign here on this little sheet"
But when she got home her mind grew many fears
The message from the soldiers in the war rang in her ears
Don't put your boys in the army mrs. ward
You know they'll only waste away, oh oh
Don't put your boys in the army mrs. ward
You know they'll only waste away, oh oh
At six o'clock the lads came home from work
She told them what she'd done, they went beserk
We'll have to go to war and fight and die
And mrs. ward she wiped a tear from her eye
Don't put your boys in the army mrs. ward
You know they'll only waste away, oh oh
Don't put your boys in the army mrs. ward
You know they'll only waste away, oh oh
Don't put your boys in the army mrs. ward
You know they'll only waste away, oh oh
Don't put your boys in the army mrs. ward
You know they'll only waste away, oh oh
Don't put your boys in the army mrs. ward
You know they'll only waste away, oh oh
song performed by by Electric Light Orchestra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It would be neat if with the New Year
for Miguel
It would be neat if with the New Year
I could leave my loneliness behind with the old year.
My leathery loneliness an old pair of work boots
my dog vigorously head-shakes back and forth in its jaws,
chews on for hours every day in my front yard—
rain, sun, snow, or wind
in bare feet, pondering my poem,
I’d look out my window and see that dirty pair of boots in the yard.
But my happiness depends so much on wearing those boots.
At the end of my day
while I’m in a chair listening to a Mexican corrido
I stare at my boots appreciating:
all the wrong roads we’ve taken, all the drug and whiskey houses
we’ve visited, and as the Mexican singer wails his pain,
I smile at my boots, understanding every note in his voice,
and strangers, when they see my boots rocking back and forth on my
feet
keeping beat to the song, see how
my boots are scuffed, tooth-marked, worn-soled.
I keep wearing them because they fit so good
and I need them, especially when I love so hard,
where I go up those boulder strewn trails,
where flowers crack rocks in their defiant love for the light.
poem by Jimmy Santiago Baca
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Buy, buy, says the sign in the shop window; Why, why, says the junk in the yard.
quote by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Boots
INFANTRY COLUMNS
We're foot--slog--slog--slog--sloggin' over Africa --
Foot--foot--foot--foot--sloggin' over Africa --
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again!)
There's no discharge in the war!
Seven--six--eleven--five--nine-an'-tw enty mile to-day --
Four--eleven--seventeen--thirty-two the day before --
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again!)
There's no discharge in the war!
Don't--don't--don't--don't--look at what's in front of you.
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again);
Men--men--men--men--men go mad with watchin' em,
An' there's no discharge in the war!
Try--try--try--try--to think o' something different --
Oh--my--God--keep--me from goin' lunatic!
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again!)
There's no discharge in the war!
Count--count--count--count--the bullets in the bandoliers.
If--your--eyes--drop--they will get atop o' you!
(Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again) --
There's no discharge in the war!
We--can--stick--out--'unger, thirst, an' weariness,
But--not--not--not--not the chronic sight of 'em --
Boot--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again,
An' there's no discharge in the war!
'Taint--so--bad--by--day because o' company,
But night--brings--long--strings--o' forty thousand million
Boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again.
There's no discharge in the war!
I--'ave--marched--six--weeks in 'Ell an' certify
It--is--not--fire--devils, dark, or anything,
But boots--boots--boots--boots--movin' up an' down again,
An' there's no discharge in the war!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Forever in Boots
Swimming costume, bib and tucker
Stonewashed jeans or three-piece suits
Never going to be, a tidy looker
I am the man, forever in boots
Funerals, parties or weddings
Working days or evening pursuits
Planting flowers in their beddings
I am the man, forever in boots
I want to be forever in boots
I wear boots on land or sea
I can be a miserable old coot
If you hide my boots from me
In the ring wearing boxing boots
On a horse in my riding boots
At the riverside in Wellington boots
Happy to be the man, forever in boots
Man forever in boots
Seeks woman, to be his puss in boots
For country hikes, in walking boots
Eternal happiness, both; forever in boots
poem by Michael Micmac Mccrory
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Spanish Boots
(beck, stewart, wood)
I used to work and take a salary
In a hole up near a foundry
But it did not take me too long
To get my boots on a so long!
Long spanish boots on a so long!
I took a day job in bethlehem
I nearly threw in the towel then
But it did not take me too long
To get my boots on a so long!
High spanish boots on a so long!
Dig it
I took a spanish haberdashery
Restored with 15th century tapestry
But oh, mr. nesbitt got the best of me
So I strapped on my boots and said so long!
Laced up my high boots and so long!
Goodbye
... am on a job you see
cause my old boots they mean too much to me
Leather boots are just a mystery
Put on my boots and said so long!
High spanish boots on and so long!
Put on my boots and said so long!
Those old spanish boots
Put on my boots and said so long!
High spanish boots
song performed by by Rod Stewart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Visions In Flight
travel tiny parachutes
strong wind carry parachutes
freedom flying visions
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Broken Hearted
By eric clapton and greg phillinganes
When the wind blows down this hard,
Many a bond is broken.
See the water lie on the ground
From where the heavens opened.
Lord, how will you get through this night
With your dreams departed?
And who alone will comfort you?
Only the broken hearted.
So youve gone beyond your means,
Every wound is open,
Your best laid plans are out of reach,
And all your fears unspoken.
Chorus
Sweet revenge is spoken then;
In the twilight it is gone.
To living lies with no escape,
Lord, I would rather be alone.
I press my fingers to the wood
To tell you of my dreaming,
To sing you songs from olden times,
To keep the love light gleaming.
cause theres a place where we can go,
Where we will not be parted.
And who alone will enter there?
Only the broken hearted.
Only the broken, broken hearted.
Only the broken, broken hearted.
Only the broken, broken hearted.
Only the broken, broken hearted.
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Broken Window
Broken Window
“Stand aside, the shop keeper impolitely said,
paying customer first.” Mother and I stood aside
and waited it took long busy now before Yule,
she had a card from the social to purchase boots
and jumpers and I was getting fidgety and upset.
Finally we got our stuff in a brown paper bag,
time was hard fancy papers was for those who
had money. I was seven but the humiliation was
gnawing a big hole in my guts, mother said:
“Beggars can be choosers” I was silent.
The local paper reported about a broken shop
window, oddly nothing was stolen, I smiled
proud of my mother, she had a job nearby
cleaning the office of a tropical fruit importer,
in a good mood now she smoked a cigarette.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Aima
The burden of guilt,
Self abuse;
But Aima came in and told me what went wrong!
And like narrowing the boundaries in the land of your muse;
But, i am seriously watching you.
The face of a broken hearted man,
The face of a broken hearted woman,
The face of a broken hearted boy,
The face of a broken hearted girl,
The face of a broken hearted lady,
The face of a broken hearted gentleman,
And like your bedtime stories with your bed-mates;
But, i have no customer service on this issue at hand.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Everything Is Broken
Broken lines, broken strings, broken threads, broken springs
Broken idols, broken heads, people sleeping in broken beds
Aint no use jivin, aint no use jokin
Everything is broken
Broken bottles, broken plates, broken switches, broken gates
Broken dishes, broken parts, streets are filled with broken hearts
Broken words never meant to be spoken
Everything is broken
Seems like every time you stop and turn around
Someone else has just hit the ground
Broken cutters, broken saws, broken buckles, broken laws
Broken bodies, broken bones, broken voices on broken phones
Take a deep breath, feel like youre chokin
Everything is broken
Every time you leave and go off some place
Things fall to pieces in my face
Broken hands on broken plows, broken treaties, broken vows
Broken pipes, broken tools, people bending broken rules
Hound dog howlin, bullfrog croakin
Everything is broken
song performed by by Bob Dylan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Where Does The Broken-Hearted Go
Where does the broken-hearted go
when its world is in despair.
Where does it run to
and in whom does it console.
Where does the broken-hearted go
when winter chills the soul.
Will it mend and find
another to love again.
Where does the broken-hearted go
when day turns into night
and the candle flickers and dies
extinguishing all the light.
Where do the broken-hearted go
please tell me someone?
My heart has been broken
and I need to know where to go.
20 July 2010
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Everything Is Broken
Broken lines, broken strings
Broken threads, broken springs,
Broken idols, broken heads,
People sleeping in broken beds.
Aint no use jiving,
Aint no use joking,
Everything is broken.
Broken bottles, broken plates,
Broken switches, broken gates,
Broken dishes, broken parts,
Streets are filled with broken hearts.
Broken words never meant to be spoken,
Everything is broken.
Seems like every time you stop and turn around
Something else just hit the ground
Broken cutters, broken saws,
Broken buckles, broken laws,
Broken bodies, broken bones,
Broken voices on broken phones
Take a deep breath, feel like youre chokin,
Everything is broken.
Every time you leave and go off someplace
Thangs fall to pieces in my face
Broken hands on broken ploughs,
Broken treaties, broken vows,
Broken pipes, broken tools,
People bending broken rules.
Hound dog howling, bull frog croaking,
Everything is broken.
song performed by by Kenny Wayne Shepherd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Neutered Boots
Neutered Boots,
Looked at me as if I knew...
The agony of losing,
Jewels once cherished.
Like a bonding of a maleness,
Had been sliced and diced.
And I was petting him gently...
Just trying to be nice.
But Boots had never been kneed,
In the groin.
Or have an affection wished dismissed,
By someone close Boots had lived with.
Boots is a kitten!
He'll get over it.
However...
Not too many other cats,
Will come to appreciate...
Where Boots is at.
And Boots will have to learn that...
On his own!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Soft Parachutes
Soft parachutes
Fourth of July
Villages burning
Returning
The bodies all laid in a line
Like soft parachutes
Last year as a senior
In Emerson High school
I had me a girlfriend
We used to get high
Now I am flyin
Down some Vietnam highway
Dont ask me the reason
God only knows why
Soft parachutes
Fourth of July
Villages burning
Returning
The bodies all laid in a line
Like soft parachutes
song performed by by Paul Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Back to the Army Again
I'm 'ere in a ticky ulster an' a broken billycock 'at,
A-layin' on the sergeant I don't know a gun from a bat;
My shirt's doin' duty for jacket, my sock's stickin' out o' my boots,
An' I'm learnin' the damned old goose-step along o' the new recruits!
Back to Army again, sergeant,
Back to the Army again.
Don't look so 'ard, for I 'aven't no card,
I'm back to the Army again!
I done my six years' service. 'Er Majesty sez: "Good day --
You'll please to come when you're rung for, an' 'ere's your 'ole back-pay:
An' fourpence a day for baccy -- an' bloomin' gen'rous, too;
An' now you can make your fortune -- the same as your orf'cers do."
Back to the Army again, sergeant,
Back to the Army again.
'Ow did I learn to do right-about-turn?
I'm back to the Army again!
A man o' four-an'-twenty that 'asn't learned of a trade --
Beside "Reserve" agin' him -- 'e'd better be never made.
I tried my luck for a quarter, an' that was enough for me,
An' I thought of 'Er Majesty's barricks, an' I thought I'd go an' see.
Back to the Army again, sergeant,
Back to the Army again.
'Tisn't my fault if I dress when I 'alt --
I'm back to the Army again!
The sergeant arst no questions, but 'e winked the other eye,
'E sez to me, " 'Shun!" an' I shunted, the same as in days gone by;
For 'e saw the set o' my shoulders, an' I couldn't 'elp 'oldin' straight
When me an' the other rookies come under the barrik-gate.
Back to the Army again, sergeant,
Back to the Army again.
'Oo would ha' thought I could carry an' port?
I'm back to the Army again!
I took my bath, an' I wallered -- for, Gawd, I needed it so!
I smelt the smell o' the barricks, I 'eard the bugles go.
I 'eard the feet on the gravel -- the feet o' the men what drill --
An' I sez to my flutterin' 'eart-strings, I sez to 'em, "Peace, be still!"
Back to the Army again, sergeant,
Back to the Army again.
'Oo said I knew when the troopship was due?
I'm back to the Army again!
I carried my slops to the tailor; I sez to 'im, "None o' your lip!
You tight 'em over the shoulders, an' loose 'em over the 'ip,
For the set o' the tunic's 'orrid." An' 'e sez to me, "Strike me dead,
But I thought you was used to the business!" an' so 'e done what I said.
Back to the Army again, sergeant,
Back to the Army again.
Rather too free with my fancies? Wot -- me?
I'm back to the Army again!
Next week I'll 'ave 'em fitted; I'll buy me a swagger-cane;
They'll let me free o' the barricks to walk on the Hoe again,
In the name o' William Parsons, that used to be Edward Clay,
An' -- any pore beggar that wants it can draw my fourpence a day!
Back to the Army again, sergeant,
Back to the Army again.
Out o' the cold an' the rain, sergeant,
Out o' the cold an' the rain.
'Oo's there?
A man that's too good to be lost you,
A man that is 'andled an' made --
A man that will pay what 'e cost you
In learnin' the others their trade -- parade!
You're droppin' the pick o' the Army
Because you don't 'elp 'em remain,
But drives 'em to cheat to get out o' the street
An' back to the Army again!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Callaghan's Hotel
There's the same old coaching stable that was used by Cobb and Co.,
And the yard the coaches stood in more than sixty years ago;
And the public-private parlour, where they serve the passing swell,
Was the shoeing forge and smithy up at Callaghan’s Hotel.
There’s the same old walls and woodwork that our fathers built to last,
And the same old doors and wainscot and the windows of the past;
And the same old nooks and corners where the Jim-Jams used to dwell;
But the Fantods dance no longer up at Callaghan’s Hotel.
There are memories of old days that were red instead of blue;
In the time of “Dick the Devil” and of other devils too;
But perhaps they went to Heaven and are angels, doing well—
They were always open-hearted up at Callaghan’s Hotel.
Then the new chum, broken-hearted, and with boots all broken too,
Got another pair of bluchers, and a quid to see him through;
And the old chum got a bottle, who was down and suffering Hell;—
And no tucker-bag went empty out of Callaghan’s Hotel.
And I sit and think in sorrow of the nights that I have seen,
When we fought with chairs and bottles for the orange and the green;
For the peace of poor old Ireland, till they rang the breakfast bell—
And the honour of Old England, up at Callaghan’s Hotel.
poem by Henry Lawson
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