Maori Greeting
No matter where the cafe or the bus stop
The pub or sidewalk of the busy street
It's part of what is their time honoured custom
That Maoris will rub noses when they greet.
Do not ask me why the Maoris rub noses
For about their culture there's little i know
Perhaps their great ancestors brought it with them
From outer Islands centuries ago.
It's Maori way of saying how are you buddy
They always greet each other with a smile
Rub noses and shake hands and sometimes embrace
So good to see you it has been some while.
There is a comraderie amongst the Maoris
The brown skinned people of Pacific Land
They are great warriors but they too can be gentle
And their culture can prove hard to understand.
No matter where tavern or super market
Or side walk of the busy city street
It is part of their old time honoured custom
That Maoris will rub noses when they greet.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Related quotes
Have You Ever Watched The Maoris?
Have you ever watched the Maoris dance the Haka
They shout aloud till they are out of breath
They dance it with such fervour and such passion
It's something you're not likely to forget.
The Haka is the war dance of the Maoris
And the All Blacks dance it before every game
It has become the war cry of New Zealand
And it re-ignites the spirit to full flame.
The Maoris were the greatest of great warriors
And the very might of England they did try
They always danced before they went to battle
And for their rights were not afraid to die.
The Haka is the anthem of the Maoris
They learnt it from their fathers as young boys
And they dance it with such fervour and such feeling
That you can see the passion in their dark brown eyes.
Have you ever watched the Maoris dance the Haka
Their dance of war in centuries gone by
Before they took on the great might of England
They used it as their stirring battle cry.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Maori Pig Market
In distant New Zealand, whose tresses of gold
The billows are ceaselessly combing,
Away in a village all tranquil and old
I came on a market where porkers were sold --
A market for pigs in the gloaming.
And Maoris in plenty in picturesque rig
The lands of their forefathers roaming,
Were weighing their swine, whether little or big,
For purchasers paid by the weight of the pig --
The weight of the pig in the gloaming.
And one mighty chieftain, I grieve to relate,
The while that his porker was foaming
And squealing like fifty -- that Maori sedate,
He leant on the pig just to add to its weight --
He leant on the pig in the gloaming.
Alas! for the buyer, an Irishman stout --
O'Grady, I think, his cognomen --
Perceived all his doings, and, giving a shout,
With the butt of his whip laid him carefully out
By the side of his pig in the gloaming.
A terrible scrimmage did straightway begin,
And I thought it was time to be homing,
For Maoris and Irish were fighting like sin
'Midst war-cries of "Pakeha!" "Batherashin!"
As I fled from the spot in the gloaming
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Maoris now own over half the commercial fishing industry in New Zealand.
quote by Malcolm Fraser
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poem about Poetry - A good Poem
tell you what a good poem
should be like? it should greet us
like champagne that comes pop
and then vapour, bubble oozing all
over our sentiments and when you
reflect on it with your life it is sparkling
and crystal clear as spring water
that has spawned a life of its own,
bubble rising, rising all the way
to greet us a field of eager
and sprightly children out on
adventures, efferverscent
laughter and chatter jumping
all over our noses as we take
in all their happiness
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Looking Down Their Nose
There are people the world over
whom think they are better
than everyone.
They’ve got a good education
so they look down on those who haven’t.
I feel sorry for those
they look down their noses at.
One day one of those people
they think lower than them
may just become their boss
and then what would they do.
Grovel on their hands and knees,
their better education
won’t hold much credence then.
They’ll have to look
towards their personality,
but if the person in charge is one of those,
they’ve looked their noses on.
They won’t be able to use it there,
as they will see right through it
at what you really are.
Before you ever look down your nose at anyone.
It might be wise
to think before you act,
for that person may well one day
just happen to be your boss.
6 February 2008
poem by David Harris
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The Song of Quoodle
They haven't got no noses,
The fallen sons of Eve;
Even the smell of roses
Is not what they supposes;
But more than mind discloses
And more than men believe.
They haven't got no noses,
They cannot even tell
When door and darkness closes
The park a Jew encloses,
Where even the law of Moses
Will let you steal a smell.
The brilliant smell of water,
The brave smell of a stone,
The smell of dew and thunder,
The old bones buried under,
Are things in which they blunder
And err, if left alone.
The wind from winter forests,
The scent of scentless flowers,
The breath of brides' adorning,
The smell of snare and warning,
The smell of Sunday morning,
God gave to us for ours
* * * * * * * * * * * * * *
And Quoodle here discloses
All things that Quoodle can,
They haven't got no noses,
They haven't got no noses,
And goodness only knowses
The Noselessness of Man.
poem by G.K. Chesterton
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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They Are The Ones That Others Envy
I have issues with people who leave people...
Begging on the streets with nothing to eat.
Or treat others like they're not even human equals.
And then look disgusted like they are diseased
No human being can teach a cat hygiene.
Nor can you teach a grown up to be clean.
Nobody should be teaching who to respect.
That should be a given and not a pick to peck.
I have issues with the snots with turned up noses.
As if they have scents of champion roses.
Ooo I can't believe these people are the ones who stink.
And-they-believe,
They are the ones that others envy?
Who made them runner up for fresh sainthoods?
Who showed them evilness was anything good?
Who gave them rights to think they beam like light?
And who told them they approve the Sun that rises high!
Yes I have issues with the snots with turned up noses.
As if they have scents of champion roses.
Ooo I can't believe these people are the ones who stink.
And-they-believe,
They are the ones that others envy?
They believe,
They are the ones that others envy.
And they believe,
They are the ones that others envy.
They believe,
They are the ones that others envy.
And they believe,
They are the ones that others envy.
I have issues with the snots with turned up noses.
And they believe,
They are the ones that others envy.
I have issues with the snots with turned up noses.
And they believe,
They are the ones that others envy.
And they believe,
They are the ones that others envy.
And they believe,
They are the ones that others envy.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Song of Quoodle
They haven't got no noses,
The fallen sons of Eve;
Even the smell of roses
Is not what they supposes;
But more than mind discloses
And more than men believe.
They haven't got no noses,
They cannot even tell
When door and darkness closes
The park a Jew encloses,
Where even the law of Moses
Will let you steal a smell.
The brilliant smell of water,
The brave smell of a stone,
The smell of dew and thunder,
The old bones buried under,
Are things in which they blunder
And err, if left alone.
The wind from winter forests,
The scent of scentless flowers,
The breath of brides' adorning,
The smell of snare and warning,
The smell of Sunday morning,
God gave to us for ours
*
And Quoodle here discloses
All things that Quoodle can,
They haven't got no noses,
They haven't got no noses,
And goodness only knowses
The Noselessness of Man.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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Bon Voyage
Afloat on the immensity
of waters rolling endlessly
Their huge canoes borne easily.
Their voyage was exploratory.
The brown skinned folk who formed the crew.
Did not know where they were going to.
But hoped to find some land that’s new.
Long trips they were accustomed to.
They navigate instinctively.
They read the language of the sea
and caught fresh fish abundantly.
They journey on triumphantly.
Their dream to find a new homeland.
Some fertile place to make a stand.
A friendly shore on which to land,
establish homes for their whole band.
These long limbed strangers from the sea
fulfilled an ancient prophecy..
They founded a new colony.
That’s how the Maoris came to be.
Kept to the customs which they knew
and over time grew from a few
into a nation which was new.
Just as they were destined to do.
27-Oct-07
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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In The Business Of Others
People with a knack,
For keeping their noses...
In the business affairs of others,
Are often surprised and quite upset...
By secrets kept,
Others keep hidden away from them...
That are right under their probing noses.
And they become offended,
When the 'info' to another has been revealed.
'I thought you told me you two weren't speaking? '
~We aren't.
We email and text.
Finding this the best way to communicate.
Without the rest of the people 'twisting' what they hear,
Within listening distance.~
'And...
What are you implying? '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Don't Be Alarmed By This
Don't be alarmed by this.
But there are people who actually believe,
They have a purpose with a faithfulness
To keep their noses up in other people's business.
And,
With dedication.
Some go to the extent,
To let it be known they stalk.
With a creation of all movements to gossip.
Others are so obsessed,
They tell others 'who' it is they know.
That they have yet not met
With the detailing of what that one has done,
From the moment they leave to return to their doorstep.
And who enters their home and what time that person left.
Don't be alarmed by this.
But there are people who actually believe,
They have a purpose with a faithfulness.
To keep their noses up in other people's business.
And,
With dedication.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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We'll be Together
No matter where we're
We'll be together
I'm not alone because I have you
People think we don't belong together and it a waste of time
I don't care what they say because
I love you no matter what
I feel you when you're not here
When we're part
We'll be together
No matter where we're
People made fun of me being with you, but
It doesn't matter what they say because you're a great guy
I know we will make it through
No one can stop me from loving you
I know we're inseparable
I miss you when you're not around
We'll be together
We can overcome what comes through us
People think they can keep us part and we won't do anything
I'm smart enough to know that I won't be fool by them
I be with you and hug you in my arms and also I don't care what they say
When we're part
We'll be together
No matter where we're
People made fun of me being with you, but
It doesn't matter what they say because you're a great guy
I know we will made it through
No one can stop me from loving you
I know we're inseparable
Even when we're miles apart
You're still in my heart and
Not another guy because I can't live without you
People will look at me like that and tell me things about you because
They think I shouldn't date you
So it doesn't matter because
I will be right by your side and love you forever until end
We'll be together
poem by Christina Phan
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There are a lot of people out there who are just waiting that we fail. They brought up the theory that we're one-hit wonders and they want us to fall flat on our noses, just to prove them right.
quote by Mark McGrath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Maori's Wool
The Maoris are a mighty race -- the finest ever known;
Before the missionaries came they worshipped wood and stone;
They went to war and fought like fiends, and when the war was done
They pacified their conquered foes by eating every one.
But now-a-days about the pahs in idleness they lurk,
Prepared to smoke or drink or talk -- or anything but work.
The richest tribe in all the North in sheep and horse and cow,
Were those who led their simple lives at Rooti-iti-au.
'Twas down to town at Wellington a noble Maori came,
A Rangatira of the best, Rerenga was his name --
(The word Rerenga means a "snag" -- but until he was gone
This didn't strike the folk he met -- it struck them later on).
He stalked into the Bank they call the "Great Financial Hell",
And told the Chief Financial Fiend the tribe had wool to sell.
The Bold Bank Manager looked grave -- the price of wool was high.
He said, "We'll lend you what you need -- we're not disposed to buy.
"You ship the wool to England, Chief! -- You'll find it's good advice,
And meanwhile you can draw from us the local market price."
The Chief he thanked them courteously and said he wished to state
In all the Rooti-iti tribe his mana would be freat,
But still the tribe were simple folk, and did not understand
This strange finance that gave them cash without the wool in hand.
So off he started home again, with trouble on his brow,
To lay the case before the tribe at Rooti-iti-au.
They held a great korero in the Rooti-iti clan,
With speeches lasting half a day from every leading man.
They called themselves poetic names -- "lost children in a wood";
They said the Great Bank Manager was Kapai -- extra good!
And so they sent Rerenga down, full-powered and well-equipped,
To draw as much as he could get, and let the wool be shipped;
And wedged into a "Cargo Tank", full up from stern to bow,
A mighty clip of wool went Home from Rooti-iti-au.
It was the Bold Bank Manager who drew a heavy cheque;
Rerenga cashed it thoughtfully, then clasped him round the neck;
A hug from him was not at all a thing you'd call a lark --
You see he lived on mutton-birds and dried remains of shark --
But still it showed his gratitude; and, as he pouched the pelf,
"I'll haka for you, sir," he said, "in honour of yourself!"
The haka is a striking dance -- the sort they don't allow
In any place more civilized than Rooti-iti-au.
He "haka'd" most effectively -- then, with an airy grace,
Rubbed noses with the Manager, and vanished into space.
But when the wool return came back, ah me, what sighs and groans!
For every bale of Maori wool was loaded up with stones!
Yes -- thumping great New Zealand rocks among the wool they found;
On every rock the bank had lent just eighteen-pence a pound.
And now the Bold Bank Manager, with trouble on his brow,
Is searching vainly for the chief from Rooti-iti-au.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Talking About The Obvious
it is not hard, i suppose,
to talk about hidden matters,
people do these most of the time,
like what happened behind the scenes
and the real stories still untold,
people know them more
than we do,
what seems to be hard
not just to understand,
but even to
talk about, are
the obvious ones
those found in our
very noses,
we seldom see them
but others will
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Street Memories
I would look down that desolate street
Where you and I would meet.
In my eyes I see you walking towards me
And my heart would skip a beat.
I’d see the smile upon your face
And feel the tenderness of your embrace.
I’d hear your laughter echoing in my ears
Which would take away the tears.
This street of memories stays in my mind
For my love for you leaves me blind.
The store fronts that we would go into
To get out of the rain.
And look at the children with their
Noses against the window panes.
This street which is walked by every one
Will never tell the things we’ve done.
When we opened up a fire hydrant
So that the children could play
Then we laughed and ran away.
The day that we looked to see
If any cops were around
And tried to fry eggs on the ground.
And when we tied a frank on our dogs tail
He would go in circles and start to wail.
Then we would give him his favorite treat
A cold ice cream to beat the heat.
These are the things I recall
As I look down this street.
This street where you and I would meet!
poem by Louis Rams
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Busy
I am busy
you are busy
we are busy
but the old woman needs help
to find her way home.
I am busy
you are busy
we are busy
but the dove is too slow
to fly out of the way.
I am busy
you are busy
we are busy
but the children crossing the street
are too many.
I am busy
you are busy
we are busy....
I am busy
you are busy
we are...
busy.
poem by Marites C. Cayetano
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Most people can't understand how others can blow their noses differently than they do.
quote by Ivan Turgenev
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What You See
What you see is what you get
Dont relax youre not home yet
What you see is what you get
Dont relax youre not home yet
Put your life into my hands
Look around youll understand
Put your life into my hands
Its the 80s idiot
What you see is what you get
Its the 80s little fool
Dont forget the golden rule
What you see is what you get
What the hell did you expect
Pretty red roses, wet puppy noses
Men with rubber hoses is more like it
What you see is not always what you get
A lesson we must not forget
One never knows what to expect
So close your eyes and what you get
Is what you see and what you get
Open up your eyes and look around
Then close them tight and kiss the ground
You better be thankful youre alive
And how much longer can you survive
Underneath the mask theres something brewing
Underneath the ground theres something moving
Its the 80s idiot
What you see is what you get
Its the 80s little fool
Dont forget the golden rule
What you see is what you get
What the hell did you expect
Pretty red roses, wet puppy noses
Men with rubber hoses is more like it
Patrolling the street with all of their friends
Bashing you around trying to make you like them
What you see is what you get
song performed by by Oingo Boingo
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Chomillah palace in Hyderabad
The palace was luminously wet and reached out to sky
In its shadow lay the kings and their faceless women
Whose fine drapery interrupted their noses and seeing eyes
Under big-vaulting domes and resounding halls.
Their noises went up to the ceiling and returned empty
Like their noses and eyes lost from their faces.
They were not lost actually but had never been there.
When the silks arrived they forgot the women’s faces.
The women sat there gossiping about other women,
Other women in the harem and their fine draperies.
Their men’s bloated egos did not show on men’s faces;
Their men’s egos showed on the women’s stomachs, ,
On the little heirs to the throne who came from there.
A fine bangle, a glittering necklace and some pearls
Hush talk about the latest addition to the harem
And other scraps of conversation went on as it rained.
They had no faces for the evening conversation,
Only bodies fully draped in the finest gilded silks.
In the beginning they sat on the ground huddled.
Later the West grew on them in the white man’s land
And they sat on sofas and high backed chairs presiding
Tea ceremonies just like the sophisticated women.
They still did not have their noses on their faces.
poem by Jagannath rao Adukuri
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