Colin Hay - Waiting For My Real Life
Colin Hay
from Colin Hay - Waiting For My Real Life (2015)
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Colin The Cumberland Sausage
Colin the Cumberland sausage
was as happy as a pig in mud.
Today the master butcher made him
for the table of Mr Wood.
So full of beans was Colin
he was nearly bursting from his skin,
until the butcher wrapped him in paper
for the errand boy to deliver him.
Colin the Cumberland sausage
was delivered the very same day
to Publican Wood at the Barley Mow pub
who would cook him in the usual way.
Colin was laid out on the table
ready to go in the pan,
but Wuffer the dog entered the kitchen
and took Colin in his mouth and ran.
Now nobody knows what became of Colin
we assume he was eaten by the dog,
but don’t be surprised to see his brother
on the table of the Barley Mow pub.
poem by Orlando Belo
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Finally, Colin Farrell showed up on my doorstep, only he wasn't Colin Farrell - he was just this Irish kid who had read the script and wanted to do it.
quote by Robert Towne
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The Happy Prince
Rupert Everett, Colin Firth, Emily Watson, Colin Morgan, Edwin Thomas, Tom Wilkinson, Anna Chancellor, Julian Wadham
by Rupert Everett from The Happy Prince (2018)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Apparently, one in five people in the world are Chinese. And there are five people in my family, so it must be one of them. It's either my mum or my dad. Or my older brother, Colin. Or my younger brother, Ho-Chan-Chu. But I think it's Colin.
The Look
Strephon kissed me in the spring,
Robin in the fall,
But Colin only looked at me
And never kissed at all.
Strephon's kiss was lost in jest,
Robin's lost in play,
But the kiss in Colin's eyes
Haunts me night and day.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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June Perfection
June perfection
with you on cliff tops
and the sea-
feeding manic parents
the last traunch of the day.
Diving
Swooping
Soaring
CryingPurbeck rocks
and crashing seas-
a perfect evening
for you and me.
And woodland birds
the gnat and worm
pursue in greeny woods,
so many melodies
in birdland heaven
with you ‘a-twich’
laid out on rocks
like a french resistance lookout
‘into it’
sun enhancing your hair
aflame
and me realising
I love you more than birds can say.
[email protected]
7 June 2005
poem by Colin Phillimore
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Come What May, Day By Day
The worst thing you can do to your child
Is to envy them, or take away their smile
If we teach them to be sad
What hope does the future have
Come what may, day by day
The worst thing you can do to your child
Is to live your life through them, and all the while
There dreams aren't really there's
There future is old and bland
So come what may, day by day
Live your life day by day
Plan for the future come what may
Have a little hope in your heart
Give a little love, play your part
And from these seeds will grow
A better tomorrow
Come what may, day by day
Copyright Colin Coplin 1995 /2010
poem by Colin Coplin
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Colin Instructed
Young Colin was as stout a boy
As ever gave a maiden joy;
But long in vain he told his tale
To black-eyed Biddy of the Dale.
Ah why, the whining shepherd cried,
Am I alone your smiles denied?
I only tell in vain my tale
To black-eyed Biddy of the Dale.
True Colin, said the laughing dame,
You only whimper out your flame,
Others do more than sigh their tale
To black-eyed Biddy of the Dale.
He took the hint &c.
poem by Thomas Chatterton
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There's Nae Luck about the House
And are ye sure the news is true?
And are ye sure he's weel?
Is this a time to think o' wark?
Mak haste, lay by your wheel;
Is this the time to spin a thread
When Colin's at the door?
Reach me my cloak, I'll to the quay
And see him come ashore.
For there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a',
There's little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman's awa.
And gie to me my bigonet,
My bishop's satin gown;
For I maun tell the bailie's wife
That Colin's come to town.
My Turkey slippers maun gae on,
My stockings pearly blue;
It's a' to pleasure my gudeman,
For he's baith leel and true.
For there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a',
There's little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman's awa.
Rise, lass, and mak a clean fire side,
Put on the muckle pot,
Gie little Kate her button gown,
And Jock his Sunday coat;
And mak their shoon as black as slaes,
Their hose as white as snaw,
It's a' to please my ain gudeman,
For he's been lang awa.
For there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a',
There's little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman's awa.
There's twa fat hens upo' the bauk,
Been fed this month and mair,
Mak haste and thraw their necks about,
That Colin weel may fare;
And mak the table neat and clean,
Gar ilka thing look braw,
For wha can tell how Colin fared
When he was far awa?
Ah, there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a',
There's little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman's awa.
Sae true his heart, sae smooth his speech,
His breath like cauler air,
His very foot has music in't
As he comes up the stair!
And will I see his face again,
And will I hear him speak?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet.
For there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a',
There's little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman's awa.
If Colin's weel, and weel content,
I hae nae mair to crave--
And gin I live to keep him sae,
I'm blest aboon the lave.
And will I see his face again,
And will I hear him speak?
I'm downright dizzy wi' the thought,
In troth I'm like to greet.
For there's nae luck about the house,
There's nae luck at a',
There's little pleasure in the house
When our gudeman's awa.
poem by William Mickle
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Don't Be Sad, Don't Be Blue
Don’t be sad, baby
Don’t be blue
It makes me sad, baby
To see you feel as bad as you do
Don’t be sad, baby
Don’t be blue
For with each tear,
You will shed a little truth
Sex is a currency
Who you believe, can often torment you
Don’t look back, baby
If it bothers you
It’s a fact baby
That the world can both hurt or comfort you
Don’t be sad
Don’t be blue
For if you cry
I’ll know I’ve failed you
And with each tear, all that I fear
Will come true
So don’t be sad
Don’t be blue
Don’t let the moon catch you crying
Crying in my arms
He’ll think I hurt you, baby
He’ll think I done you harm
Don’t be sad
Don’t be blue
Don’t be sad
Don’t be blue
Don’t be sad
Don’t be blue
Copyright Colin Coplin 2005 / 2010
poem by Colin Coplin
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Paper And Pen
Paper and pen
Trying to write a song again
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
Trying to write a song again
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
Can’t think of anything to say today
Can’t think of anything to do
Can’t think of anything to play today
Minds gone blank
Leaving me here, just sitting here
Listening to my hair grow
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
And I look towards you
For an inspiration or a word or two
I try but I find
Every road only leads me back to these lines
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
Piano, guitar
I try but don't get very far
Paper and pen
Piano, guitar
Paper and pen
Trying to write a song again
Paper and pen
Paper and pen
Copyright Colin Coplin 1985 / 2010
poem by Colin Coplin
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You don't know what you can get away with until you try.
quote by Colin Powell
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Get mad, then get over it.
quote by Colin Powell
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Solo Flights
Woke up to the scary fact that I have no
book to read, after completing household
chores ran off to Tall Stories, second-hand
bookstore, got hold of "From Atlantis to the
Sphinx" by Colin Wilson, left on a quest for
ancient wisdom led by John Anthony West
assisted by Robert Schoch, palaeontologist,
travelling to rain-weathered Sphinx, studying
the Piri Reis Map detailing Antarctica before
ice covered everything; my loved ones mes-
merised watching great rugby wars on TV -
while I'm taking solo flights to pre-history…
"From Atlantis to the Sphinx" by Colin Wilson,
Virgin Books 2000
pp 1-108
poem by Margaret Alice Second
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It's not that I'm stupid. I just don't think sometimes.
quote by Colin Farrell
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It ain't as bad as you think. It will look better in the morning.
quote by Colin Powell
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And if that isn't the truth, it would be a lie.
quote by Colin Mochrie
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When it comes down to it, I just want to work.
quote by Colin Hanks
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Surfs You Right!
When Colin bought a computer, he didn't know a thing!
So in fact, without a tutor, he spent a lot, ker-ching!
So he plugged it in and waited... The PC screen stayed black!
For a while he hesitated and thought he'd take it back!
What's that? The on switch! There it was! The little so-and-so!
How foolish that he'd been so cross, yet now, all systems go!
An hour later, it calmed down! The Internet could start...
So Colin's forehead lost its frown, now he would soon take part.
The home page loaded, so he stared at small text on the screen,
The poor chap squinting unprepared, no longer quite as keen...
He clicked a link, saw colours change and near collapsed in shock!
'Good God! That site was really strange! ' That's one he had to block!
Another link he chose to try... This time some music played!
The volume had been set too high! He set it down to fade...
'Thank God for that! ' poor Colin said, 'At least I'm on my own! '
His cheeks by now were blushing red, as he let out a groan...
'OK! That's it! I'll beat this thing! ' He vowed with all his might!
Then he checked Google, Yahoo, Bing, still surfing through the night!
He fell asleep at half-past-five... He slept there like a slob!
Woke up, then off to work to drive, before he lost his job!
'That PC's going back next week! ' He told himself that day!
Alas, the poor guy's now a geek... His PC's here to stay!
Denis Martindale, copyright, July 2012.
poem by Denis Martindale
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Hayfever
May, when my feet ache to feel soil, grass and sand
after Winter's curfew,
steps gently
into June.
The fullness and freshness of bushes and trees
purple Rhodedendrums
dominant throughout.
Then all Nature's healthy friends
become enemies,
nasal antagonists
merciless mercinaries
meaningless oppressors
turning simple pleasures
into unreasonable misery.
The scratch,
the sniff
of Nature's rift
Hystomin bullies
refuse to shift
airborne fascists
close my eyes with red raw tears
that long to melt in calmer haze
of burning sands
and worship sunful August days.
[email protected]
May 2001 June 2006
poem by Colin Phillimore
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