Related quotes: What be'th a Hindu drinker?...

What Be'th This?

What be'th a Hindu drinker? ...
A Taj, Maholic.

What be'th a church teetering to the side of a cliff,
that sells shopping bags? ...
A Sac-ri-ledge.

Who be'th a yarn teller that is the farmer? ...
A knit-picker.

poem by Michael Gale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes

End-Month Bank Queues

Here we are all
Queuing in the banking hall
Short and tall
Accounts likewise - short, tall
Hoping queues will not stall
Like they do at the shopping mall

Teller-to-teller
Teller-to-custome r
Teller-to-cashier
In the views rear,
Many wish were near

End month; check.
In has come the paycheck
Time for us to cause havoc
As we its wealth wreck
In ways diverse like a peck
Our accounts we'll soon uncheck.

poem by David Munene wa Kimberly
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Surroundings-6

Waste Picker Passing By...

Waste picker passing by
Set your time to 7 o'clock
He picks picks plastic wastes
Waste picker passing by

Chasing wind rolling plastic
Plastic bags rolling picker
Waste picker passing by
Set your time to 7 o'clock

poem by Indira Renganathan
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Shopping Bags

I hate these shopping bags
They weigh my body down
They keep me on the beaten track
They break every bone in my back
To a doctor's note i must defer
My life, I do concur
For what may be must be
And what may not be cannot see
I'll throw away my shopping bags
And see how far you throw me
To Guava, Java, Bali, Mali
To study, to lecture, to teach, to hurt
To suckle the teat of wisdom that does not exist
But whatever the sucklers say
The revolution has begun
It is within our hearts and minds
Because if one human, not a man nor a woman
Can preach like John Paul to mass
Like Darwin to a class
Like Kennedy to a nation
Like King for a tiny piece of salvation
Then we can all dropp our shopping bags

poem by Matt Pocock
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On The Ledge Under The Sky

You sit up high,
On a ledge under the sky,
Where wings don’t fly,
And humans don’t cry,
Up high on this ledge under the sky,
But why or why,
Do you want to fly?
When you can sit up on the sky,
And hear a voice that doesn’t die,
Or see a drifting tie,
On this ledge in the sky,
And smell a pie,
From miles and miles away a sty,
Under the sky,
Where no one can lie,
‘Cause we see everything from up high,
On this ledge under the sky,
Where you can wonder from your mind’s eye,
And your leg and thigh,
Dangle down from this ledge upon the sky,
Where one never does sigh,
Or look upon the rye,
On this ledge below the sky,
You can be a spy,
You can pry and pry,
And never will people see the tears you cry,
Up upon this ledge in the sky,
Never will you fly,
Or dream why or why,
For you’re already on the ledge under the sky.

poem by Star Dust
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Shopping

Were buying and selling your history
How we go about it is no mystery
We check it with the city, then change the law
Are you looking forward?
Now you want some more
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
Its easy when you got all the information
Inside help, no investigation
(no investigation, investigation)
No questions in the house, no give and take
Theres a big bang in the city
Were all on the make
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
Our gain is your loss, thats the price you pay
I heard it in the house of commons: everythings for sale
Were shopping
Were shopping
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
Ah ah ah, ah ah ah, ah ah ah, ah ah
Ah ah ah, ah ah ah, ah ah ah, ah ah
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
Were s-h-o-pp-i-n-g, were shopping
(were shopping
Were shopping
Were shopping
Were shopping
Were shopping)

song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ox Cart Man

In October of the year,
he counts potatoes dug from the brown field,
counting the seed, counting
the cellar's portion out,
and bags the rest on the cart's floor.

He packs wool sheared in April, honey
in combs, linen, leather
tanned from deerhide,
and vinegar in a barrel
hoped by hand at the forge's fire.

He walks by his ox's head, ten days
to Portsmouth Market, and sells potatoes,
and the bag that carried potatoes,
flaxseed, birch brooms, maple sugar, goose
feathers, yarn.

When the cart is empty he sells the cart.
When the cart is sold he sells the ox,
harness and yoke, and walks
home, his pockets heavy
with the year's coin for salt and taxes,

and at home by fire's light in November cold
stitches new harness
for next year's ox in the barn,
and carves the yoke, and saws planks
building the cart again.

poem by Donald Hall
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Homeless Shelter

shopping carts are being pushed away
blankets are being carried away
sleeping bags are in high demand
tents are hard to fasten to the ground
i like it better by the church
the prayers of all the little ones
surround my head where their little feet were at
on a rug just outside the door
that is where i lay
a homeless
today

poem by Charles Hice
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Irrational minds
Knit by transcendental 'yarn'
Un[ac]countable.

haiku by Diane Hine
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Not That Social

I'm the centre of whats getting you near
But if you wanna, you better come quickly
You're not that social, just a good drinker
I know a way, to make things better
Do i mean it, or am i just mean
You're not that social, just a good drinker
Ahh ah ah ah ah ah
Ahh ah ah ah ah ah
Theres no limits to the problems you bring
You need help, and i need the chance and its on its way
You're not that social, just a good drinker
I've been hinting for a long long time
You'll never make it, this is the end
You're not that social, just a good drinker
Ahh ah ah ah ah ah
Ahh ah ah ah ah ah
Breathe in, breathe out
I know you're tryin [x7]
Breathe in, breathe out
You're not that social, you're just a good drinker
Breathe in, breathe in
You're not that social, you're just a good drinker
Breathe in, breathe in
Breathe in, breathe out
I know you're tryin [x3]
Breathe in, breathe in [x2]

song performed by by Von Blondies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Taxes On The Farmer Feeds Us All

(traditional, adapted by ry cooder)
(d) - (a) - (e)
(a) we worked through spring and winter, through (d) summer and through (a) fall
But the mortgage worked the hardest and the (e) steadiest of us all
It (a) worked on nights and sundays, it (d) worked each holiday
(e) settled down among us and it never went (a) away
The farmer comes to town with his wagon broken down
The farmer is the man who feeds us all
If you only look and see I know you will agree
That the farmer is the man who feeds us all
(a) the farmer is the man, the farmer is the man
He buys on his credit until (e) fall
Then they (a) take him by the hand
And they (d) lead him from his land
And the (e) merchant is the man who gets it (a) all
The farmer is the man, the farmer is the man
He lives on his credit until fall
With the interest rates so high
Its a wonder he dont die
But the taxes on the farmer feeds us all
Well, the banker says hes broke and the merchant stops and smoke
But they forget that its the farmer that feeds them all
It would put them to the test if the farmer took a rest
And theyd know that its the farmer that feeds them all
The farmer is the man, the farmer is the man
Lives on his credit until fall
Well, his pants are wearing thin
His condition, its a sin
cause the taxes on the farmer feeds us all

song performed by by Ry Cooder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Designated Drinker (feat. George Strait)

(Alan Jackson)
Here's my keys, I want you to take 'em
I think I'm gonna need you to get back home
Hold on to my hat, I don't wanna lose it
I couldn't stand for something else to be gone
I'm sure you know the reason I'm here cryin'
I think you'll understand why
Tonight, I'm the designated drinker
I just lost the one that wrapped me around her finger
I need to get to where I can't think of her
So tonight, I'm the designated drinker
I came here to get you to help me
I need a friend to see me through
I hated to call, I knew you wouldn't mind at all
I know you know I'd do the same for you
I'm not the kind that likes to drown my sorrow
I may hate myself tomorrow
Oh but
Tonight, I'm the designated drinker
I just lost the one that wrapped me around her finger
I need to get to where I can't think of her
So tonight, I'm the designated drinker
We need to get to where we can't think of her
So tonight, we're the designated drinkers
Oh tonight, we're the designated drinkers

song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Designated Drinker

song performed by by Alan Jackson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sex & The Church

Though the idea of compassion
Is said to be
The union of christ
And his bride, the christian
Its all very puzzling
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
And the church
And the church
All the great mystic religions
Put strong emphasis, on
Redeame this spiritual qualities
Of sex of sex
Chrstianity
Has been pretty modern
About sex
Of sex of sex of sex of sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
I think there is a union
Between the flesh and the spirit
Its sex and the church
Sex and the church
All religions mother
Give me youre freedom of spirit
And the joys of the flesh
Of sex sex sex and the church
Give me youre freedom of spirit
And the joys of the flesh
Of sex sex sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
And the church
And the church
Sex sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
And the church
And the church
Sex sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
Sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex

song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Picture On A Café Wall

A farmer and his mule are kicking
up dust on their way to Messines.

The mule has very long ears and
the farmer wears a big, black hat.

Side by side they walk the yonder
yet, they have time to get there.

The road is asphalted now, and
dust settles on the grassy verge.

poem by Oskar Hansen
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Peace Sells... But Who's Buying? (live)

What do you mean, "I don't believe in God"?
I talk to him every day.
What do you mean, "I don't support your system"?
I go to court when I have to.
What do you mean, "I can't get to work on time"?
I got nothing better to do
And, what do you mean, "I don't pay my bills"?
Why do you think I'm broke? Huh?
If there's a new way,
I'll be the first in line.
But, it better work this time.
What do you mean, "I hurt your feelings"?
I didn't know you had any feelings.
What do you mean, "I ain't kind"?
I'm just not your kind.
What do you mean, "I couldn't be president,
Of the United States of America"?
Tell me something, it's still "We the people", right?
If there's a new way
I'll be the first in line,
But, it better work this time.
Can you put a price on peace?
Peace,
Peace sells...,
Peace,
Peace sells...,
Peace sells...,but who's buying?
Peace sells...,but who's buying?
Peace sells...,but who's buying?
Peace sells...,but who's buying?
No, peace sells

song performed by by Megadeth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Farmer's Bride (Cavatina Sequence) (In Answer To Charlotte Mew)

There was a farmer's wife, who was afraid
every day,
was driven wild with unmentioned fear;
always away
she was hidden beyond some lock and key,
never was gay
but doves gathered at her window sill,
many birds fluttered near at her will.

Without much love she was driven to work,
once she did flee
with the farmer and his labourers searching;
she was happy
while she was hiding in the large cornfield,
was from fear free,
later sneaked into the nearest church,
while drunk from the bar her husband did lurch.

Like a small animal she was hiding,
the minister
prayed for her but then took her back home,
quite sinister
acted the farmer as he whipped her,
did register
her into a lunatic asylum
and of his actions that was the sum.

The magpie's feathers did lie in her room
and she was gone
as if she had suddenly taken flight,
had moved on,
one day to a much better loving world,
but all alone
until his sudden death the farmer was,
they found him deep in a field of green grass.

[Reference: 'The Farmer's Bride' by Charlotte Mew.]

poem by Gert Strydom
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Meet On The Ledge - Originally By Fairport Convention

We used to say
That come the day
When wed all be making songs
Or finding better words
These ideas never lasted long
The way is up
Along the road
The air is growing thin
Too many friends who tried
Were blown off this mountain with the wind
Meet on the ledge
Were gonna meet on the ledge
When your time is up youre gonna meet all your friends
Meet on the ledge
Were gonna meet on the ledge
If you really mean it, it all comes round again
So here I sit
Im all alone
But thats the only way to be
Youll have your chance again
Then you can do the work for me

song performed by by Ocean Colour Scene
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When The Night Was Young

When the night was young
I was just a little boy
Walking down the street
Carrying some
Shopping bags
In my hands

poem by Aldo Kraas
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21st Century Shopping Mall

Built on a day in sin
Sand, girders and tin
Prefab shopping mall
For a working class clientele
Everything for sale
With chemist and optician
Open 24/7
All made in heaven.
...............................
Soc ial gathering if you like
Star parade caked music.
Push your food around Mike
.................................
Pref ab shopping mall
The Vatican
A pilgrimage every time
The Notre-dime.
..................................
Walk down towering isles
To marry a barbeque
With blessed burger
You become the Pope
In prefab shopping mall.
......................................Checkout!
A gorgeous honey bun
With e numbered eyes
Or male hunky spunk
Wearing organic hair gel
Loving your food to death
Into recyclable bags
Or do it yourself
With smiley friendly computer scanner
Serving a mega ram lip service.
..................................... .
However much you pay
Sacred food should stay
You cannot ever leave
Our God blessed sanctified
Prefab shopping mall......

poem by Andrew Nawroski
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Suitcases Don't Have Wings

Small bags big bags
Black bags white bags
Suitcases hey hey hey
For work and for play
Crammed full of things
Suitcases dont have wings
White bags black bags
Complete with one-way tags
Dragging us down
Ever closer to the ground
All the time they sing
Suitcases dont have wings
Big bags small bags
That behind us we drag
Past present and future
We cram so much in n' gotcha
We've been forgetting
suitcases dont have wings
All bags every bag
That we painfully drag
Drop them at jesus feet
Cause all ur needs he'll meet
Suitcases hey hey hey
They get in the way
Drop them if you want in
Suitcases dont have wings

poem by Joses Tirtabudi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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