Citatepedia^®.com

An empty barrel sings in the wind.

Croatian proverbs
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Margaret's Bridal Eve

I

The old grey mother she thrummed on her knee:
There is a rose that's ready;
And which of the handsome young men shall it be?
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

My daughter, come hither, come hither to me:
There is a rose that's ready;
Come, point me your finger on him that you see:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O mother, my mother, it never can be:
There is a rose that's ready;
For I shall bring shame on the man marries me:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

Now let your tongue be deep as the sea:
There is a rose that's ready;
And the man'll jump for you, right briskly will he:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

Tall Margaret wept bitterly:
There is a rose that's ready;
And as her parent bade did she:
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

O the handsome young man dropped down on his knee:
There is a rose that's ready;
Pale Margaret gave him her hand, woe's me!
There's a rose that's ready for clipping.

II

O mother, my mother, this thing I must say:
There is a rose in the garden;
Ere he lies on the breast where that other lay:
And the bird sings over the roses.

Now, folly, my daughter, for men are men:
There is a rose in the garden;
You marry them blindfold, I tell you again:
And the bird sings over the roses.

O mother, but when he kisses me!
There is a rose in the garden;
My child, 'tis which shall sweetest be!
And the bird sings over the roses.

O mother, but when I awake in the morn!

[...] Read more

poem by George Meredith
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The House Of Dust: Complete

I.

The sun goes down in a cold pale flare of light.
The trees grow dark: the shadows lean to the east:
And lights wink out through the windows, one by one.
A clamor of frosty sirens mourns at the night.
Pale slate-grey clouds whirl up from the sunken sun.

And the wandering one, the inquisitive dreamer of dreams,
The eternal asker of answers, stands in the street,
And lifts his palms for the first cold ghost of rain.
The purple lights leap down the hill before him.
The gorgeous night has begun again.

'I will ask them all, I will ask them all their dreams,
I will hold my light above them and seek their faces.
I will hear them whisper, invisible in their veins . . .'
The eternal asker of answers becomes as the darkness,
Or as a wind blown over a myriad forest,
Or as the numberless voices of long-drawn rains.

We hear him and take him among us, like a wind of music,
Like the ghost of a music we have somewhere heard;
We crowd through the streets in a dazzle of pallid lamplight,
We pour in a sinister wave, ascend a stair,
With laughter and cry, and word upon murmured word;
We flow, we descend, we turn . . . and the eternal dreamer
Moves among us like light, like evening air . . .

Good-night! Good-night! Good-night! We go our ways,
The rain runs over the pavement before our feet,
The cold rain falls, the rain sings.
We walk, we run, we ride. We turn our faces
To what the eternal evening brings.

Our hands are hot and raw with the stones we have laid,
We have built a tower of stone high into the sky,
We have built a city of towers.

Our hands are light, they are singing with emptiness.
Our souls are light; they have shaken a burden of hours . . .
What did we build it for? Was it all a dream? . . .
Ghostly above us in lamplight the towers gleam . . .
And after a while they will fall to dust and rain;
Or else we will tear them down with impatient hands;
And hew rock out of the earth, and build them again.

II.

[...] Read more

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Poetry Sings

When poetry is anger
It sings to me furiously
Like thunder clashing into the Earth
With vigorous authority

When poetry is comfort
It sings to me gently
Like a mother's touch
Soothing her child from an afflicting pain

When poetry is bitterness
It sings to me harshly
Like back stabbers leaving another
In the cold, because they can't handle the situation

When poetry is driven
It sings to me energetically
Like an underdog, whom start to finish
Strives itself to victory

When poetry is hate
It sings to me vengefully
Coming towards you like a nuclear missle
Intended to dispose of your existence

When poetry is love
It sings to me tenderly
As if an angel are tranqualizing my ears
With their divine voices

When poetry is vulgar
It sings to me villianously
As if I'm it's prize
For the obscene thoughts it deviously conjers up

When poetry is sultry
It sings to me passionately
Like an enticing hot and moist body
Engulfed with lust, provocatively captivating me

When poetry is fear
It sings to me timidly
Like an individual with anxiety towards a phobia
Prefering gone from their conscious

When poetry is courage
It sings to me bravely
Like a patriot who defends its rights
Against the tyrants of his/her nation

[...] Read more

poem by R.K. Cowles
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Sun-Up

(Shadows over a cradle…
fire-light craning….
A hand
throws something in the fire
and a smaller hand
runs into the flame and out again,
singed and empty….
Shadows
settling over a cradle…
two hands
and a fire.)

I

CELIA

Cherry, cherry, glowing on the hearth, bright red cherry…. When you try to pick up cherry Celia's shriek sticks in you like a pin.

When God throws hailstones you cuddle in Celia's shawl and press your feet on her belly high up like a stool. When Celia makes umbrella of her hand. Rain falls through big pink spokes of her fingers. When wind blows Celia's gown up off her legs she runs under pillars of the bank— great round pillars of the bank have on white stockings too.

Celia says my father
will bring me a golden bowl.
When I think of my father
I cannot see him
for the big yellow bowl
like the moon with two handles
he carries in front of him.

Grandpa, grandpa…
(Light all about you…
ginger… pouring out of green jars…)
You don't believe he has gone away and left his great coat…
so you pretend… you see his face up in the ceiling.
When you clap your hands and cry, grandpa, grandpa, grandpa,
Celia crosses herself.

It isn't a dream…. It comes again and again…. You hear ivy crying on steeples the flames haven't caught yet and images screaming when they see red light on the lilies on the stained glass window of St. Joseph. The girl with the black eyes holds you tight, and you run… and run past the wild, wild towers… and trees in the gardens tugging at their feet and little frightened dolls shut up in the shops crying… and crying… because no one stops… you spin like a penny thrown out in the street. Then the man clutches her by the hair…. He always clutches her by the hair…. His eyes stick out like spears. You see her pulled-back face and her black, black eyes lit up by the glare…. Then everything goes out. Please God, don't let me dream any more of the girl with the black, black eyes.

Celia's shadow rocks and rocks… and mama's eyes stare out of the pillow as though she had gone away and the night had come in her place as it comes in empty rooms… you can't bear it— the night threshing about and lashing its tail on its sides as bold as a wolf that isn't afraid— and you scream at her face, that is white as a stone on a grave and pull it around to the light, till the night draws backward… the night that walks alone and goes away without end. Mama says, I am cold, Betty, and shivers. Celia tucks the quilt about her feet, but I run for my little red cloak because red is hot like fire.

I wish Celia
could see the sea climb up on the sky
and slide off again…

[...] Read more

poem by Lola Ridge
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

When Smokey Sings

Debonair lullabies in melodies revealed
In deep despair on lonely nights
He knows just how you feel
The slyest rhymes - the sharpest suits
In miracles made real
Like a bird in flight on a hot sweet night
You know youre right just to hold her tight
He soothes it right - makes it outtasite
And everythings good in the world tonight!
When smokey sings - I hear violins
When smokey sings - I forget everything
As shes packing her things
As shes spreading her wings
The front door might slam
But the back door it rings
And smokey sings...he sings
Elegance in eloquence - for sale or rent or hire
Should I say - yes I match his best
Then I would be a liar
Symphonies that soothe the rage
When lovers hearts catch fire
Like a bird in flight on a hot sweet night
You know youre right just to hold her tight
He soothes it right - makes it outtasite
And everythings good in the world tonight!
When smokey sings - I hear violins
When smokey sings - I forget everything
As shes packing her things
As shes spreading her wings
Smashing the hell
With the heaven she brings
Then smokey sings...he sings
Luther croons
Slys the original - originator
James screams
Marvin was the only innovator
But nothing can compare
Nothing can compare
When smokey sings
When smokey sings - I hear violins
When smokey sings - I forget everything
As shes packing her things
As shes spreading her wings
She threw back the ring
When smokey sings...
Smokey sings...
Smokey sings...

song performed by Abc
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

My Heart Sings

My heart sings.
My heart sings the songs of happiness.
My heart sings the songs of joy.
My heart sings the songs of peace.
My heart sings the songs of the Blues.
My heart sings the songs of the Gospel.
My heart sings the songs of good news.
My heart cries a melody for all to hear.
My heart sings the harmonies of love.
My heart sings a song of beauty
that comes from the Thorne Birds
just before they die.
My heart sings songs to keep me alive.
My heart sings songs for as long as it beats.
My heart sings forever.
My heart sings haluwasa.
My heart sings.

poem by Jennifer Burns
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

More Fun Than A Barrel Of Monkeys

there are multiple questions pertaining to the concept,
'more fun than a barrel of monkeys.'

how big is the barrel?
how many monkeys are we talking about?
how big are the monkeys? Are we talking spider monkeys, chimps, baboons or what?
Are the monkeys old or young and where's the barrel, inside or outside?

If you leave the monkeys in the barrel, you got a problem:
they'll die in their own excrement,
if you lift the lid and let them out,
they might kill you.

a monkey can rip out your eyes, is that fun?
monkeys, leaping and running around the house, can do a lot of damage, is that fun?
monkeys are dirty, so... what exactly do you consider fun?
what's it going to be like trying to get the monkeys back in the barrel?
would that be fun?

what would the neighbors think of you, if you released the monkeys into their yards?
what happens if the police gets involved?
it could mean everything imaginable is more fun than a barrel of these animals.
maybe even more fun than a barrel of human beings.

poem by Richard Jarboe
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Ride On The Wind... Forever...

I Want To Ride On The Wind… Forever
I Want To Ride Over Land and Sea
I Want To Ride on The Wind… Forever
… and I Want You Riding With Me…

I Want To Ride On The Wind Over Mountains
And Touch The Sky, So Blue
Then Raise Oceans, Like Sparkling Fountains
And Splash Through Water, Kissing You

I Want To Ride On The Wind… Hold Its Mane
Ride The Wind… Wild and Free
For The Wind – Will Never Be Tame…
So Hold On Tight and Just… Breathe…

… Ride The Wind – Let It Begin – Ride The Wind
Ride The Wind – Breathe It In – Ride The Wind
Ride The Wind – Blow Again – Ride The Wind
Ride The Wind – Raise The Wind – Ride The Wind!

I Want To Ride On The Wind – In The Moonlight
I Want To Ride On The Wind – In The Clouds
And Wave To The Wings of Eagles in Flight
… then Float like Snow – Dancing Down

I Want To Ride On The Wind Forever
I Want To Ride and Rush-Up Rainbow-Stairs
I Want To Ride On The Wind – Forever
For Your Sweet-Breath Beckons Me… Everywhere

… Ride The Wind – Let It Begin – Ride The Wind
Ride The Wind – Breathe It In – Ride The Wind
Ride The Wind – Blow Again – Ride The Wind
Ride The Wind – Raise The Wind – Ride The Wind!

poem by MoonBee Canady
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Without the Immortal Love of a Woman…

Every man’s eye is devastatingly empty; unbearably rotting towards the dungeons of diabolical hell; without the celestially commiserating reflections of a bountiful woman,

Every man’s palm is sinfully empty; barbarously rotting towards the coffins of penalizing hell; without the compassionately befriending grip of an honest woman,

Every man’s vein is dreadfully empty; devilishly rotting towards the vacuum of torturous hell; without the invincibly righteous rudiments of a sacrosanct woman,

Every man’s brain is deliriously empty; sadistically rotting towards the thorns of cold-blooded hell; without the unsurpassably ebullient fantasies of an eclectic woman,

Every man’s lip is ghastily empty; tawdrily rotting towards the mortuaries of parasitic hell; without the wondrously igniting kisses of an ardent woman,

Every man’s shadow is venomously empty; carnivorously rotting towards the skeletons of hideous hell; without the mellifluously symbiotic sweetness of a benign woman,

Every man’s signature is disastrously empty; egregiously rotting towards the nothingness of hedonistic hell; without the astoundingly ameliorating reflection of a caring woman,

Every man’s mission is treacherously empty; horrendously rotting towards the dirt of excoriating hell; without the pricelessly unconquerable encouragement of a blessed woman,

Every man’s lung is cripplingly empty; nonsensically rotting towards the meaninglessness of asphyxiating hell; without the unassailably reinvigorating breath of a timeless woman,

Every man’s cheek is lecherously empty; salaciously rotting towards the perversions of crucifying hell; without the mischievously spell binding peck of an untamed woman,

Every man’s chest is drearily empty; ignominiously rotting towards the blackness of massacring hell; without the magically reincarnating caress of a sensuous woman,

Every man’s spine is lividly empty; preposterously rotting towards the holocaust of morbid hell; without the insurmountably majestic virility of an enigmatic woman,

Every man’s adventure is hopelessly empty; sacrilegiously rotting towards the ghost of tormenting hell; without the inscrutably tantalizing echo of a mesmerizing woman,

Every man’s skin is frigidly empty; inconsolably rotting towards the whiplash of strangulating hell; without the fathomlessly unabashed exhilaration of an intrepid woman,

Every man’s soul is cursedly empty; inexplicably rotting towards the gallows of murderous hell; without the infallibly consecrating sensitivity of a vivacious woman,

Every man’s shoulder is dolorously empty; blasphemously rotting towards the shards of deteriorating hell; without the amazingly unflinching unity of a blissful woman,

Every man’s ear is abjectly empty; viciously rotting towards the gutters of malevolent hell; without the enchantingly unfettered voice of a mystical woman,

Every man’s nostril is despondently empty; perilously rotting towards the wickedness of baseless hell; without the perennially life-yielding fragrance of an intricate woman,

And every man’s heart is haplessly empty; unsparingly rotting towards the evil jinx of cannibalistic hell; without the immortally embracing love of a faithful woman….

poem by Nikhil Parekh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Source

the Source of ‘Crab Nebula'

'The greats molder in their graves
Their words collect as dust upon their spines
Their hearts do not beat in time with today
and yet, the Spirit calls & you answer
What more can a ‘writer' do'?

(poetic writers are compelled to write
& seldom know why)

Ninth Street

There is a cold water'd house
On a bleak winter'd street
With stale musty stink
Of unwashed sock and sheet
Dirty dishes left still
Standing there in the sink.
Memories drenched in scent
Of kerosene and coal
Christmases without trees
Colored paper or ribbon bows.
Yet ___ there was laughter, warm
and yes ___ love
Her making toast over-done
and coffee too thin for him.
Poverty of wage and things
Cannot suppress the hope
Of loves gentle kiss
As passions
Became a foggy mist
Of what could have been
Instead of what is.

(Genetic Memory of Life before I was)

Curmudgeon

(I did not ask to be born)

Knowing why, doesn't make the search go away
Knowing how, doesn't mean you can stop
There are alternative ways, different days
No one gets to stay forever

There are traps
There are walls

[...] Read more

poem by Donald Goodside
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Book VI - Part 02 - Great Meteorological Phenomena, Etc

And so in first place, then
With thunder are shaken the blue deeps of heaven,
Because the ethereal clouds, scudding aloft,
Together clash, what time 'gainst one another
The winds are battling. For never a sound there come
From out the serene regions of the sky;
But wheresoever in a host more dense
The clouds foregather, thence more often comes
A crash with mighty rumbling. And, again,
Clouds cannot be of so condensed a frame
As stones and timbers, nor again so fine
As mists and flying smoke; for then perforce
They'd either fall, borne down by their brute weight,
Like stones, or, like the smoke, they'd powerless be
To keep their mass, or to retain within
Frore snows and storms of hail. And they give forth
O'er skiey levels of the spreading world
A sound on high, as linen-awning, stretched
O'er mighty theatres, gives forth at times
A cracking roar, when much 'tis beaten about
Betwixt the poles and cross-beams. Sometimes, too,
Asunder rent by wanton gusts, it raves
And imitates the tearing sound of sheets
Of paper- even this kind of noise thou mayst
In thunder hear- or sound as when winds whirl
With lashings and do buffet about in air
A hanging cloth and flying paper-sheets.
For sometimes, too, it chances that the clouds
Cannot together crash head-on, but rather
Move side-wise and with motions contrary
Graze each the other's body without speed,
From whence that dry sound grateth on our ears,
So long drawn-out, until the clouds have passed
From out their close positions.
And, again,
In following wise all things seem oft to quake
At shock of heavy thunder, and mightiest walls
Of the wide reaches of the upper world
There on the instant to have sprung apart,
Riven asunder, what time a gathered blast
Of the fierce hurricane hath all at once
Twisted its way into a mass of clouds,
And, there enclosed, ever more and more
Compelleth by its spinning whirl the cloud
To grow all hollow with a thickened crust
Surrounding; for thereafter, when the force
And the keen onset of the wind have weakened
That crust, lo, then the cloud, to-split in twain,
Gives forth a hideous crash with bang and boom.
No marvel this; since oft a bladder small,

[...] Read more

poem by Lucretius
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Wild As The Wind (feat. Trisha Yearwood)

Johnny grew up
On the dark side of the law
Livin' in the shadow
Of the light he never saw
Rosie came 'round
In the way that true love does
Just when you're lookin' elsewhere
For the thing that never was
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
So they team up
And they traveled on thier way
Lookin' for forever
For every yesterday
She brings him hope
In the way that Angels do
Takin' him to heaven
In ways he never knew
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
Wild as the wind
Every so often
He gets a stray look in his eye
She knows how to hold him
Without ever askin' why
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love

song performed by Garth Brooks
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Wild As The Wind

Johnny grew up
On the dark side of the law
Livin in the shadow
Of the light he never saw
Rosie came round
In the way that true love does
Just when youre lookin elsewhere
For the thing that never was
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
So they team up
And they traveled on thier way
Lookin for forever
For every yesterday
She brings him hope
In the way that angels do
Takin him to heaven
In ways he never knew
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
Wild as the wind
Every so often
He gets a stray look in his eye
She knows how to hold him
Without ever askin why
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love
Wild as the wind
Wild as the wind is
Wild as the wind is love

song performed by Garth Brooks
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

A Letter From Li Po

Fanfare of northwest wind, a bluejay wind
announces autumn, and the equinox
rolls back blue bays to a far afternoon.
Somewhere beyond the Gorge Li Po is gone,
looking for friendship or an old love's sleeve
or writing letters to his children, lost,
and to his children's children, and to us.
What was his light? of lamp or moon or sun?
Say that it changed, for better or for worse,
sifted by leaves, sifted by snow; on mulberry silk
a slant of witch-light; on the pure text
a slant of genius; emptying mind and heart
for winecups and more winecups and more words.
What was his time? Say that it was a change,
but constant as a changing thing may be,
from chicory's moon-dark blue down the taut scale
to chicory's tenderest pink, in a pink field
such as imagination dreams of thought.
But of the heart beneath the winecup moon
the tears that fell beneath the winecup moon
for children lost, lost lovers, and lost friends,
what can we say but that it never ends?
Even for us it never ends, only begins.
Yet to spell down the poem on her page,
margining her phrases, parsing forth
the sevenfold prism of meaning, up the scale
from chicory pink to blue, is to assume
Li Po himself: as he before assumed
the poets and the sages who were his.
Like him, we too have eaten of the word:
with him are somewhere lost beyond the Gorge:
and write, in rain, a letter to lost children,
a letter long as time and brief as love.

II

And yet not love, not only love. Not caritas
or only that. Nor the pink chicory love,
deep as it may be, even to moon-dark blue,
in which the dragon of his meaning flew
for friends or children lost, or even
for the beloved horse, for Li Po's horse:
not these, in the self's circle so embraced:
too near, too dear, for pure assessment: no,
a letter crammed and creviced, crannied full,
storied and stored as the ripe honeycomb
with other faith than this. As of sole pride
and holy loneliness, the intrinsic face
worn by the always changing shape between
end and beginning, birth and death.

[...] Read more

poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Empty Sky

I woke up this morning
I could barely breathe
Just an empty impression
In the bed there you used to be
I want a kiss from your lips
I want an eye for an eye
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Blood on the streets
Blood flowin down
I hear the blood of my blood
Cryin from the ground
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
Empty sky, empty sky
I woke up this morning to an empty sky
On the plains of jordan
I cut my bow from the wood
Of this tree of evil
Of this tree of good
I want a kiss from your lips
I want an eye for an eye
I woke up this morning to the empty sky

song performed by Bruce Springsteen
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Give Your Heart To The Hawks

1 he apples hung until a wind at the equinox,

That heaped the beach with black weed, filled the dry grass

Under the old trees with rosy fruit.

In the morning Fayne Fraser gathered the sound ones into a

basket,

The bruised ones into a pan. One place they lay so thickly
She knelt to reach them.

Her husband's brother passing
Along the broken fence of the stubble-field,
His quick brown eyes took in one moving glance
A little gopher-snake at his feet flowing through the stubble
To gain the fence, and Fayne crouched after apples
With her mop of red hair like a glowing coal
Against the shadow in the garden. The small shapely reptile
Flowed into a thicket of dead thistle-stalks
Around a fence-post, but its tail was not hidden.
The young man drew it all out, and as the coil
Whipped over his wrist, smiled at it; he stepped carefully
Across the sag of the wire. When Fayne looked up
His hand was hidden; she looked over her shoulder
And twitched her sunburnt lips from small white teeth
To answer the spark of malice in his eyes, but turned
To the apples, intent again. Michael looked down
At her white neck, rarely touched by the sun,
But now the cinnabar-colored hair fell off from it;
And her shoulders in the light-blue shirt, and long legs like a boy's
Bare-ankled in blue-jean trousers, the country wear;
He stooped quietly and slipped the small cool snake
Up the blue-denim leg. Fayne screamed and writhed,
Clutching her thigh. 'Michael, you beast.' She stood up
And stroked her leg, with little sharp cries, the slender invader
Fell down her ankle.

Fayne snatched for it and missed;

Michael stood by rejoicing, his rather small

Finely cut features in a dance of delight;

Fayne with one sweep flung at his face

All the bruised and half-spoiled apples in the pan,

[...] Read more

poem by Robinson Jeffers
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Done Somebody Wrong

The barrel-house told me, my baby caught that train n gone
The barrel-house told me, my baby caught that train n gone
It was all my fault, I musta did somebody wrong.
Everything that happens, you know I am to blame.
Everything that happens, you know I am to blame.
Im gonna find myself a doctor, perhaps my luck will change.
Ah, my mamma she told me, these days will surely come.
I wouldnt listen to her, had to have my fun.
The barrel-house told me, my baby caught that train n gone.
But its all my fault, I musta done somebody wrong, oh yeah.
The barrel-house told me, my baby caught that train n gone
The barrel-house told me, my baby caught that train n gone
It was all my fault, I musta did somebody wrong. oh play the blues...

song performed by Allman Brothers Band, music by Elmore James (1960)
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Barometer Soup

Follow in my wake
Youve not that much at stake
For I have plowed the seas
And smoothed the troubled waters
Come along lets have some fun
The hard work has been done
Well barrel roll into the sun
Just for starters
Just for starters
Barometers my soup
Im descended from a deckhand on a sloop
I travel on the songlines
That only dreamers see
Not known for predictability
Come and follow in our wake
Youve not that much at stake
For we have plowed the seas
And smoothed the troubled waters
Come along lets have some fun
Seems our work is done
Well barrel roll into the sun
Just for starters
Sail the main course
In a simple sturdy craft
Keep her well stocked
With short stories and long laughs
Go fast enough to get there
But slow enough to see
Moderation seems to be the key
Constantly searchin
Oh my eyes have seen some horizons
And Ive crossed the ocean for more than just thrills
No Im not the first
Wont be the last
You lust for the future
But treasure the past
Follow in my wake
Youve not as much at stake
For I have plowed the seas
And smoothed the troubled waters
Come along lets have some fun
The hard work has been done
Well barrel roll into the sun
Just for starters
Well barrel roll into the sun
Just for starters
Well barrel roll into the sun
Just for starters

song performed by Jimmy Buffett
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Black Barrel of a Gun

You say you're going to shoot me up
Yeah, shoot me up
If I don't do what you want
Yeah, shoot me up
While looking over the black barrel of a gun

You say again do what you want or it's going
To be the gun
Yeah, be the gun
If I don't do what you want
While looking down at the black barrel of a gun

Oh, well it's a good thing I can't hear
Yeah, I can't hear
Cause I'm not giving in to wants
Yeah, I can't hear
While your shoving a black barrel of a gun

Oh, yes and I can't see, no can see
When you give me your ultimatum
Cause I can't see giving in
To someone with a gun
While I look across the black barrel of a gun

So you can get your ass on flee
Because I don't see
You shoot me up, yeah shoot me up
Cause I'm not doing what you want
While I look across the black barrel of your gun

poem by Midnights Voice
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Barrel Of A Gun

Click snap bang boom,
range gun shot in zoom lens,
don't step on my toes,
I'll step on your toes too,
you at the barrel of a gun I say boom,
love your looks so,
I shot your ex to get to you,
remember when you spoke,
it was music to my ears,
your dad came in,
lock his jock in his gun,
so I took my barrel,
pointed it to his forehead,
like blood that's blood red,
barrel of a gun like your ex,
small small head,
she spoke to me,
told me to have love with my hand,
all bets off no kiss & tell stand,
watch my hand stance jack my hand,
caught me in rated R moment,
barrel of a gun i shoot to kill,
so to her ex stand still so i target you,
youtube has your answers too,
ms. China a'china,
caught your woman on x factory,
think Ill bring love after you,
inside barrel of a gun,
catch me catch me run,
ex on x factory shot him x factory,
boom-snap-click-bang,
everybody zoom lens range on Interstate,
because I care less of what you think,
see blood red lines on airport board,
cause blood is what you see when I shoot at you.

poem by Tommy Laster
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!