Pub
No wind whipping
through my wings;
Liquid in great draughts
of booze; no rain.
Community; a sense of proper
placement; not the
milling unentered rabble.
Conversations of football,
birds, work and beer.
Individuals stricken with
'stranger; ' our mothers'
warned us.
4.27.2006
poem by Thomas Raguar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Whippin'
Don't need a helmet got a hard hard head
Don't need a raincoat I'm already wet
Don't need a bandage there's too much...blood...
After a while seems to roll right off...hmm...
Whipping ah...they're whipping ah...
...they're whipping ah...they're whipping...
Don't need a hand there's always arms attached
Oh don't get behind I can't fall back
Why must we trust all these rusted rails?
They don't want no change, we already have
They're whipping, ah...they're whipping, ah...
...they're whipping, ah...they're whipping...
Don't mean to push, but I'm being shoved!
Ohh, I'm just like you, think we've had enough
I can't believe a thing they want us to...oh...
Oh, we all got scars, they should have 'em too...
Oh, they're whipping, ah...they're whipping, ah...
...they're whipping, ah...they're whipping...
They're whipping, ah...they're whipping, ah...
...they're whipping...yeah...they're whipping
song performed by by Pearl Jam
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Each To His Or To Her Own
I only came into the pub for to have a quiet beer
But talk of football all I hear I ask what brought me here
And I thought there was more to life than talking of football
But with that at the Local Pub few would agree at all.
One fellow said my team doing well with stress on the word my
Methought he thinks he owns the team or so he seems to imply
And then he sang a line from the anthem of his club 'When the Saints go marching in'
His voice was booming loud and clear above the bar room din.
Suppose it beats talking of war or politics maybe
Though football a boring subject or so 'twould seem to me
But each to his or her own as they say and those words seem so true
And to them I seemed a boring man one of the unenlightened few.
One asked me what team do you barrack for mate, I said who win or lose
Won't matter much to you or I it won't pay for our booze
At which he only laughed aloud saying you must have a team
Or in your present company you are out of place 'twould seem.
Indeed I said how right you are on this we can agree
For you are you and I are I we see things differently
He shouted to the barman give the man a beer he's not a bad old boy
Though on a few important things we do not see eye to eye.
I bought him a beer before I left, thank you old boy he said
And he started to sing 'Good Old Collingwood' the booze had gone to his head
And as I walked out in the night the moon shone in the sky
And a boobook owl called on a gum in the Parkland nearby.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A poem for Football lovers
Football can make you cry
it can also bring you joy
I've played and watched it
as a man and a small boy.
Football has great players
like the one and only Messi
the Argentinian is a genius
I wished he played for Coventry.
Football is the favourite sport
no other game comes anywhere near
in the U.K.it's the number one pastime
just beating fishing and drinking beer.
Football though can be an addiction
it can be on your mind all of the day
your thinking about goals, shots, and saves,
and even talking about it to God when you pray.
So long may Football be played on our planet
even though it has trouble along the way
but just think if there was no Football at all
us fans would have nothing to do on a Saturday!
poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stranger In The Wind...
Stranger in the wind...
Beckons at my door.
Stanger in the wind...
Wanting even more.
Stranger in the wind...
Hard to really ignore.
Stranger in the wind..
Making my heart ache, as sore.
Stranger in the wind...
Rapping at my door.
Stanger in the wind...
Who knows i am so poor.
Stranger in the wind...
My time here-has me bore...
Many aches and pains of a thirsting heart...
Can only be quenched by ye, your remembered part.
Stranger in the wind...
My heart, you'll win.
Stranger in the wind...
Yon soul so deep.
Stranger in the wind...
My heart you'll keep.
Stranger in the wind...
my soul you'll reap.
Stranger in the wind...
You make me weep.
poem by Michael Gale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Suppose Football Does Serve A Purpose
Suppose football does serve a purpose some males do need other interests in their lives
Than working or drinking of alcohol or arguing with or making love to their girl friends or wives
On saturday they go to the football to cheer on their team win or lose
'Tis better for them than going to the local and wasting their money on the booze
At least watching football they won't be losing brain cells as they do when they are on the grog
And next day feeling nauseated and hung over and as sick as a very sick dog
Their partners and wives happy to see them going to the football for to support their football club
They feel that for them it is far better than guzzling down grog at the pub
In football there can be disappointments when your team does not win the game
But for every winner there is a loser and to lose should never be a shame
There's more to life than grog and work and women there is that marvellous game known as football
To you and many others 'tis a passion and your team to you is the greatest team of all.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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He Is Such A Joyful Winner
He is such a joyful winner but he does not like to lose
His favourite team won at the weekend so he went on the booze
He could not go to work today he feels fuzzy in the head
And nursing his hangover he lay at home in bed.
A football mad young person he surely loves the game
To be the Club's best barracker is his great claim to fame
At every goal his team kicks he whoops aloud in joy
The man in his late twenties at heart remains a boy.
His beanie in his Club Football colours to bed he even wear
His Club as important to him as his wife and children his type no longer rare
In the pub with his drinking mates their main topic is football
The great players and the winners and the losers of the weekend games they recall.
His team won at the weekend but he is in bed today
For too much celebrating his price he has to pay
He proudly wears the Club colours of his favourite football team
And every victory that they have good for his self esteem.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Is The Football Season
This is the football Season it is that time of year
When men in the pub talk football as they enjoy their beer
And look forward to September when one club will fly the winner's flag
The team that wins the Premiership gives their fans the right to brag.
Their wives nicknamed the footy widows their husbands at the football club
Or after work talking football with their mates down at the local pub
They take football so seriously 'tis their passion in life
The footy fan loves his football club as much as his children or his wife.
And if their team lose at the weekend they feel and look so sad
What's known as football addiction they seem to have it bad
They feel sad for their football team and the chance of four premiership points gone
But they cheer up and look forward to next weekend's game as the working week wears on.
This is the football Season football has gone to their head
And their football scarves and beanies they even wear to bed
About their team they feel so passionate as if to them it did belong
And 'tis with delight and pride in victory that they sing the club song.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The nation is a community. Community of individuals, community of generations.
quote by Aleksander Kwasniewski
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Whip
Great Great Great Great
is thy work
The fortune hunter
your uninterrupted lamp
has
torch light out the
parasite in their closet
like an erosion that called
the black pot of sacrifice of the perpetrator
Great Great Great Great
is thy work
The fervent farmer
your crude instrument
has
uprooted the unwanted ornament
in the vineyard
like locus waiting the planter
Great Great Great Great
is thy work
The lean steward
you never sleep nor slumber
in the quest of monitoring the
offender in the field like Nigeria
EFCC punching out the beautiful criminals
Great Great Great Great
is thy work
The no nonsense headmaster
with this
masquerade Cain whipping
the deaf prefect in the school of moral
The whip that caution the senior wife
is at the top of the roof for
YOU
poem by Samuel Abimbola Aladetan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Your Business Your Own
'Tis something I thought for your age you'd have known
Your life is your business and your business your own
What matter if others your praises don't sing
You're not breaking the law and you do your own thing
For collecting the wings of dead butterflies
That your ex mates laugh at you is not a surprise
But they are more silly than you overall
On saturday with others they kick and chase a ball
In a man's World sport is seen as okay
But that said what is a man's World anyway
To play football with your favourite football club
And guzzle down beer with your mates in the pub
Since they were never your mates going by what they say of you
keep collecting butterfly wings if that's what you like to do.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When That I Was & A Little Tiny Boy
When that I was and a little tiny boy
With a hey-ho
The wind and the rain
A foolish thing was but a toy
For the rain it raineth
Every day
But when I came to mans estate
With a hey-ho
The wind and the rain
gainst knaves and thieves men shut their gate
For the rain it raineth
Every day
But when I came alas to wife
With a hey-ho
The wind and the rain
By swaggering I could never fright
For the rain it raineth
Every day
But when I came unto my bed
With a hey-ho
The wind and the rain
With tosspots still a drunken head
For the rain it raineth
Every day
A great while ago the world began
With a hey-ho
The wind and the rain
But thats all one our play is done
And well strive to please you
Every day
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rider In The Rain
Got a gun in my holster
Got a horse between my knees
And Im goin to arizona
Pardon me, boys, if you please
I have been a desperado
Raped and pillaged cross the plain
Now, Im goin to arizona
Just a rider in the rain
Hes a rider in the rain
Hes a rider in the rain
And Im goin to arizona
Hes a rider in the rain
Oh, my mothers in st. louis
And my brides in tennessee
So, Im goin to arizona
With a banjo on my knee
Hes a rider in the rain
Hes a rider in the rain
And Im goin to arizona
Hes a rider in the rain
Used to work in uncles feed store
While he was fightin in the war
Now Im goin to arizona
Aint gonna work for him no more
Im the son of the prairie
And the wind that sweeps the plain
So, Im goin to arizona
Just a rider in the rain
Hes a rider in the rain
Hes a rider in the rain
And Im goin to arizona
Hes a rider in the rain
Hes a rider in the rain
Hes a rider in the rain
And Im goin to arizona
Just a rider in the rain
song performed by by Randy Newman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Face
You take a final look around
And then you put your house-key down
Upon the table by the note
You take your handbag and your coat
You don't want too much to carry
To slow you down on the way
You picture his face
In the morning
As he was going to work
Without saying a word
You saw the face
Of a stranger
It wasn't always like this before
His face like a stranger
You didn't know what to say
So you are going away
From the face of a stranger
And not the lover you knew before
Why should you want to call your friends
Why should you want to start again
You tried explaining through the years
But it would always end in tears
And one thing you know for certain
You've said goodbye to that place
But still
You picture his face
In the morning
As he was going to work
Without saying a word
You saw the face
Of a stranger
It wasn't always like this before
His face like a stranger
You didn't know what to say
So you are going away
From the face of a stranger
And not the lover you knew before
Somewhere a telephone
Is ringing in an empty room
Miles away
You are looking at a new town
But you are thinking of the past
The rain is falling down
Why do you keep that photograph
Of his face like a stranger
As he was going to work
Without saying a word
You saw the face
Of a stranger
And not the lover you knew before
His face
In the morning
As he was going to work
Without saying a word
You saw the face
Of a stranger
It wasn't always like this before
His face like a stranger
You didn't know what to say
So you are going away
From the face of a stranger
And not the lover you knew before
His face
In the morning
As he was going to work
Without saying a word
You saw the face
Of a stranger
It wasn't always like this before
song performed by by Anni Frid Lyngstad from Shine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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There is no executive order; there is no law that can require the American people to form a national community. This we must do as individuals and if we do it as individuals, there is no President of the United States who can veto that decision.
quote by Barbara Jordan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Paradise: In A Symbol
Golden-winged, silver-winged,
Winged with flashing flame,
Such a flight of birds I saw,
Birds without a name:
Singing songs in their own tongue
(Song of songs) they came.
One to another calling,
Each answering each,
One to another calling
In their proper speech:
High above my head they wheeled,
Far out of reach.
On wings of flame they went and came
With a cadenced clang,
Their silver wings tinkled,
Their golden wings rang,
The wind it whistled through their wings
Where in Heaven they sang.
They flashed and they darted
Awhile before mine eyes,
Mounting, mounting, mounting still
In haste to scale the skies—
Birds without a nest on earth,
Birds of Paradise.
Where the moon riseth not,
Nor sun seeks the west,
There to sing their glory
Which they sing at rest,
There to sing their love-song
When they sing their best:
Not in any garden
That mortal foot hath trod,
Not in any flowering tree
That springs from earthly sod,
But in the garden where they dwell,
The Paradise of God.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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The Time Has Come
the time has come for the arrival
of this stranger
from a very faraway land. you meet him.
make him sit. ask him if he needs a drink
and you give him
gin, beer, whatever that pleases him.
you make him comfortable
at last
in your home. make him find his room.
the pillows and blankets
all to his choosing. the dinner that you serve.
the shower that he has to take.
the nice conversations you will have
for a while
with this stranger. you care for him
you assure him.you tell him
you miss him. you bring him to the mirror
to see how beautiful has he become
for that time that you have been
taken apart
you embrace him tightly.
you cry.
you wipe your tears and sit at the center
of the living room.
you look carefully how distance
must have destroyed
the closeness between you and him.
you shake your hand.
it is you now. this stranger is yourself.
you welcome him home
to your very arms.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Defending my Insanity
I’ve had conversations with the rain
Both night and day we talk
It told me how things will be
When I’m sitting naked in the rain
Nothing feels the same
The people that see me whisper
“he must be insane just sitting there
naked in the rain”
But what does anybody else know?
I ask my weather friend
I ask the rain advice
Some direction for this life
And I listen…
It answers without reply
So get dressed and go inside
I’ve had conversations with the rain
It chooses not to speak to me
But I’ll talk with it again
poem by Nicolas 'Kokonutz' Kokonas
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Success
Kites play with birds and clouds
Delicate wishes get desired wings
He defeats failures with great hardships
And it seems he makes friendship with wind
Dances naked along with his insane whims
But his success depends on how he kisses the ground
Unhurt, unclipped along with storm and rain!
poem by Abdul Wahab
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The difference of the degrees in which the individuals of a great community enjoy the good things of life has been a theme of declaration and discontent in all ages.
quote by William Herschel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Great Footballers Of Brazil
Unrivalled for their football skill
The great footballers of Brazil
And though they too have known of defeat
In the World Cup one of the hardest teams to beat
The present World Champions are Italy
The World's best team as most would agree
But in the showpiece of World Football
Brazil have the best record of all
To Italy the 2006 World Champions well done
They were the best and the best won
But in 2010 their title they defend
A hard task of that why pretend
And one of their main threats is surely Brazil
A team known for their football skill.
poem by Francis Duggan
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