Midnight Thirty
Midnight thirty
Deep fog solstice
Milk bowl moon
Sits over Saint Louis.
poem by David E. Patton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The Moon
The lonely moon
whom sits euphorically
in the darken sky
Alone
for centuries
announcing persistently
the constant night
Capturing imagination
which misguided, leads into
The were-wolf's bite
at full
O the misinterpretation
of the one
who swims
in the black
Outshining the stars
inspiring the dreams
behind the eyelids
overdosed in the sandman's
grains
In these dreams we see
the very core in the deep
so easily forgotten
and from consciousness, sunder
upon awake
But I
remember the lonely
moon
But I
can relate
The moon
who shines and sits
in the midnight sky
and beyond
The moon
I announce thee
as my long lost
brother
poem by Justin Tallman Gonzalez
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Its Midnight & Im Not Famous Yet
Its midnight and Im not famous yet
By: jimmy buffett, steve goodman
1981
For barry hanah
Catch the elevator from the penthouse suite
And take it down to the casino
The god-almighty sound of money movin round
Can be heard all the way to reno
Chorus:
Well its midnight and Im not famous yet
Tryin to win it all with one more bet
Nothin can stop my thirty-two hop
Or my ten dollar yo yo yo
Its midnight, Im just gettin ready to roll
(midnight)
Now lester polyester signs another marker
Like the high rollers do
Seven come eleven
His brand new baby needs gucci shoes
Chorus:
Well its midnight shes not famous yet
Tryin to break the bank with one more bet
Nothin can stop my thirty-two hop
Or my ten dollar yo yo yo
Its midnight, lesters gettin ready to roll
Midnight (midnight)
Midnight
(instrumental)
(midnight)
Theyre pagin someone we know, lester hits a keno
Hes not leavin yet
Vacuum cleaners hummin lounge act still is strummin
Its their twenty-fourth set
Well its midnight theyre not famous yet
Tryin to win it all with one more bet
Nothin can stop my thirty-two hop
Or my ten dollar yo yo yo
Its midnight, got nowhere to go (oh oh)
Midnight (midnight)
(oh oh oh)
Midnight (midnight)
(oh oh oh, midnight)
(oh oh oh, midnight)
(oh oh oh, midnight)
(oh oh oh)
- notes:
Lead guitar by josh leo
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
My joking answer to this question is that I leave a bowl of milk out on the back porch every night for the Idea Fairy. In the morning, the milk is gone and there's a brand-new shiny idea by the bowl.
quote by Sarah Zettel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Solstice Summer
Solstice - Summer
Solstice of the new summer
Hear the golden drummer
Is it really such a wonderful day
My hands are full of dirty clay
Love affaires are blooming
Cameras eyes zooming
Solstice of the new summer
Hear the iron hammer
Is it really the longest day
Hope you will come my way
Love is like a huge wave
Can anybody be save
Joyful sounds out of the chamber
Keep on the turning tumbler
Solstice of the ending winter
Solstice of the new summer
poem by Morhardt Carmen Mencita Monoi Angel
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Seamen Three
Seamen three! What men be ye?
Gotham's three wise men we be.
Whither in your bowl so free?
To rake the moon from out the sea.
The bowl goes trim. The moon doth shine.
And our ballast is old wine;
And your ballast is old wine.
Who art thou, so fast adrift?
I am he they call Old Care.
Here on board we will thee lift.
No: I may not enter there.
Wherefore so? 'Tis Jove's decree,
In a bowl Care may not be;
In a bowl Care may not be.
Fear ye not the waves that roll?
No: in charmed bowl we swim.
What the charm that floats the bowl?
Water may not pass the brim.
The bowl goes trim. The moon doth shine.
And our ballast is old wine;
And your ballast is old wine.
poem by Thomas Love Peacock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Three Men of Gotham
SEAMEN three! What men be ye?
Gotham's three wise men we be.
Whither in your bowl so free?
To rake the moon from out the sea.
The bowl goes trim. The moon doth shine.
And our ballast is old wine.--
And your ballast is old wine.
Who art thou, so fast adrift?
I am he they call Old Care.
Here on board we will thee lift.
No: I may not enter there.
Wherefore so? 'Tis Jove's decree,
In a bowl Care may not be.--
In a bowl Care may not be.
Fear ye not the waves that roll?
No: in charmed bowl we swim.
What the charm that floats the bowl?
Water may not pass the brim.
The bowl goes trim. The moon doth shine.
And our ballast is old wine.--
And your ballast is old wine.
poem by Thomas Love Peacock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To Mrs. Thrale on Her Completing Her Thirty-fifth Year
Oft in danger, yet alive,
We are come to thirty-five;
Long may better years arrive,
Better years than thirty-five.
Could philosophers contrive
Life to stop at thirty-five,
Time his hours should never drive
O'er the bounds of thirty-five
High to soar, and deep to dive,
Nature gives at thirty-five.
Ladies, stop and tend your hive,
Trifle not at thirty-five;
For, howe'er we boast and strive,
Life declines from thirty-five:
He that ever hopes to thrive
Must begin by thirty-five:
And all who wisely wish to wive
Must look on Thrale at thirty-five.
poem by Samuel Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
It's Midnight And I'm Not Famous Yet
Catch the elevator from the penthouse suite
And take it down to the casino
The God almighty sound of money movin' round
Can be heard all the way to Reno
Well it's midnight and I'm not famous yet
Tryin' to win it all with one more bet
Nothin' can stop my thirty-two hop
Or my ten dollar yo-yo-yo
It's midnight and I'm just gettin' ready to go
Lester Polyester signs another marker
Like the high rollers do
Seven come eleven
His brand new baby needs Gucci shoes
Well it's midnight and she's not famous yet
Tryin' to break the bank with one more bet
Nothin' can stop my thirty-two hop
Or my ten dollar yo-yo-yo
It's midnight and Lester's gettin' ready to roll
[Instrumental]
They're pagin' someone we know
Lester hits a Keno
he's not leavin' yet
Vacuum cleaners hummin' lounge act still is strummin'
It's their twenty fourth set
Well it's midnight and they're not famous yet
Tryin' to win with one last bet
Nothin' can stop my thirty-two hop
Or my ten dollar yo-yo-yo
It's midnight got nowhere to go
song performed by by Jimmy Buffett
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Away The Bowl
Our grateful hearts with temperance burn,
Away, away the bowl,
From dram shops all, our steps we turn,
Away, away the bowl;
Farewell to rum and all its harms,
Farewell the wine-cup's boasted charms,
Away the bowl, away the bowl, away, away the bowl.
See how that staggering drunkard reels!
Away, away the bowl;
Alas, the misery he reveals,
Away, away the bowl;
His children grieve, his wife's in tears!
How sad his once bright home appears!
Away the bowl, away the bowl, away, away the bowl.
We drink no more, nor buy nor sell,
Away, away the bowl!
The grog-shop's offers we repel,
Away, away the bowl.
United in a temperance band,
We 're joined in heart, we 're joined in hand,
Away the bowl, away the bowl, away, away the bowl.
poem by John Pierpont
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sister Cat
Cat stands at the fridge,
Cries loudly for milk.
But I've filled her bowl.
Wild cat, I say, Sister,
Look, you have milk.
I clink my fingernail
Against the rim. Milk.
With down and liver,
A word I know she hears.
Her sad miaow. She runs
To me. She dips
In her whiskers but
Doesn't drink. As sometimes
I want the light on
When it is on. Or when
I saw the woman walking
toward my house and
I thought there's Frances.
Then looked in the car mirror
To be sure. She stalks
The room. She wants. Milk
Beyond milk. World beyond
This one, she cries.
poem by Frances Mayes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
from: Shoemaker's Holiday, Or The Gentle Craft
Cold's the wind, and wet's the rain,
Saint Hugh be our good speed ;
Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain,
Nor helps good hearts in need.
Troll the bowl, the jolly nut-brown bowl,
And here, kind mate, to thee ;
Let's sing a dirge for Saint Hugh's soul,
And down it merrily.
Down-a-down, hey, down-a-down,
Hey derry derry down-a-down,
Close with the tenor, boy ;
Ho ! well done, to me let come,
Ring compass, gentle joy.
Troll the bowl, the nut-brown bowl,
And here, kind, &c. (As often as there be men to drink.)
(At last, when all have drunk, this verse.)
Cold's the wind, and wet's the rain,
Saint Hugh be our good speed ;
Ill is the weather that bringeth no gain,
Nor helps good hearts in need.
poem by Thomas Dekker
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Ring Out, Solstice Bells
Now is the solstice of the year,
Winter is the glad song that you hear.
Seven maids move in seven time.
Have the lads up ready in a line.
Ring out these bells.
Ring out, ring solstice bells.
Ring solstice bells.
Join together beneath the mistletoe.
By the holy oak whereon it grows.
Seven druids dance in seven time.
Sing the song the bells call, loudly chiming.
Ring out these bells.
Ring out, ring solstice bells.
Ring solstice bells.
Praise be to the distant sister sun,
Joyful as the silver planets run.
Seven maids move in seven time.
Sing the song the bells call, loudly chiming.
Ring out those bells.
Ring out, ring solstice bells.
Ring solstice bells.
Ring on, ring out.
Ring on, ring out.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Graveyard Train
On the highway, thirty people lost their lives.
On the highway, thirty people lost their lives.
Well, I had some words to holler, and my rosie took a ride.
In the moonlight, see the greyhound rollin on.
In the moonlight, see the greyhound rollin on.
Flyin through the crossroads, rosie ran into the hound.
For the graveyard, thirty boxes made of bone.
For the graveyard, thirty boxes made of bone.
Mister undertaker, take this coffin from my home.
In the midnight, hear me cryin out her name.
In the midnight, hear me cryin out her name.
Im standin on the railroad, waitin for the graveyard train.
On the highway, thirty people turned to stone.
On the highway, thirty people turned to stone.
Oh, take me to the station, cause Im number thirty-one.
song performed by by Creedence Clearwater Revival
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
By The Fireside : King Witlaf's Drinking-horn
Witlaf, a king of the Saxons,
Ere yet his last he breathed,
To the merry monks of Croyland
His drinking-horn bequeathed,--
That, whenever they sat at their revels,
And drank from the golden bowl,
They might remember the donor,
And breathe a prayer for his soul.
So sat they once at Christmas,
And bade the goblet pass;
In their beards the red wine glistened
Like dew-drops in the grass.
They drank to the soul of Witlaf,
They drank to Christ the Lord,
And to each of the Twelve Apostles,
Who had preached his holy word.
They drank to the Saints and Martyrs
Of the dismal days of yore,
And as soon as the horn was empty
They remembered one Saint more.
And the reader droned from the pulpit
Like the murmur of many bees,
The legend of good Saint Guthlac,
And Saint Basil's homilies;
Till the great bells of the convent,
From their prison in the tower,
Guthlac and Bartholomaeus,
Proclaimed the midnight hour.
And the Yule-log cracked in the chimney,
And the Abbot bowed his head,
And the flamelets flapped and flickered,
But the Abbot was stark and dead.
Yet still in his pallid fingers
He clutched the golden bowl,
In which, like a pearl dissolving,
Had sunk and dissolved his soul.
But not for this their revels
The jovial monks forbore,
For they cried, 'Fill high the goblet!
We must drink to one Saint more!'
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Poem About Process And Progress
for Haruko
Hey Baby you betta
hurry it up!
Because
since you went totally
off
I seen a full moon
I seen a half moon
I seen a quarter moon
I seen no moon whatsoever!
I seen a equinox
I seen a solstice
I seen Mars and Venus on a line
I seen a mess a fickle stars
and lately
I seen this new kind a luva
on an' off the telephone
who like to talk to me
all the time
real nice
poem by June Jordan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Midnight Sky
Midnight Sky
Thousands upon thousands of stars.
A majestic beauty that takes my breathe away.
The full moon's serene glow.
The Midnight Sky.
Constellations are scattered across the sky.
The North Star brightly gleaming.
How can this world of radiance be real?
The Midnight Sky.
I marvel at their awe inspiring beauty.
The moon has reached highest point in the sky.
It is a beauty that still renders me speechless
The Midnight Sky.
I am starting at the Midnight Sky.
poem by Bleeding Heart
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Yes, the moon!
The moon.
Yes!
Yes, the moon!
I like to wander
with the moon.
It's easy with the moon.
Not awkward, you'd
expect it might be awkward.
It's not.
Not with the moon.
The moon is always
gleaming,
and glowing.
Never upset.
The moon, doesn't get hurt,
or sore with me.
It is just there.
Listening.
The moon is a gooood listener.
It sits through all my
moaning, and groaning.
So I don't have to go
moan, and groan,
alone.
The moon is just what I need.
It's what I've got.
The moon,
oh, the moon.
I'd like to think
the moon is just a different part
of me.
poem by Victor Matthews
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Feline in Winter
Some days you think the cat will stay till summer comes,
this Prodigal Son you've fed for years, this feral cat
who comes and goes and comes again when hunger strikes.
But he just eats and leaves your porch,
despite the pillows plumped for a Sultan's duff.
He disappears in falling snow
only to appear again outside your door at dawn,
his green eyes dancing when he sees you bring
his mound of kibble, topped with tuna,
and his bowl of milk. Some days he mounts
the pillows for a nap. At noon, however,
he begins to yowl. He wants out again
to parade triumphant down the walk,
his tail an exclamation point. He romps
across the snow and fits beneath the fence.
He's gone again. Out of sight.
He plans to spend another evening
where the feral cats hold services.
They yowl and fight and copulate
till hunger strikes and then
this Prodigal Son comes back and sits
outside your door with tail wound round
and waits for you to bring his kibble,
topped with tuna, and his bowl of milk.
Then, he's gone again. Out of sight.
poem by Donal Mahoney
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Storm...!
My tiny car
Is gliding on
The grey band
Dissapearing into
A white wall
Gelled water
Falling from the sky
Floating across
The windshield
Has transformed
The wiper blades
Into two giant icicles
Swooshing across the glass
Making creepy sounds
The whiteness
Has conceled
The world around
Making me a fish
Swimming in a
Bowl of milk
A fish swimming alone
In a giant bowl of curdling milk
Trying to reach to the glass wall
And press its eye on to the glass
To peek at the solitary face
Gazing at the glass bowl
With her chin resting on her hand
Waiting...
Waiting for me to
Emerge through the milky darkness
To show my face...!
[Ah... glass walls... cruel invisible separators...]
poem by Rowving Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Shimshon
To have thirty sons and thirty daughters from your many wives,
Like the customs of a bride;
To have forty sons and thirty grandsons in your life,
Like the customs of a bridegroom;
But, out of love came something so sweet.
Yo are barren but now you will conceive and bear a son,
Like the dreadlocks of Shimshon!
But my best friend had taken my wife away.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!