I trained as a theater actor and you had a bare stage and you had to pretend, one prop and you are in the middle of 8th Ave. and traffic is just going by.
quote by Benicio del Toro
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
Psycho Babble Scribble Squabble and Scrabble
Psycho Babble Scribble Squabble and Scrabble 6th syllable rhyme with P.s.
~
First Stanza Syllable Rhyme 2nd StanzaLine
~
Sands of time slip away while the same doldrums 1st & 11th 55
Wear at my emotions stored on the shelf next 2nd & 10th 54
There is Zen which releases our somatic 3rd & 9th 53
Stored energy rushing out freely flowing 4th & 8th 52
Activating dendrites dead in the body 5th & 7th 51
Maybe it was my bellicose veins which led 6th 50
To their death through my pet peeve ignorance no 5th & 7th 49
Excuse O'er the years the wreckage piled up 4th & 8th 48
Massive heaps of scrap were unstable yet stacked 3rd & 9th 47
They lay where they fell upon each other there 2nd & 10th 46
Matter of factually speaking 'tis more 1st & 11th 45
Construed through the fashion in which they're laid out 2nd & 10th 44
Junk yards where people roam as they please searching 3rd & 9th 43
Through cars which were once new now resting in ruin 4th & 8th 42
The sun beats down breezes play with old papers 5th & 7th 41
And a searcher must test the part that he needs 6th 40
He inspects the core with hands which show his skill 5th & 7th 39
Some parts are worn yet there's something he has learned 4th & 8th 38
For he knows by rebuilding it should work fine 3rd & 9th 37
His van was built with salvaged parts some may say 2nd & 10th 36
Because he learned to study the things he liked 1st & 11th 35
Objects based on principals will remain true 2nd & 10th 34
'Twas through wit and joys of discovery that 3rd & 9th 33
Led him to train in the ways others forgot 4th & 8th 32
He did not like math some laughed because they thought 5th & 7th 31
It provided clues simplicity worked best 6th 30
That's what he thought he grew bored with their thinking 5th & 7th 29
They have legions who duplicate dynamics 4th & 8th 28
His defiance can not be ignored some said 3rd & 9th 27
He knows nothing and we have reached our wits end 2nd & 10th 26
We should forget him, nothing he says is true 1st & 11th 25
They ran him off for they could not digest thoughts 2nd & 10th 24
Until they thought about that which they had seen 3rd & 9th 23
Then they felt glee his words would ring with a truth 4th & 8th 22
And oh their laughter depicts his true brilliance 5th & 7th 21
How he would just sit teasing and taunting them 6th 20
They were at their peak and rare in their own rights 5th & 7th 19
He was a bum and quite a low life without 4th & 8th 18
Any care besides he would stutter gruffly 3rd & 9th 17
Anyone could have drawn the same conclusion 2nd & 10th 16
Who'll question our theorem he made predictions 1st & 11th 15
We'll win in any courtroom he's to waggish 2nd & 10th 14
It is plain to see he will not dare challenge 3rd & 9th 13
He'll be battered before the jot of ink dries 4th & 8th 12
Who'd side with a riffraff beggar over us 5th & 7th 11
They may only glance through his broad petition 6th 10
[...] Read more
poem by Edwin Tanguma
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Rosciad
Unknowing and unknown, the hardy Muse
Boldly defies all mean and partial views;
With honest freedom plays the critic's part,
And praises, as she censures, from the heart.
Roscius deceased, each high aspiring player
Push'd all his interest for the vacant chair.
The buskin'd heroes of the mimic stage
No longer whine in love, and rant in rage;
The monarch quits his throne, and condescends
Humbly to court the favour of his friends;
For pity's sake tells undeserved mishaps,
And, their applause to gain, recounts his claps.
Thus the victorious chiefs of ancient Rome,
To win the mob, a suppliant's form assume;
In pompous strain fight o'er the extinguish'd war,
And show where honour bled in every scar.
But though bare merit might in Rome appear
The strongest plea for favour, 'tis not here;
We form our judgment in another way;
And they will best succeed, who best can pay:
Those who would gain the votes of British tribes,
Must add to force of merit, force of bribes.
What can an actor give? In every age
Cash hath been rudely banish'd from the stage;
Monarchs themselves, to grief of every player,
Appear as often as their image there:
They can't, like candidate for other seat,
Pour seas of wine, and mountains raise of meat.
Wine! they could bribe you with the world as soon,
And of 'Roast Beef,' they only know the tune:
But what they have they give; could Clive do more,
Though for each million he had brought home four?
Shuter keeps open house at Southwark fair,
And hopes the friends of humour will be there;
In Smithfield, Yates prepares the rival treat
For those who laughter love, instead of meat;
Foote, at Old House,--for even Foote will be,
In self-conceit, an actor,--bribes with tea;
Which Wilkinson at second-hand receives,
And at the New, pours water on the leaves.
The town divided, each runs several ways,
As passion, humour, interest, party sways.
Things of no moment, colour of the hair,
Shape of a leg, complexion brown or fair,
A dress well chosen, or a patch misplaced,
Conciliate favour, or create distaste.
From galleries loud peals of laughter roll,
And thunder Shuter's praises; he's so droll.
Embox'd, the ladies must have something smart,
[...] Read more
poem by Charles Churchill
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Traffic Jam
Carbon monoxide
Making me choke
No a.c.
And the radios broke
Cars backed up
Far as you can see
Seems like Ive been waiting here for all eternity
Oh, and just in case youre wondering
Ill tell you where I am
Im right here (right here) right here (right here)
Stuck right here in the middle of this...
Traffic jam
I havent moved one inch from this here spot
Traffic jam
The freeways one big parking lot
Traffic jam
My radiators boiling hot
And Im stuck right here in the middle (right here in the middle)
Right here in the middle of a traffic jam
Trapped inside
My automobile
Cobwebs gowin
On the steerin wheel
Now, Im no genius
But one thing I know
I shouldnt have had that bag of bran muffins
An hour and a half ago
Yeah, and if you need to find me
Ill tell you where I am
Im right here (right here) right here (right here)
Stuck smack dab in the middle of this...
Traffic jam
I havent moved one inch from this here spot
Traffic jam
The freeways one big parking lot
Traffic jam
Well, I thought we were movin but I guess were not
cause Im stuck right here in the middle (right here in the middle)
Right here in the middle of a traffic jam
Stuck in the middle of a traffic jam
Yeah yeah yeah yeah
Bumper to bumper to bumper to bumper to
Bumper to bumper to bumper to bumper to
Bumper to bumper to bumper to bumper...
Yay-hey!
Theres a yuppie on a cellular phone
Im gonna puke if I here any more
Theres a motorcycle zoomin by me
Watch what happens when I open my door
Now were all goin nowhere fast
[...] Read more
song performed by Weird Al Yankovic
Added by Lucian Velea
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In The Middle
Don't cross the street in the middle in the middle
In the middle in the middle in the middle of the block
Don't cross the street in the middle in the middle
In the middle in the middle in the middle of the block
Use your eyes to look up
Use your ears to hear
Walk up to the corner when the coast is clear
And wait
And wait
Until you see the light turn green
Don't cross the street in the middle in the middle
In the middle in the middle in the middle of the block
Don't cross the street in the middle in the middle
In the middle in the middle in the middle of the block
Don't cross the street in the middle in the middle
In the middle in the middle in the middle of the block
Use your eyes to look up
Use your ears to hear
Walk up to the corner when the coast is clear
And wait
And wait
Until you see the light turn green
Don't cross the street in the middle in the middle
In the middle in the middle in the middle of the block
Don't cross the street in the middle in the middle
In the middle in the middle in the middle of the block
song performed by They Might Be Giants
Added by Lucian Velea
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Before the War
'Before the war,' she sighs. 'Before the war.'
Then blinks 'er eyes, an' tries to work a smile.
'Ole scenes,' she sez, 'don't look the same no more.
Ole ways,' she sez, 'seems to 'ave changed their style.
The pleasures that we had don't seem worth while
Them simple joys that passed an hour away
An' troubles, that we used to so revile,
'Ow small they look', she sez. ''Ow small today.
'This war!' sighs ole Mar Flood. An' when I seen
The ole girl sittin' in our parlour there,
Tellin' 'er troubles to my wife Doreen.
As though the talkin' eased 'er load 'uv care,
I thinks uv mothers, 'ere and everywhere,
Smilin' a bit while they are grievin' sore
For grown-up babies, fightin' Over There;
An' then I 'ears 'em sigh, 'Before the war.'
My wife 'as took the social 'abit bad.
I ain't averse - one more new word I've learned
Averse to tea, when tea is to be 'ad;
An' when it comes I reckon that it's earned.
It's jist a drink, as fur as I'm concerned,
Good for a bloke that toilin' on the land;
But when a caller comes, 'ere am I turned
Into a social butterfly, off-'and.
Then drinkin' tea becomes a 'oly rite.
So's I won't bring the family to disgrace
I guts a bit 'uv coachin' overnight
On ridin' winners in this bun-fed race.
I 'ave to change me shirt, an' wash me face,
An' look reel neat, from me waist up at least,
An sling remarks in at the proper place,
An' not makes noises drinkin', like a beast.
''Ave some more cake. Another slice, now do.
An' won't yeh 'ave a second cup uv tea?
'Ow is the children?' Ar, it makes me blue!
This boodoor 'abit ain't no good to me.
I likes to take me tucker plain an' free:
Tea an' a chunk out on the job for choice,
So I can stoke with no one there to see.
Besides, I 'aven't got no comp'ny voice.
Uv course, I've 'ad it all out with the wife.
I argues that there's work that must be done.
An' tells 'er that I 'ates this tony life.
She sez there's jooties that we must not shun.
You bet that ends it; so I joins the fun,
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Ave Maria
In the ages of Faith, before the day
When men were too proud to weep or pray,
There stood in a red-roofed Breton town
Snugly nestled 'twixt sea and down,
A chapel for simple souls to meet,
Nightly, and sing with voices sweet,
Ave Maria!
There was an idiot, palsied, bleared,
With unkempt locks and a matted beard,
Hunched from the cradle, vacant-eyed,
And whose head kept rolling from side to side;
Yet who, when the sunset-glow grew dim,
Joined with the rest in the twilight hymn,
Ave Maria!
But when they up-got and wended home,
Those up the hillside, these to the foam,
He hobbled along in the narrowing dusk,
Like a thing that is only hull and husk;
On as he hobbled, chanting still,
Now to himself, now loud and shrill,
Ave Maria!
When morning smiled on the smiling deep,
And the fisherman woke from dreamless sleep,
And ran up his sail, and trimmed his craft,
While his little ones leaped on the sand and laughed,
The senseless cripple would stand and stare,
Then suddenly holloa his wonted prayer,
Ave Maria!
Others might plough, and reap, and sow,
Delve in the sunshine, spin in snow,
Make sweet love in a shelter sweet,
Or trundle their dead in a winding-sheet;
But he, through rapture, and pain, and wrong,
Kept singing his one monotonous song,
Ave Maria!
When thunder growled from the ravelled wrack,
And ocean to welkin bellowed back,
And the lightning sprang from its cloudy sheath,
And tore through the forest with jaggèd teeth,
Then leaped and laughed o'er the havoc wreaked,
The idiot clapped with his hands, and shrieked,
Ave Maria!
Children mocked, and mimicked his feet,
As he slouched or sidled along the street;
[...] Read more
poem by Alfred Austin
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Testify
Come a little closer it's a feeling that I can't deny
I was weak, but I never thought I'd speak about the darker side
Is that a ten? I could repent on the side of the road
But, I kept on going yeah I headed for another load
I get up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground in the middle of the night
Oh, I testify
I was laid upon the grave by a preacher's hand I cannot lie
And, I forsake many vows I made to be with you tonight
Could you be the salvation cause I never felt like this before
And, could you lend me your hand because I'm falling back on the floor
I get up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground in the middle of the night
Oh, I testify
On a road outside of nowhere, in the middle of the night
Well I guess I hit rock bottom and the dawn was not in sight
And a Tempest made of fire, onset the sky aglow
And a sweet young thing called out my name
And this is how it goes, she says...
Choir:
"Go boy, can you hear them?
Are you falling through the cracks in your eyes?"
"Go boy, can you hear them?
Are you falling through the cracks in your eyes?"
"Go boy, can you hear them?
Are you falling through the cracks in your eyes?"
Meatloaf: And I got down on my knees
Choir :"Go boy, can you hear them?
Are you falling through the cracks in your eyes?"
"Go boy, can you hear them?
Are you falling through the cracks in your eyes?"
Meatloaf (over the top of the choirs last two repititions):
I get up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground and I'm falling back down
Up from the ground and I testify
I get up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground and I'm falling back down
Up from the ground and I testify
Meatloaf & Choir:
Up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground and I'm falling back down
Up from the ground and I testify
Up from the ground in the middle of the morning
Up from the ground in the middle of the evening
Up from the ground and I'm falling back down
[...] Read more
song performed by Meat Loaf
Added by Lucian Velea
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A Holy War
'Young friend!' . . . I tries to duck, but miss the bus.
'E sees me first, an' 'as me by the 'and.
'Young friend!' 'e sez; an' starts to make a fuss
At meetin' me. 'Why, this,' 'e sez, 'is grand!
Events is workin' better than I planned.
It's Providence that I should meet you thus.
You're jist the man,' 'e sez, 'to make a stand,
An' strive for us.
'Young friend,' 'e sez, 'allow me to explain
But wot 'e 'as to say too well I knows.
I got the stren'th uv it in Spadgers Lane
Not 'arf an hour before'and, when I goes
To see if I could pick up news uv Rose,
After that dentist let me off the chain.
('Painless,' 'e's labelled. So 'e is, I s'pose.
I 'ad the pain.)
'Young friend,' 'e sez. I let 'im 'ave 'is say;
Though I'm already wise to all 'e said
The queer old parson, with 'is gentle way
('E tied Doreen an' me when we was wed)
I likes 'im, from 'is ole soft, snowy 'ead
Down to 'is boots. 'E ain't the sort to pray
When folks needs bread.
Yeh'd think that 'e was simple as a child;
An' so 'e is, some ways; but, by and by,
While 'e is talkin' churchy-like an' mild,
Yeh catch a tiny twinkle in 'is eye
Which gives the office that 'e's pretty fly
To cunnin' lurks. 'E ain't to be beguiled
With fairy tales. An' when I've seen 'em try
'E's only smiled.
'Young friend,' 'e sez, 'I am beset by foes.
The Church,' 'e sez, 'is in a quandary.'
An' then 'e takes an' spills out all 'is woes,
An' 'ints that this 'ere job is up to me.
'Yer aid - per'aps yer strong right arm,' sez 'e,
'Is needed if we are to rescue Rose
From wot base schemes an' wot iniquity
Gawd only knows.'
This is the sorry tale. Rose, sick, an' low
In funds an' frien's, an' far too proud to beg,
Is gittin' sorely tempted fer to go
Into the spielin' trade by one Spike Wegg.
I knoo this Spike uv old; a reel bad egg,
'0o's easy livin' is to git in tow
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
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Ave a 'eart!
''Ere! 'Ave a 'eart!' 'e sez. 'Why, love a duck!
A 'uman bein' ain't a choppin' block!
There ain't no call fer you to go an' chuck
A man about when 'e 'as took the knock.
Gaw! Do yeh want to bust 'im all apart!
'Ere! 'Ave a 'eart!
'Aw, 'ave a 'eart!' 'e weeps. 'A fight's a fight;
But, strike me bandy, this is bloody war!
It's murder! An' you got no blasted right
To arst a 'uman man to come fer more.
'E 'ad no chance with you right frum the start.
Aw, 'ave a 'eart!
'Yeh've pulped 'is dile,' 'e whines; 'yeh've pinched 'is gun;
Yeh've bunged 'is eye 'an bashed in 'arf 'is teeth.
'Struth! Ain't yeh satisfied with wot yeh've done?
Or are you out to fit 'im fer a wreath?
The man's 'arf dead a'ready! Wot's yer dart?
Say, 'ave a 'eart!'
I never did 'ear sich a bloke to squeal
About a trifle. This 'ere pal uv Spike's
Don't seem to 'ave the stummick fer a deal
Uv solid stoush: rough work don't soot 'is likes.
'E ain't done much but blather frum the start,
''Ere 'ave a 'eart!'
A rat-face coot 'e is, with rat-like nerves
That's got all jangled with ixceedin' fright,
While I am 'andin' Spike wot 'e deserves.
But twice 'e tried to trip me in the fight,
The little skunk, now sobbin' like a tart,
'Aw, 'ave a 'eart!'
This 'ere's the pretty pitcher in Ah Foo's
Back privit room: Spite Wegg, well on the floor,
Is bleedin' pretty, with a bonzer bruise
Paintin' one eye, an' 'arf 'is clobber tore.
While me, the conq'rin' 'ero, stan's above
'Owlin' me love.
The rat-face mutt is dancin' up an' down;
Ah Foo is singin' jazz in raw Chinee;
The parson's starin' at me with a frown,
As if 'e thort sich things could never be;
An' I'm some bloke 'e's but 'arf rekernised
'E's 'ipnertised.
Foo's furniture is scattered any'ow,
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
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Chant-Pagan
ENGLISH IRREGULAR, DISCHARGED
Me that 'ave been what I've been --
Me that 'ave gone where I've gone --
Me that 'ave seen what I've seen --
'Ow can I ever take on
With awful old England again,
An' 'ouses both sides of the street,
And 'edges two sides of the lane,
And the parson an' gentry between,
An' touchin' my 'at when we meet --
Me that 'ave been what I've been?
Me that 'ave watched 'arf a world
'Eave up all shiny with dew,
Kopje on kop to the sun,
An' as soon as the mist let 'em through
Our 'elios winkin' like fun --
Three sides of a ninety-mile square,
Over valleys as big as a shire --
"Are ye there? Are ye there? Are ye there?"
An' then the blind drum of our fire . . .
An' I'm rollin' 'is lawns for the Squire,
Me!
Me htat 'ave rode through the dark
Forty mile, often, on end,
Along the Ma'ollisberg Range,
With only the stars for my mark
An' only the night for my friend,
An' things runnin' off as you pass,
An' things jumpin' up in the grass,
An' the silence, the shine an' the size
Of the 'igh, unexpressible skies --
I am takin' some letters almost
As much as a mile to the post,
An' "mind you come back with the change!"
Me!
Me that saw Barberton took
When we dropped through the clouds on their 'ead,
An' they 'ove the guns over and fled --
Me that was through Di'mond I'll,
An' Pieters an' Springs an' Belfast --
From Dundee to Vereeniging all --
Me that stuck out to the last
(An' five bloomin' bars on my chest) --
I am doin' my Sunday-school best,
By the 'elp of the Squire an' 'is wife
[...] Read more
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Ave Maria
(traditional)
Ave maria
Gratia plena
Maria gratia plena
Maria gratia plena
Ave ave dominus
Dominus tecum
Benedictus tu in mulieribus
Et benedictus
Et benedictus fructus ventris
Ventris tui, iesus
Ave maria
Mater dei
Ora pro nobis peccatoribus
Ora ora pro nobis
Ora pro nobis peccatoribus
Nunc, et in hora mortis
In hora mortis nostrae
In hora mortis mortis nostrae
In hora mortis nostrae
Ave maria
Ave maria
Maria gratia plena
Maria gratia plena
Ave ave dominus
Dominus tecum
Benedicta tu in mulieribus
Et benedictus
Et benedictus fructus ventris
Ventris tui, iesus
Ave maria
Ave maria
song performed by Olivia Newton-John
Added by Lucian Velea
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Ave Maria No Moro
Ave maria no morro
(written by herivelto martins and m. salinas)
(arranged and performed by scorpions)
Hay un ro, un monte de chocitas chiquititas
Es el morro de los negros, la mansin
Es tan humilde, tan desgraciada y tan sencilla
Ni siquiera una capilla da cobijo para rezar
Pero si vive cerca del cielo y cayera
Y la noche con su manto cubre las chozas que van a amar
All se escucha, al fin del da una plegaria, ave mara
All se escucha, al fin del da una plegaria
Ave mara, ave mara
Aunque no tenga capilla, reza la gente sencilla
Ave mara
All se escucha, al fin del da una plegaria, ave mara
All se escucha, al fin del da una plegaria
Ave mara, ave mara
Aunque no tenga capilla, reza la gente sencilla
Ave mara
song performed by Scorpions
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Battle Of The Wazzir
If ole Pharaoh, King of Egyp', 'ad been gazin' on the scene
'E'd' ave give the A.I.F. a narsty name
When they done their little best to scrub 'is dirty Kingdom clean,
An' to shift 'is ancient 'eap uv sin an' shame.
An' I'm tippin' they'd 'ave phenyled 'im, an' rubbed it in 'is 'ead.
But old Pharaoh, King uv Egyp', 'e is dead.
So yeh don't 'ear much about it; an' it isn't meant yeh should,
Since 'is Kingship wasn't there to go orf pop;
An' this mishunery effort fer to make the 'eathen good
Wus a contract that the fellers 'ad to drop.
There wus other pressin' matters, so they 'ad to chuck the fun,
But the Battle uv the Wazzir took the bun.
Now, Ginger Mick 'e writes to me a long, ixcited note,
An' 'e writes it in a whisper, so to speak;
Fer I guess the Censor's shadder wus across 'im as 'e wrote,
An' 'e 'ad to bottle things that musn't leak.
So I ain't got orl the strength uv it; but sich as Ginger sends
I rejooce to decent English fer me friends.
It wus part their native carelessness, an' part their native skite;
Fer they kids themselves they know the Devil well,
'Avin' met 'im, kind uv casu'l, on some wild Australian night-
Wine an' women at a secon'-rate 'otel.
But the Devil uv Australia 'e's a little woolly sheep
To the devils wot the desert children keep.
So they mooches round the drink-shop's, an' the Wazzir took their eye,
An' they found old Pharoah's daughters pleasin' Janes;
An' they wouldn't be Australian 'less they give the game a fly . . .
An' Egyp' smiled an' totted up 'is gains.
'E doped their drinks, an' breathed on them 'is aged evil breath . . .
An' more than one woke up to long fer death.
When they wandered frum the newest an' the cleanest land on earth,
An' the filth uv ages met 'em, it wus 'ard.
Fer there may be sin an' sorrer in the country uv their birth;
But the dirt uv cenchuries ain't in the yard.
They wus children, playin' wiv an asp, an' never fearin' it,
An' they took it very sore when they wus bit.
First, they took the tales fer furphies.. when they got around the camp,
Uv a cove done in fer life wiv one night's jag,
But when the yarns grew 'ot an' strong an' bore the 'all-mark stamp
Uv dinkum oil, they waved the danger flag.
An' the shudder that a clean man feels when 'e's su'prized wiv dirt
Gripped orl the camp reel solid; an' it 'urt.
There wus Bill from up the Billabong, 'oo's dearest love wus cow,
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Bear and the Hare
The bear is always bare. I have never seen a bear who was not bare. Or does he or she wear a coat of hair? Where does he or she go to buy a coat of hair so that he or she won't be a bare bear? Coats cost money. Bare bears have no money.
But bears eat honey. Even bare bears eat honey. And this bear had a honey who wanted a coat of hair. So when she said to her honey, 'Honey, I want a coat of hair, but I have no money.', her honey replied, 'Honey, I have no money to buy a coat of hair. But I do have honey. Maybe I can sell my honey for money.' So he sold his honey for money so that his honey could have some money to buy a coat of hair and not be a bare bear.
This bear had a friend who was a hare. This hare has hair. Is he bare? He is not a bare bear but a hare and hares have hair. But he is a funny bunny and likes a sunny spot even when it is hot because he like to have fun in the sun. But this funny bunny could not find a sunny spot to go to have fun in the sun until one day a fair came to town.
The bear and hare of course went to the fair. What a pair! The fair was quite far so the bare bear and the hare with the hair decided to ride the street car. To ride the street car, they had to pay a fare. I say that was quite an affair - to see the bare bear and the hair paying for their fare. The bare bear had no pockets in which to carry any fare. The funny bunny had no honey to sell to get some money to pay the fare so that he could go to the fair. The fare cost ten cents. But that makes no sense. It isn't fair to make a bear who is bare and has no pockets to hold a fare or a funny bunny who has no honey to get money to pay a fare to go to the fair.
Subsequently, the bare bear barely got on the street car after the funny bunny hopped on, the bare bear and the hair were there sitting in chairs riding in the street car to the fair without paying any fare. Along the way they saw a mare. They did not care about the mare. They wanted to get to the fair. Have you every seen a bare bear sitting in a chair? I once saw a bare bear sitting in a chair at a fair but he wasn't bare.
To get into the fair the bare bear and the hair had to pay another fare. And still the bare bear had no money to pay any fare to get into the fair. And the funny bunny had no money to pay any fare to get into the fair. So what did they do? How did they get into the fair? As I said, I saw the bare bear sitting in a chair at the fair but he wasn't bare.
Tell me if this is a poem. Thanks.
poem by Ben Gieske
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Washing Day
I. WASHING DAY
The little gipsy vi'lits, they wus peepin' thro' the green
As she come walkin' in the grass, me little wife, Doreen.
The sun shone on the sassafras, where thrushes sung a bar.
-The 'ope an' worry uv our lives wus yelling fer 'is Mar. -
I watched 'er comin' down the green; the sun wus on 'her 'air -
Jist the woman that I marri'd, when me luck wus 'eading fair.
I seen 'er walkin' in the sun that lit our little farm.
She 'ad three clothes-pegs in 'er mouth, an' washin' on 'er arm -
Three clothes-pegs, fer I counted 'em, an' watched 'er as she come.
'The stove-wood's low,' she mumbles, 'an' young Bill 'as cut 'is thumb,'
Now, it weren't no giddy love-speech, but it seemd to take me straight
Back to the time I kissed 'er first beside 'er mother's gate.
Six years 'uv wedded life we've 'ad, an' still me dreams is sweet. . .
Aw, them bonzer little vi'lits, they wus smilin' round me feet.
An' wots a bit uv stove-wood count, wiv paddicks grinnin' green,
When a bloke gits on to dreamin' uv the old days an' Doreen -
The days I thort I snared a saint; but since I've understood
I 'ave wed a dinkum woman, which is fifty times as good.
I 'ave wed a dinkum woman, an' she's give me eyes to see.
Oh, I ain't been mollycoddled, an' there ain't no fluff on me!
But days when I wus down an' out she seemd so 'igh above;
An' a saint is made fer worship, but a woman's made fer love.
An' a bloke is growin' richer as sich things 'e comes to know. . .
(She pegs another sheet an' sez, 'The stove-wood's gettin' low.')
A bloke 'e learns a lot uv things in six years wiv a tart;
But thrushes in the sassafras ain't singin' like me 'eart.
'Tis the thrushes 'oo 'ave tort me in their choonful sort o' way
That it's best to take things singin' as yeh meet 'em day be day.
Fer I wed a reel, live woman, wiv a woman's 'appy knack
Uv torkin' reason inside out an' logic front to back.
An' I like it. 'Struth I like it! Fer a wax doll in a 'ome,
She'd give a man the flamin' pip an' longin's fer to roam.
Aw, I ain't no silk-sock sookie 'oo ab'ors the rood an' rough;
Fer, city-born an' gutter-bred, me schoolin' it wus tough.
An' I like the dinkum woman 'oo . . . (She jerks the clothes-prop, so,
An' sez, so sweet an' dangerous, 'The stove-wood's gittin' low.')
See, I've studied men in cities, an' I've studied 'em out 'ere;
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Ave Maria
Ave maria
Gratia plena
Maria, gratia plena
Maria, gratia plena
Ave, ave dominus
Dominus tecum
Benedicta tu in mulieribus
Et benedictus
Et benedictus fructus ventris
Ventris tuae, jesus
Ave maria
Ave maria
Gratia plena
Maria, gratia plena
Maria, gratia plena
Ave, ave dominus tecum
Benedicta tu in mulieribus
Et benedictus
Benedictus fructus ventris tuae
Tuae, jesus
Ave maria
song performed by Cranberries
Added by Lucian Velea
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Ave Maria (feat. Luciano Pavarotti) (live)
ave maria
Gratia plena
Maria, gratia plena
Maria, gratia plena
Ave, ave dominus
Dominus tecum
Benedicta tu in mulieribus
Et benedictus
Et benedictus fructus ventris
Ventris tuae, jesus
Ave maria
Ave maria
Gratia plena
Maria, gratia plena
Maria, gratia plena
Ave, ave dominus tecum
Benedicta tu in mulieribus
Et benedictus
Benedictus fructus ventris tuae
Tuae, jesus
Ave maria
song performed by Cranberries
Added by Lucian Velea
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A Letter to the Front
I 'ave written Mick a letter in reply to one uv 'is,
Where 'e arsts 'ow things is goin' where the gums an' wattles is -
So I tries to buck 'im up a bit; to go fer Abdul's fez;
An' I ain't no nob at litrachure; but this is wot I sez:
I suppose you fellers dream, Mick, in between the scraps out them
Uv the land yeh left be'ind yeh when yeh sailed to do yer share:
Uv Collins Street, or Rundle Street, or Pitt, or George, or Hay,
Uv the land beyond the Murray or along the Castlereagh.
An' I guess yeh dream of old days an' the things yeh used to do,
An' yeh wonder 'ow 'twill strike yeh when yeh've seen this business thro';
An' yeh try to count yer chances when yeh've finished wiv the Turk
An' swap the gaudy war game fer a spell o' plain, drab work.
Well, Mick, yeh know jist 'ow it is these early days o' Spring,
When the gildin' o' the wattle chucks a glow on everything.
Them olden days, the golden days that you remember well,
In spite o' war an' worry, Mick, are wiv us fer a spell.
Fer the green is on the paddicks, an' the sap is in the trees,
An' the bush birds in the gullies sing the ole, sweet melerdies;
An' we're 'opin', as we 'ear 'em, that, when next the Springtime comes,
You'll be wiv us 'ere to listen to that bird tork in the gums.
It's much the same ole Springtime, Mick, yeh reckerlect uv yore;
Boronier an' dafferdils and wattle blooms once more
Sling sweetness over city streets, an' seem to put to shame
The rotten greed an' butchery that got you on this game -
The same ole sweet September days, an' much the same ole place;
Yet, there's a sort o' somethin', Mick, upon each passin' face,
A sort o' look that's got me beat; a look that you put there,
The day yeh lobbed upon the beach an' charged at Sari Bair.
It isn't that we're boastin', lad; we've done wiv most o' that -
The froth, the cheers, the flappin' flags, the giddy wavin' 'at.
Sich things is childish memories; we blush to 'ave 'em told,
Fer we 'ave seen our wounded, Mick, an' it 'as made us old.
We ain't growed soggy wiv regret, we ain't swelled out wiv pride;
But we 'ave seen it's up to us to lay our toys aside.
An' it wus you that taught us, Mick, we've growed too old fer play,
An' everlastin' picter shows, an' going' down the Bay.
An', as grown man dreams at times uv boy'ood days gone by,
So, when we're feelin' crook, I s'pose, we'll sometimes sit an' sigh.
But as a clean lad takes the ring wiv mind an' 'eart serene,
So I am 'opin' we will fight to make our man'ood clean.
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Also-Ran
I know I'm dull. I know I got a brain
That's only fit fer fertilizin' 'air.
I don't arst for bokays: I ain't that vain;
But fair is fair.
An' when yeh think yer somethin' uv a man,
It 'urts to find yerself a also-ran.
'Urts like one thing. To git sent to the pack
When you 'ave 'ad idears you're ace an' king
An' all the pitcher cards down to the jack
Is like to sting
Yer vanity. I thort I was some use,
An' now I'm valyid as a 'umble dooce.
Don't mind my sulks. I s'pose I 'as swelled 'ead;
But gittin' snouted ain't wot I expeck.
Aw, they can 'ave it on their own! I'm full
Up to the neck!
Never no more! I chuck good works right 'ere. . .
But lets start frum the start an' git it clear.
I own I used me nut. Fer marriage brings
Experience to stop yeh actin' rash.
I've missed the step before through rushin' things,
An' come a crash.
I planned it out all careful frum the start;
Me taticks was a reel fine work uv art.
Me problem's this: The noos 'as to be broke
Concernin' Rose. Doreen 'as to he told.
The 'ow an' when that bit uv noos is spoke
I've learnt uv old.
I'm shrood. I wait. I watch me chance to act.
The trick's to know the time an' place exact.
You blokes unmarrid ain't got no idear
Uv 'ow successful 'usbands works their 'eads.
It's like a feller strugglin' to keep clear
A thousand threads.
Once let 'em tangle, an' you take the blame.
You're up to putty; an' yeh've lost the game.
I picks a nice, calm, cozy, peaceful night.
The suppper things is washed; the kid's in bed
(I 'elped to wipe the plates) the fire burns bright;
An' then I led
The tork around to tales uv Ginger Mick,
Cunnin' an' crafty like, an' not too quick.
'Funny,' I sez, 'that we should mention Mick.
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Game
'Ho! the sky's as blue as blazes an' the sun is shinin' bright,
An' the dicky birds is singin' over'ead,
An' I'm 'ummin', softly 'ummin', w'ile I'm achin' fer a fight,
An' the chance to fill some blighter full of lead.
An' the big guns they are boomin', an' the shells is screamin' past,
But I'm corperil - lance-corperil, an' found me game at last!'
I ixpects a note frum Ginger, fer the time wus gettin' ripe,
An I gits one thick wiv merry 'owls uv glee;
Fer they've gone an' made 'im corperil - they've given 'im a stripe,
An' yeh'd think, to see 'is note, it wus V.C.
Fer 'e chortles like a nipper wiv a bran' noo Noah's Ark
Since forchin she 'as smiled on 'im, an' life's, no more a nark.
'Ho! the sky along the 'ill-tops, it is smudged wiv cannon smoke,
An' the shells along the front is comin' fast,
But the 'eads 'ave 'ad the savvy fer to reckernise a bloke,
An' permotion's gettin' common-sense at last.
An' they picked me fer me manners, w'ich wus snouted over 'ome,
But I've learned to be a soljer since I crossed the ragin' foam.
'They 'ave picked me 'cos they trust me; an' it's got me where I live,
An' it's put me on me mettle, square an' all;
I wusn't in the runnin' once when blokes 'ad trust to give,
But over 'ere I answers to the call;
So some shrewd 'ead 'e marked me well, an' when the time wus ripe
'E took a chance on Ginger Mick, an' I 'ave snared me stripe.
'I know wot I wus born fer now, an' soljerin's me game,
That's no furphy; but I never guessed it once;
Fer when I 'it things up at 'ome they said I wus to blame,
An' foolish beaks they sent me up fer munce.
But 'ere - well, things is different to wot sich things wus then.
Fer me game is playin' soljers, an' me lurk is 'andlin' men.
'Me game is 'andlin' men, orl right, I seen it in the parst
When I used to 'ead the pushes in the Lane.
An' ev'ry bloke among 'em then done everythin' I arst,
Fer I never failed to make me feelin' plain.
Disturbers uv the peace we wus them days, but now I know
We wus aimin' to be soljers, but we never 'ad a show.
'We never 'ad no discipline, that's wot we wanted bad,
It's discipline that gives the push its might/
But wot a tie we could 'ave give the coppers if we 'ad,
Lord! We'd 'ave capchered Melbourne in an night.
When I think uv thngs that might 'ave been I sometimes sit an' grin,
Fer I might be King uv Footscray if we'd 'ad mor discipline.
'I've got a push to 'andle now wot makes a soljer proud.
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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