Old Rupert
She has had him since he was a pup some thirteen years or so
And between Genevieve and her border collie the bond of friendship grow
In his prime in the late nineties going back ten years ago
Old Rupert not the dog he was the years have left him slow
A beautiful black and white dog his muzzle has turned to gray
But he still digs for rabbits when he gets the chance his natural dog way
He comes home to Genevieve with an earthy coat and earth around his face and jaws
And she scolds him as she brushes him and washes the earth from his paws
To dig for rabbits to a dog is not doing any wrong
And for this Genevieve is quick to forgive him the bond between them strong
Old Rupert is not hard to please his needs in life are small
A walk or a drive in the car are things he loves best of all
Genevieve has had since he was a pup in nineteen ninety four
He was a fine dog in his prime going back ten years or more.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sweet Lady Genevieve
(sung by the tramp)
Once under a scarlet sky I told you never ending lies,
But they were the words of a drunken vagabond
Who knew very well he would break your heart before long
Oh forgive me genevieve.
Now Ive come back to see sweet lady genevieve,
This time Ill give you some security
And I will make promises I can keep
So will you come back to me sweet lady genevieve.
Let me rock you, hold you,
Take you in my arms.
Forgive me, please,
Smile away all your sadness, put your trust in me.
Oh if you come back to me sweet lady genevieve,
Im not the impetuous fool you used to know
I know that I used you and I hurt you so,
But that was so long ago sweet lady genevieve.
Oh, love me,
Take me in your arms.
Let me rock you, hold you,
Smile away all your sadness, put your trust in me.
Once under a starry sky I led you on and told you lies
Drank too much whiskey on that hot summer night.
I acted so slyly because you were acting so shy,
Oh forgive me genevieve.
If you come back to me sweet lady genevieve,
Youre not the child who smiled so innocently
And Im not the rogue that I used to be,
So will you come back to me sweet lady genevieve.
Oh genevieve, oh genevieve.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Genevieve On Her Twenty Ninth Birthday
Happy Birthday to you Genevieve today you are twenty nine
And with age you have grown mellow like the good expensive wine
And on looking back a decade the years simply seemed to fly
And hope this tenth day of August is a day you will enjoy.
I remember in your teen years you had dreadlocks in your hair
And when things were going against you at your mum you used to swear
But the years have made you mellow and you see things differently
And now with you and mummy dearest it's mostly love and harmony.
Happy Birthday Genevieve Ladds you are twenty nine years old
And you are a special person and your's is a heart of gold
And your friends to you important and they seem to multiply
And hope this tenth day of August is a day you will enjoy.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Friends Back In My Prime Years
My friends back in my prime years I never did disown
It's just that I live far from them and apart we have grown
We drank and played football together but our separate ways we've gone
And we have forged new friendships and life of course goes on.
My friends back in my prime years may now look a bit gray
And they might not know me or I might not know them if by chance we met today
In my memory they have remained young but in reality
The years have left their mark on them as the years have left their mark on me.
Old father time the aloof one to anyone doesn't bow
And some of my friends of my prime years may be grand parents now
Perhaps they now are showing their age and time has left them slow
They could run fast as I recall some twenty years ago.
My friends back in my prime years I may now not recognize
For time leaves it's mark on all of us I've come to realize
I drunk beer with them in the pub and with them played football
And that was many years ago as I can well recall.
poem by Francis Duggan
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What turned the Germans Back
WHAT turned the German myriads back
From Paris whither they had won?
The sword dropped from their hold grown slack;
Children of Attila the Hun,
Like Attila, went backward driven
By a young shepherdess of Heaven.
A shepherdess is Genevieve,
And though her flock should wander light,
This shepherdess is quick to save
The black, the speckled and the white.
She takes her golden crook and goes
And deals destruction to its foes.
She who turned Attila back, so slim,
A shepherdess that keeps the flock,
Waited as once she did for him,
Slight as a reed or her own crook;
'Turn back in God's Name!' They went back.
The tide is stemmed for her sweet sake.
White Genevieve upon her hill
Prays, and the German hosts retreat.
She plucks the Robes of Heaven still
That Heaven give victory for defeat;
And keeps her motley flock in sight,
The black, the speckled and the white.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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I had the idea for the show like a year and a half, two years ago. And it was all about the things that I didn't like about TV. I was trying to create a positive solution for it. And it actually worked.
quote by Genevieve Gorder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bill And Rover
The old black labrador Rover his muzzle it is gray
And looking at him one would know he has known a better day
His master Bill too looking gray the years on him do show
I often see them in the park they both are walking slow
Old Rover not the dog he was when he was in his prime
His end for him not far away he's running out of time
His sense of scent remains quite keen though his sight is beginning to fail
Yet he remains a friendly dog even at strangers he wags his tail
His master Bill says Rover is thirteen for a dog in years that's getting on
His prime lost in the passing time his better days are long gone
All forms of life as we know well are only born to die
That is a simple fact of life and facts do never lie
Down the gravel path of the Townpark the old dog and the old man
Walk slowly in the evening sun time has stripped them of elan.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I don't worry whether the period is contemporary or three hundred years ago. Human beings are all alike.
quote by Genevieve Bujold
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A film like Genevieve to my contemporaries is not a film made years ago, but last week or last year. They see me as I was then, not as I am now.
quote by Kenneth More
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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True Story
James Franco, Felicity Jones, Jonah Hill, Ethan Suplee, Gretchen Mol, Rebecca Henderson, Robert John Burke, Maria Dizzia, Genevieve Angelson, Betty Gilpin
by Rupert Goold from True Story (2015)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Berwick's Fairest
The fairest one in Berwick when she was in her prime
But that was fifteen years ago and that's going back in time
She may be only forty but she has put on weight
And the one who once had many suitors goes un-noticed of late.
Her primary school going sons of ten and eleven she raises them on her own
And she works hard for to make ends meet and better times she's known
Three years back her husband left her for another and child support to her doesn't pay
And for her children and her own survival she must battle all the way.
Ever since her husband left her she's left her body go into disrepair
And of how she looks to others she seem to no longer care
She has put on twenty kilos and much gray in her brown hair
And for one only in her mid life she is showing much wear and tear.
That she was Berwick's fairest might seem hard to realize
For if you had known her in her prime day her you may not recognize
And for one who looked quite attractive up to a decade ago
She has aged so very quickly and the hard life on her show
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Handsworth Wood
Have ever you seen
On Halloween,
The cloud that covers the trees so green?
The shroud that covers the last of lovers
The shifting mist of the in-between?
I’ve stood, I’ve stood,
By Handsworth Wood,
I’ve stood as long as I thought I could;
All Hallow’s Eve is the night I grieve
My Genevieve of the purple hood.
She slipped between
The trees so green,
She slipped from me one Halloween;
The cloud had glimmered, the evening shimmered
But she was never to more be seen.
And since that cloud
Became a shroud,
I’ve not forgotten the words I vowed;
My patience burns for the cloud’s return
To help discern what I might have been.
The day she left
I held my breath,
Her sleight of hand was so very deft;
But Genevieve, I still believe
You’ll wander out on some Hallow’s Eve.
I wait in vain,
There’s only rain,
The rain and part of the cloud remain;
But Genevieve I’ve not perceived
Since she went tripping in World’s End Lane.
World End’s Land
In Autumn rain,
There’s nothing left of my lost refrain;
For Handsworth Wood is a neighborhood
Where trees are held in a great disdain.
2 July 1977
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You need to have a home to go back to, whether it's a hotel room or a barn. It's only home when he's there.
quote by Genevieve Gorder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Genevieve
Maid of my love! sweet Genevieve!
In beauty's light you glide along;
Your eye is like the star of eve,
And sweet your voice, as seraph's song.
Yet not your heavenly beauty gives
This heart with passion soft to glow:
Within your soul a voice there lives!
It bids you hear the tale of woe.
When sinking low the suff'rer wan
Beholds no hand outstretched to save,
Fair, as the bosom of the swan
That rises graceful o'er the wave,
I've seen your breast with pity heave
And therefore love I you, sweet Genevieve!
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
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Thirteen Years
Thirteen years of pencils and paper
Thirteen years of “I'll do it later”
Thirteen years of homework and classes
Thirteen years of fails and passes
Thirteen years have gone by so fast
And it's finally our year of last
Thirteen years of enemies and friends
Our memories that will never end
Thirteen years of growing up
Relying off of chance and luck
Changing our hair and our clothes
Making our decisions based off shows
Thirteen years preparing for our lives
For our future successful tries
For our almost guaranteed mistakes
And the friends we are sure to make
Thirteen years and now thirteen more
Traveling from shore to shore
Separating from our family and friends
Moving on and on again and again
Good Luck to us all, wherever we go
May we always have pride, and let it show
For our origins of HHS
Class of 2011 will always be the best!
poem by Cheylee Miller
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Gypsy Twist
The gypsy walked at the shingle,
Her dress flared out in the breeze,
Her hair tied back with a coloured scarf
As she wandered at her ease,
She fed the gulls at the water's edge
And she gazed back, moodily,
Where the Master of Harrington Hall was stood
As he watched her, through the trees.
While back at the house there, on the hill,
His wife sat in despair,
She'd worn her prettiest dress for him,
She'd combed her auburn hair,
She'd flushed her cheeks with a touch of rouge,
Her lips were gypsy red,
But she hadn't attracted a single glance
From his lordship's noble head.
He'd taken her as a child, and taught her
How to walk with grace,
He'd sent her off to a finishing school
To learn her lady's place,
She'd learnt to stifle emotion when
It rose in her frightened eyes,
And sat with her needlework and thread,
A work that she despised!
Then once she was taught, and tamed enough,
He showed her to his kin,
They nodded with faint approval at
The match that he'd made for him,
They dressed her up in a wedding gown
And mocked, behind her back,
This would-be lady from finishing school,
So open to attack!
They'd beaten her conversation out,
They'd left her feeling small,
He'd tried to speak to her once or twice,
But she couldn't reply at all.
She knew but little or nothing of
The world, or its great affairs,
So sat at the window sewing,
Watched him stray in the woods out there.
The gypsies came in the autumn,
Made their camp at the edge of the wood,
The Lord of Harrington Hall had said:
'Some colour will do us good!
He wandered out to inspect the camp,
Its caravans, horses and thieves,
But the sight that caught at his jaundiced eye
Was the gypsy, Genevieve!
She'd danced in a leafy clearing to
The sound of an ancient lute,
Her smile so bright, her teeth so white
And a necklace made of fruit,
She seemed at one with the humid earth
With a perfume made from musk,
She danced like sin, and she drew him in
As the day drew down to dusk.
Simone sat long at the window with
Her needlework denied,
While down at the long breakwater
Sat her husband, watching the tide!
She saw as the colony of terns
Wheeled screaming into the air,
And Genevieve knotted a love-knot
Into her wild, beribboned hair.
The gypsies left as the winter snow
Turned white the pebbled shore,
But long after dusk, the lord returned
Came in at the servants' door,
Behind him the gypsy, Genevieve,
Had sat by the kitchen fire,
As he told Simone that he'd brought her home,
And this was his one desire!
'She needs to be educated, needs
A mentor, full of grace,
Get rid of the rough and ready parts
Of her rough and ready race!
I've taken it on myself to form her,
Teach her to sip her wine,
She'll have the advantage you have had,
You'll see - it'll work out fine! '
She went away to the finishing school
And Simone sighed with relief,
She tried so hard with her wayward lord
That she felt a new belief,
But she lost a child in the early spring
And it turned his lordship's head,
She knew that she'd lost her only chance,
Her marriage, as good as dead!
A year went by, as a year it will
In the flash of an eye, and gone,
And Genevieve had returned one day
In a carriage, a bonnet on!
She looked demure as she curtsied low
To the lord, who smiled her way,
But she'd lost her pout, and her fire was out,
And she seemed no longer gay.
Now Genevieve takes her needlework
And she sits by the windowsill,
But she never utters a word to him
The Master of Harrington Hall.
He watches Simone as she trips the beach,
And her dress flares out in the breeze,
As she dances, wild as a gypsy girl,
To a lute that sounds through the trees.
18 September 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Future Is The Children's
The future is the children's and I am of the past
And I too had my young years but nothing ever last
On looking back the Seasons how quickly the years have gone
Old age is fast approaching and the clock ticks on and on.
The future is the children's the children of today
They have the gift of youth with them though youth with them won't stay
On looking back decades from now when time has left them slow
They will wonder as I do where did the years to go.
The years are catching up one me and time has left me gray
And the future is the children's that would be true to say
The people in their sixties are running out of time
And few of them will be living when today's children are in their prime.
The future is the children's and to them alone belong
And those who will tell you differently have somehow got it wrong
But the hands of time keep turning and time on none does wait
And all of us are branded with an invisible use by date.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Jack And Joe
Jack would not sell his dog not even for a billion he says my dog Joe is just not for sale
One cannot buy such things as trust and loyalty and in such tests my best mate never fail
A bone from the butcher and a can of dog food that seems to fulfil his needs every day
For his companionship and his undying devotion that does not seem such a big price to pay.
Joe is a black labrador cross border collie just a mongrel the less informed would say
He bought him off of the dog pound a few years back and just 100 dollars for him he did pay,
He was a playful seven months old puppy and very bright for a non pedigree
But labradors and border collies are smart canines as most who know about dogs would agree.
To Jack he is a devoted companion and where ever you will see him you'll see Joe
And Jack says his dog more trustworthy than any human and a better friend than him he'll never know,
His dog has shown him more love and affection than shown to him at anytime by his ex wife
And he will tell you the day he went to the dog pound was the luckiest ever day for him in life
When he drives down the street or to the town park Joe his black mate is always in the back
He would not even sell him for a billion Joe's the greatest mate I ever had says Jack
He loves his dog as much as he loves his children and the bond between them only seem to grow
And where ever you'll see one you'll see the other they are the best of mates old Jack and Joe.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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On Seeing A Photograph
A photo of an ageing face stirs an old memory
He is plainly not a shadow of the man he used to be
His balding head is hoary gray his hair it was dark brown
When we played football as teenagers in the park in our Hometown.
He was a sprightly youth back then two years younger than I
On looking back the decades the years just seemed to fly
He played football worked in the fields and walked miles every day
But like me he seems the worst for wear the years have left us gray.
Perhaps we would be strangers now if by chance we did meet
We might not recognize each other in passing on the street
We age a little every day time of us all takes care
And leaves us looking in the end the very worst for wear.
A photograph of one I knew from many years ago
And he has aged as I have aged time on us all does show
We played football together when we were near to our life's prime
But in the end we all lose out to ageless father time.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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His Old Dog
His old dog now in her long rest her lot will be ours one day
In her grave by the apple tree in his backyard her bones forever lay
She passed on a few years ago with sadness he recall
The clock of life keeps ticking on and time takes care of us all.
His old dog a black and white border collie to him was a true friend
Far more devoted than his ex wife she loved him till her end
He found her dead in her kennel from a heart attack over-night
Though twelve years old she had not shown signs that her end was in sight.
Although he always kept a dog in years and decades past
No canine now in his backyard his old bitch was the last
Dog for to bark in his back-yard he too feels the weight of time
It has been five decades or more since he was in his prime.
On the rose tree on the old dog's grave red roses are in bloom
And the Summer air scents sweetly of Nature's own perfume
And no more beautiful place to rest in peace than beside an
apple tree
In the backyard where you lived your life in your Hometown by the sea.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Like I said, TLC has enough of my life. I have to keep some of it for myself.
quote by Genevieve Gorder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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