The Singular Sangfroid Of Baby Bunting
Batholomew Benjamin Bunting
Had only three passions in life,
And one of the trio was hunting,
The others his babe and his wife.
And always, so rigid his habits,
He frolicked at home until two,
And then started hunting for rabbits,
And hunted till fall of the dew.
Belinda Bellonia Bunting,
Thus widowed for half of the day,
Her duty maternal confronting,
With baby would patiently play.
When thus was her energy wasted,
A patented food she'd dispense.
(She had bought it the day that they pasted
The posters all over her fence.)
But Bonaparte Buckingham Bunting,
The infant thus blindly adored,
Replied to her worship by grunting,
Which showed he was brutally bored.
'T was little he cared for the troubles
Of life. Like a crab on the sands,
From his sweet little mouth he blew bubbles,
And threatened the air with his hands.
Bartholomew Benjamin Bunting
One night, as his wife let him in,
Produced as the fruit of his hunting
A cottontail's velvety skin,
Which, seeing young Bonaparte wriggle,
He gave him without a demur,
And the babe with an aqueous giggle
He swallowed the whole of the fur!
Belinda Bellonia Bunting
Behaved like a consummate loon:
Her offspring in frenzy confronting
She screamed herself mottled maroon:
She felt of his vertebrae spinal,
Expecting he'd surely succomb,
And gave him one vigorous, final,
Hard prod in the pit of his tum.
But Bonaparte Buckingham Bunting,
At first but a trifle perplexed,
By a change in his manner of grunting
Soon showed he was horribly vexed.
He displayed not a sign of repentance
But spoke, in a dignified tone,
The only consecutive sentence
He uttered. 'T was: 'Lemme alone.'
The Moral: The parent that uses
Precaution his folly regrets:
An infant gets all that he chooses,
An infant chews all that he gets.
And colics? He constantly has 'em
So long as his food is the best,
But he'll swallow with never a spasm
What ostriches couldn't digest.
poem by Guy Wetmore Carryl
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Related quotes
Thick-Sprinkled Bunting
THICK-SPRINKLED bunting! Flag of stars!
Long yet your road, fateful flag!--long yet your road, and lined with
bloody death!
For the prize I see at issue, at last is the world!
All its ships and shores I see, interwoven with your threads, greedy
banner!
--Dream'd again the flags of kings, highest born, to flaunt
unrival'd?
O hasten, flag of man! O with sure and steady step, passing highest
flags of kings,
Walk supreme to the heavens, mighty symbol--run up above them all,
Flag of stars! thick-sprinkled bunting!
poem by Walt Whitman
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A Pyramid
A Pyramid
Who ever gives a penny
To an idler
Idlling with fancy
High up in a pyramid
Socketing
One eye above
The other.
Crawing worms
Choose
But
Penny -hunting
Or noose-bunting.
(karnailsingh Heranwale)
poem by Karnail Singh Heirwale
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To appreciate present conditions, collate them with those of antiquity.
quote by Basil Bunting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Always carry a corkscrew and the wine shall provide itself.
quote by Basil Bunting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Can a moment of madness make up for an age of consent?
quote by Basil Bunting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You may depend on it that the bunting, emberiza miliaria, does not leave this country in the winter.
quote by Gilbert White
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When her last child is off to school, we don't want the talented woman wasting her time in work far below her capacity. We want her to come out running.
quote by Mary Ingraham Bunting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Whether you listen to a piece of music, or a poem, or look at a picture or a jug, or a piece of sculpture, what matters about it is not what it has in common with others of its kind, but what is singularly its own.
quote by Basil Bunting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The mystic purchases a moment of exhilaration with a lifetime of confusion; and the confusion is infectious and destructive. It is confusing and destructive to try and explain anything in terms of anything else, poetry in terms of psychology.
quote by Basil Bunting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The New-Born Infant
Whether beneath sweet beds of roses,
As foolish little Ann supposes,
The spirit of a babe reposes
Before it to the body come;
Or, as philosophy more wise
Thinks, it descendeth from the skies,-
We know the babe's now in the room
And that is all which is quite clear
Even to philosophy, my dear.
The God that made us can alone
Reveal from whence a spirit's brought
Into young life, to light, and thought;
And this the wisest man must own.
We'll now talk of the babe's surprise,
When first he opens his new eyes,
And first receives delicious food.
Before the age of six or seven,
To mortal children is not given
Much reason; or I think he would
(And very naturally) wonder
What happy star he was born under,
That he should be the only care
Of the dear sweet-food-giving lady,
Who fondly calls him her own baby,
Her darling hope, her infant heir.
poem by Charles Lamb
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Belinda
Dennis linde
Oh sweet, sweet belinda
They say that you are looking for a home
Fresh out of a love affair
Fresh out of hope
Fresh out of dreams
I know youre as strong as any human can be
But you need love, why dont you take it from me?
I know I aint much, but you can have me for free
Belinda
Oh sweet, sweet belinda
You dont owe me no gratitude or love
Were just two souls stuck here
Two lonely rivers filled with light
Two lights shining on the darkness ahead
Two feet touching in a cold winters bed
I promised you safety, but I loved you instead
Belinda
Oh-oh belinda Id die of loneliness
If you ever left, belinda
Oh-oh belinda Id die of loneliness
If you ever left, belinda
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Belinda
Belinda the rain is falling
Belinda your love is calling
Belinda hed never leave you
Belinda he wont deceive you
Belinda your mind is dreaming
Belinda its so misleading
Belinda hed never leave you
Belinda he wont deceive you
How the rain still falls
Belinda your eyes have spoken
Belinda your heart is broken
Belinda hed never leave you
Belinda he wont deceive you
Dry your tears...
Close your eyes...
song performed by by Eurythmics
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hunters Lullaby
Your fathers gone a-hunting
Hes deep in the forest so wild
And he cannot take his wife with him
He cannot take his child
Your fathers gone a-hunting
In the quicksand and the clay
And a woman cannot follow him
Although she knows the way
Your fathers gone a-hunting
Through the silver and the glass
Where only greed can enter
But spirit, spirit cannot pass
Your fathers gone a-hunting
For the beast well never cannot bind
And he leaves a baby sleeping
And his blessings all behind
Your fathers gone a-hunting
And hes lost his lucky charm
And hes lost the guardian heart
That keeps the hunter from the harm
Your fathers gone a-hunting
He asked me to say goodbye
And he warned me not to stop him
I wouldnt, I wouldnt even try
song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Forest Greeting
GOOD hunting! — aye, good hunting,
Wherever the forests call;
But ever a heart beats hot with fear,
And what of the birds that fall?
Good hunting! — aye, good hunting,
Wherever the north winds blow;
But what of the stag that calls for his mate?
And what of the wounded doe?
Good hunting! — aye, good hunting,
And ah! we are bold and strong;
But our triumph call through the forest hall
Is a brother's funeral song.
For we are brothers ever,
Panther and bird and bear;
Man and the weakest that fear his face,
Born to the nest or lair.
Yes, brothers, and who shall judge us?
Hunters and game are we;
But who gave the right for me to smite?
Who boasts when he smiteth me?
Good hunting! — aye, good hunting,
And dim is the forest track;
But the sportsman Death comes striding on:
Brothers, the way is black.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Tore Down A La Rimbaud
Showed me pictures in the gallery
Showed me novels on the shelf
Put my hands across the table
Gave me knowledge of myself.
Showed me visions, showed me nightmares
Gave me dreams that never end
Showed me light out of the tunnel
When there was darkness all around instead.
Tore down a la rimbaud
And I wish my message would come
Tore down a la rimbaud, you know its hard some time
You know its hard some time.
Showed me ways and means and motions
Showed me what its like to be
Gave me days of deep devotions
Showed me things I cannot see.
Tore down a la rimbaud
And I wish my purpose would come
Tore down a la rimbaud, you know its hard some time.
You know its hard some time.
Showed me different shapes and colours
Showed me many different roads
Gave me very clear instructions
When I was in the dark night of the soul.
Tore down a la rimbaud
And I wish my writing would come
Tore down a la rimbaud, you know its hard some time.
You know its hard some time.
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Elizabeth II Diamond Jubilee
Time to show thanks to her Highness,
She's served her country with prowess,
Honour now all that's come to pass,
At street parties fill up your glass,
Toasts made to Elizabeth's health,
Unite realms of the commonwealth,
For that to which the queen made oath,
Respect and praise she is owed both,
There's a lavish use of bunting,
Everywhere's made to look spiffing,
Celebrations promptly begin,
Events for all to partake in,
On the Thames there grows excitement,
Crowds watch the Jubilee Pageant,
Marking 60 years on the throne,
A party of a lifetime's thrown.
poem by Christian Lacdael
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A Cradle Song
Sweet dreams, form a shade
O’er my lovely infant’s head;
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
By happy, silent, moony beams.
Sweet Sleep, with soft down
Weave thy brows an infant crown.
Sweet Sleep, Angel mild,
Hover o’er my happy child.
Sweet smiles, in the night
Hover over my delight;
Sweet smiles, mother’s smiles,
All the livelong night beguiles.
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thy eyes.
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
All the dovelike moans beguiles.
Sleep, sleep, happy child,
All creation slept and smil'd;
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
While o’er thee thy mother weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Holy image I can trace.
Sweet babe, once like thee,
Thy Maker lay and wept for me,
Wept for me, for thee, for all,
When He was an infant small.
Thou His image ever see,
Heavenly face that smiles on thee
Smiles on thee, on me, on all;
Who became an infant small.
Infant smiles are His own smiles;
Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.
poem by William Blake from Songs of Innocence (1789)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Jubilee
Bells across the Nation will ring.
Bands will play; people will sing.
The Nation will rise up to its feet,
And people will party in the street.
People will come together as one,
For a time of festivity and of fun.
People will jump up out of their seats,
To dance along with the various beats.
This is our Nation's one big chance
For a show of Pomp and Circumstance.
Flags will be waved and bunting unfurled,
For the biggest celebration in all the world.
The huge crowds will all clap and cheer,
As our Queen celebrates her 60th year.
People will be hoping to catch a glimpse
Of Her Majesty, and of Philip, her Prince.
People will come from many a mile;
Upon their faces will be a big smile.
There will be a sea of rainbow faces;
People of all religions and of all races.
Over the palace, the Red Arrows will fly,
As everyone's eyes look up to the sky.
It will be the biggest party we've ever seen.
Long may she reign: God save the Queen!
poem by Angela Wybrow
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A Song
Sweet dreams, form a shade
O'er my lovely infant's head!
Sweet dreams of pleasant streams
By happy, silent, moony beams!
Sweet Sleep, with soft down
Weave thy brows an infant crown
Sweet Sleep, angel mild,
Hover o'er my happy child!
Sweet smiles, in the night
Hover over my delight!
Sweet smiles, mother's smile,
All the livelong night beguile.
Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thine eyes!
Sweet moan, sweeter smile,
All the dovelike moans beguile.
Sleep, sleep, happy child!
All creation slept and smiled.
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
While o'er thee doth mother weep.
Sweet babe, in thy face
Holy image I can trace;
Sweet babe, once like thee
Thy Maker lay, and wept for me:
Wept for me, for thee, for all,
When He was an infant small.
Thou His image ever see,
Heavenly face that smiles on thee!
Smiles on thee, on me, on all,
Who became an infant small;
Infant smiles are his own smiles;
Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.
poem by William Blake
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Hunter's Lullaby
Your father's gone a-hunting
He's deep in the forest so wild
And he cannot take his wife with him
He cannot take his child.
Your father's gone a-hunting
In the quicksand and the clay
And a woman cannot follow him
Although she knows the way.
Your father's gone a-hunting
Through the silver and the glass
Where only greed can enter
But spirit
song performed by by Leonard Cohen from Various Positions
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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