Choose the stone by the size of the frog.
Honduran proverbs
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Related quotes
Tree's Frog - Parody Joyce Kilmer
I think that I shall never fail
to see with glee a frog full pail
less lovely than a poem which
most must with difficulty stitch.
Who's uninspired by froggy frail
leaves cheeks livid, features pale –
their sale may even make one rich
when cogent rhyme spares metre’s (gl) itch.
Sage frog we sing as holy graal
not trite, - right pristine risqué trail –
write neither tedious nor kitsch
preposterous or piteous pitch.
Wage man in name of culture’s flail
culls brazen female framed with veil,
In time of need none sex may switch -
unlike the frog, who’ll spawn enrich.
When frog finds itchy leg is pressed,
although he’ll jump, he won’t protest,
croak lends itself to joke’s delight
where faced with sore mosquito bite.
A cloud of frogs is treasure chest
most moonlit lovers has impressed,
with warble charming much unlike
officious neighbours swift to strike.
We rummage words which stipulate
fine frog’s resilient verbal gumption,
days, grievance sweeping, meditate
on nightly summer song’s resumption.
The nightingale’s no consolation
except for poets orthodox,
for Frog’s flag flies for every nation
as arcane jumping jack in box.
Against vain heckle we exude
full confidence in frogzster’s mood
whose speckles toad – more lecherous –
looks on with envy, missing bus.
For toad, four toed, can only yammer
in jaded solitary stammer,
Frog, indistructible none unhinge
resilient, when on singing binge.
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Phileas the Frog
Phileas the frog was awfully large -
To see the muscle in his thighs -
A sight bedazzling to your eyes!
With plenty there to feed a town -
If you would dare to take him down!
Phileas the frog could tow a barge.
One hefty bound could clear a tree -
A scary sight I'll guarantee!
And something else to make me dread:
Were he to land upon my head!
Phileas the frog was known as 'Sarge -'
Accounted by that massive chest.
No other frog would care to jest
That tidy Phileas!
So if you've sense and know your place -
And hold some value to your face,
Then don't get supercilious
With Phileas!
Copyright © Mark Raymond Slaughter 2009
All rights reserved.
[...] Read more
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Hop Frog
Well they call me a juicy hop-frog
you can see me in any wood bog
don't you know that they call me the hop-frog
hopping frog
I'm a hop-frog
a hop-frog
they call me the hop-frog
hop, hop-frog
They call me the hop-frog
see me in any wood bog
don't you know that call me a hop-frog
hop-frog
They call me the hop-frog
see me in a wood bog
they're calling me a hop-frog
hop-frog
You can see me in a ballroom
you can see me in a bedroom
you can see me in the woods
hop, hop-frog
They call me the hop-frog
they call you the hop-frog
well they call you the hop-frog
hop, hop-frog
Frog
song performed by Lou Reed
Added by Lucian Velea
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Shes Actual Size
Words fail
Buildings tumble
The ground opens wide
Light beams down from heaven
She stands before my eyes
Shes actual size, but she seems much bigger to me
Squares may look distant in her rear view mirror but theyre actual size
As she drives away
Big men
Often tremble
As they step aside
I thought I was big once
She changed my mind
Shes actual size, but she seems much bigger to me.
Ive never known anybody like her, shes actual size
Nationwide, believe
Shes got
All the money
Money couldnt buy
Shes got something special
That someone left behind
Shes actual size, but she seems much bigger to me
Squares may look distant in her rear view mirror but theyre actual size
Actual size to her
Her face
Hangs in portrait
On the post office wall
Shes stuck in my heart now
Where my blood belongs
Shes actual size, but she seems much bigger to me
Ive never known anybody like her, shes actual size
Actual size, believe
Notes
Heres the best guess so far about the lyrics to larger than life. please give input. I need help with all of the reggae lyrics!
Shes actual size, but she seems much bigger to me
Words fail
Buildings tumble
The ground opens wide
Light beams down from heaven
She stands before my eyes
Shes actual size, but she seems much bigger to me
Squares may look distant in her rear view mirror but theyre actual size
As she drives away
Big men
Often tremble
As they step aside
I thought I was big once
She changed my mind
Shes actual size, but she seems much bigger to me
Ive never known anybody like her, shes actual size
[...] Read more
song performed by They Might Be Giants
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The Frog and The Nightingale
Once upon a time a frog
Croaked away in Bingle Bog
Every night from dusk to dawn
He croaked awn and awn and awn
Other creatures loathed his voice,
But, alas, they had no choice,
And the crass cacophony
Blared out from the sumac tree
At whose foot the frog each night
Minstrelled on till morning night
Neither stones nor prayers nor sticks.
Insults or complaints or bricks
Stilled the frogs determination
To display his heart's elation.
But one night a nightingale
In the moonlight cold and pale
Perched upon the sumac tree
Casting forth her melody
Dumbstruck sat the gaping frog
And the whole admiring bog
Stared towards the sumac, rapt,
And, when she had ended, clapped,
Ducks had swum and herons waded
To her as she serenaded
And a solitary loon
Wept, beneath the summer moon.
Toads and teals and tiddlers, captured
By her voice, cheered on, enraptured:
"Bravo! " "Too divine! " "Encore! "
So the nightingale once more,
Quite unused to such applause,
Sang till dawn without a pause.
Next night when the Nightingale
Shook her head and twitched her tail,
Closed an eye and fluffed a wing
And had cleared her throat to sing
She was startled by a croak.
"Sorry - was that you who spoke? "
She enquired when the frog
Hopped towards her from the bog.
"Yes," the frog replied. "You see,
I'm the frog who owns this tree
In this bog I've long been known
For my splendid baritone
And, of course, I wield my pen
For Bog Trumpet now and then"
[...] Read more
poem by Vikram Seth
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Punch Up At 'Dart Man's Aim
Fifteen stone and just five foot eight
And yet he doesn't seem overweight
Deep, deep chest and shoulders wide
The strongest in this countryside.
He's the mighty Dan the frog
From the house beside the bog
Swarthy looking with raven hair
A happy man without a care.
He's no plans to take a wife
As he prefers the single life
And he's still a young man anyway
Just twenty five on his last birthday
Froggy is his dad's nickname
And that's from where the name frog came
But his nickname of frog he doesn't appreciate
In fact the word called frog he's grown to hate.
Fastest man for miles around
To part with the green back pound
In him you'll find nothing cheap
Money he can't seem to keep.
He's a happy sort of bloke
Happy even when he's broke
He's got the right mentality
Never down, always carefree.
Likes his guinness doesn't like beer
Drinks his liquor with good cheer,
Whiskey makes the man walk tall
And he likes whiskey best of all.
He is merciful though strong
And without good reason won't do wrong
But do him wrong and he will fight
And with his fists he'll put things right.
He'd prefer to crack your jaw
Than chastise you with the law
Solves his problems like a man
That's the way it is with Dan.
And though when need arise he can be hard
Dan the frog is no blaghguard
But his type you don't kick around
As men like him do not yield ground
[...] Read more
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Frog Prince
Frau Doktor,
Mama Brundig,
take out your contacts,
remove your wig.
I write for you.
I entertain.
But frogs come out
of the sky like rain.
Frogs arrive
With an ugly fury.
You are my judge.
You are my jury.
My guilts are what
we catalogue.
I’ll take a knife
and chop up frog.
Frog has not nerves.
Frog is as old as a cockroach.
Frog is my father’s genitals.
Frog is a malformed doorknob.
Frog is a soft bag of green.
The moon will not have him.
The sun wants to shut off
like a light bulb.
At the sight of him
the stone washes itself in a tub.
The crow thinks he’s an apple
and drops a worm in.
At the feel of frog
the touch-me-nots explode
like electric slugs.
Slime will have him.
Slime has made him a house.
Mr. Poison
is at my bed.
He wants my sausage.
He wants my bread.
Mama Brundig,
he wants my beer.
He wants my Christ
for a souvenir.
Frog has boil disease
and a bellyful of parasites.
[...] Read more
poem by Anne Sexton
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Frog
France and China feed from your demise,
Restaurateurs are not exactly chums,
Oh how they rave about your tender thighs!
Gourmand orders - another frog succumbs…
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
[...] Read more
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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A Snail Goes To Heaven (A One-Act Tragicomedy)
Bare stage. A square neon sign on extreme right which reads: “This way to Heaven”.
Prolonged silence. Enter Snail, moving very slowly throughout the play.
Snail:
I’m a dead snail.
I’m going to Heaven.
I’ve lived for 15 years.
That’s a ripe old age.
I’ve been blessed.
Had a marvellous sex life, you know.
Well, if you know snails
we attract a mate with our slime.
Oh, slime turns me on, baby.
(Snail moves slowly, and then stops.)
Well, maybe I should focus on holy thoughts.
Purity...refined thoughts...you know...
Snail God does not like sex.
Copulation is not exactly what
Snail God meant when Snail God declared:
'Go forth and slime the world;
be ye together...'
Snail God demands purity
so let me be so...
after all, I’m going to Heaven...
a dead snail and moving on to Heaven...
(Snail moves slowly, and then stops.)
Had a precarious life,
you know,
all these 15 years...
A farmer saw me in the grass.
I heard him curse
and he raised his foot to crush me.
Well, unfortunately for him
he stepped on a snake
and the last I heard of the man
was an expletive
and the last I heard of the snake was a hiss.
Yes, I’ve had a long life
a risky life - but it’s all worth it
for an eternal life in Heaven
is my reward
(Snail moves slowly, and then stops.)
(Enter Frog, jumping. Snail looks at Frog in amazement. And Frog stops and looks at Snail in amazement.)
[...] Read more
poem by Raj Arumugam
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Daddy Rolling Stone
Girl you think youve had loving,
Girl you think youve had loving,
Girl you think youve had fun,
Girl you think youve had fun,
Girl you aint a seen nothin til I come along.
Girl you aint a seen nothin til I come along.
Im a daddy, Im a daddy, Im a daddy,
Im a daddy, Im a daddy, Im a daddy,
Yeah Im a daddy daddy Im daddy rolling stone.
Yeah Im a daddy daddy Im daddy rolling stone.
I got a friend named cody,
I got a friend named cody,
Hes got a girl named chris,
Hes got a girl named chris,
Im gonna steal that girl though hes twice my size,
Im gonna steal that girl though hes twice my size,
cause I know how to do it like this.
cause I know how to do it like this.
Im a daddy, Im a daddy, Im a daddy,
Im a daddy, Im a daddy, Im a daddy,
Yeah Im a daddy daddy Im daddy rolling stone,
Yeah Im a daddy daddy Im daddy rolling stone,
Im daddy rolling stone, Im daddy rolling stone,
Im daddy rolling stone, Im daddy rolling stone,
Daddy rolling stone, call me daddy rolling stone.
Daddy rolling stone, call me daddy rolling stone.
I said I got a friend named cody,
I said I got a friend named cody,
Hes got a girl named chris,
Hes got a girl named chris,
Im gonna steal that girl though hes twice my size,
Im gonna steal that girl though hes twice my size,
cause I know how to do it like this.
cause I know how to do it like this.
Im a daddy, Im a daddy, Im a daddy, daddy,
Im a daddy, Im a daddy, Im a daddy, daddy,
Im daddy rolling stone, Im daddy rolling stone,
Im daddy rolling stone, Im daddy rolling stone,
Just call me daddy rolling stone dear,
Just call me daddy rolling stone dear,
Long hair long nose, daddy rolling stone.
Long hair long nose, daddy rolling stone.
song performed by Who
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Tower Beyond Tragedy
I
You'd never have thought the Queen was Helen's sister- Troy's
burning-flower from Sparta, the beautiful sea-flower
Cut in clear stone, crowned with the fragrant golden mane, she
the ageless, the uncontaminable-
This Clytemnestra was her sister, low-statured, fierce-lipped, not
dark nor blonde, greenish-gray-eyed,
Sinewed with strength, you saw, under the purple folds of the
queen-cloak, but craftier than queenly,
Standing between the gilded wooden porch-pillars, great steps of
stone above the steep street,
Awaiting the King.
Most of his men were quartered on the town;
he, clanking bronze, with fifty
And certain captives, came to the stair. The Queen's men were
a hundred in the street and a hundred
Lining the ramp, eighty on the great flags of the porch; she
raising her white arms the spear-butts
Thundered on the stone, and the shields clashed; eight shining
clarions
Let fly from the wide window over the entrance the wildbirds of
their metal throats, air-cleaving
Over the King come home. He raised his thick burnt-colored
beard and smiled; then Clytemnestra,
Gathering the robe, setting the golden-sandaled feet carefully,
stone by stone, descended
One half the stair. But one of the captives marred the comeliness
of that embrace with a cry
Gull-shrill, blade-sharp, cutting between the purple cloak and
the bronze plates, then Clytemnestra:
Who was it? The King answered: A piece of our goods out of
the snatch of Asia, a daughter of the king,
So treat her kindly and she may come into her wits again. Eh,
you keep state here my queen.
You've not been the poorer for me.- In heart, in the widowed
chamber, dear, she pale replied, though the slaves
Toiled, the spearmen were faithful. What's her name, the slavegirl's?
AGAMEMNON Come up the stair. They tell me my kinsman's
Lodged himself on you.
CLYTEMNESTRA Your cousin Aegisthus? He was out of refuge,
flits between here and Tiryns.
Dear: the girl's name?
AGAMEMNON Cassandra. We've a hundred or so other
captives; besides two hundred
Rotted in the hulls, they tell odd stories about you and your
guest: eh? no matter: the ships
Ooze pitch and the August road smokes dirt, I smell like an
old shepherd's goatskin, you'll have bath-water?
CLYTEMNESTRA
They're making it hot. Come, my lord. My hands will pour it.
[...] Read more
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Walking The Frog
I have a pet frog
We go frog walking every day at 6pm
He is fine until he sees another frog
He sniffs & then tries to jump
I pull him away
Last week we had a problem
My frog stopped to do his business
A passer bye said stop your frog fouling
I cleared up after him but it left a slimy mark
The other man slipped on it
My frog likes water
Especially ponds
He likes jumping on lilies
The local gardener is mad
Control your frog he shouts
Well now Im in trouble
Despite the sign
Beware of the FROG
He bit a policeman
A fine guard frog
My frog is now banned
From walks anywhere
Poor froggy is in a cell
Eating flies & drinking water
Its a frogs life
poem by Alan Draper
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A Frog's Fate
Contemptuous of his home beyond
The village and the village-pond,
A large-souled Frog who spurned each byway
Hopped along the imperial highway.
Nor grunting pig nor barking dog
Could disconcert so great a Frog.
The morning dew was lingering yet,
His sides to cool, his tongue to wet:
The night-dew, when the night should come,
A travelled Frog would send him home.
Not so, alas! The wayside grass
Sees him no more: not so, alas!
A broad-wheeled waggon unawares
Ran him down, his joys, his cares.
From dying choke one feeble croak
The Frog's perpetual silence broke: -
‘Ye buoyant Frogs, ye great and small,
Even I am mortal after all!
My road to fame turns out a wry way;
I perish on the hideous highway;
Oh for my old familiar byway!’
The choking Frog sobbed and was gone;
The Waggoner strode whistling on.
Unconscious of the carnage done,
Whistling that Waggoner strode on -
Whistling (it may have happened so)
‘A froggy would a-wooing go.’
A hypothetic frog trolled he,
Obtuse to a reality.
O rich and poor, O great and small,
Such oversights beset us all.
The mangled Frog abides incog,
The uninteresting actual frog:
The hypothetic frog alone
Is the one frog we dwell upon.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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Anyway, Anyhow, Anywhere
I can go anyway, way I choose
I can go anyway, way I choose
I can live anyhow, win or lose
I can live anyhow, win or lose
I can go anywhere, for something new
I can go anywhere, for something new
Anyway, anyhow, anywhere I choose
Anyway, anyhow, anywhere I choose
I can do anything, right or wrong
I can do anything, right or wrong
I can talk anyhow, and get along
I can talk anyhow, and get along
Dont care anyway, I never lose
Dont care anyway, I never lose
Anyway, anyhow, anywhere I choose
Anyway, anyhow, anywhere I choose
Nothing gets in my way
Nothing gets in my way
Not even locked doors
Not even locked doors
Dont follow the lines
Dont follow the lines
That been laid before
That been laid before
I get along anyway I dare
I get along anyway I dare
Anyway, anyhow, anywhere
Anyway, anyhow, anywhere
I can go anyway, way I choose
I can go anyway, way I choose
I can live anyhow, win or lose
I can live anyhow, win or lose
I can go anywhere, for something new
I can go anywhere, for something new
Anyway, anyhow, anywhere I choose
Anyway, anyhow, anywhere I choose
Anyway
Anyway
Anyway I choose, yeah
Anyway I choose, yeah
Anyway I wanna go, I wanna go n do it myself,
Anyway I wanna go, I wanna go n do it myself,
Do it myself
Do it myself
Do it myself, yeah
Do it myself, yeah
Anyway, way I choose
Anyway, way I choose
Anyway I choose
Anyway I choose
[...] Read more
song performed by Who
Added by Lucian Velea
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Turn To Stone
The city streets are empty now the lights dont shine no more
And so the songs are way down low turning turning turning
A sound that flows into my mind the echoes of the daylight
Of everything that is alive in my blue world
I turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
Turn to stone when you comin home, I cant go on.
The dying embers of the night a fire that slowly fades till dawn
Still glow upon the wall so bright burning burning burning
The tired streets that hide away from here to everywhere they go
Roll past my door into the day in my blue world
I turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
Turn to stone when you comin home, I cant go on.
Turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
Yes, Im turnin to stone cos you aint comin home.
Why you aint comin home if Im turnin to stone?
Youve been gone for so long and I cant carry on,
Yes, Im turnin, Im turnin, Im turnin to stone.
The dancing shadows on the wall the two-step in the hall
Are all I see since youve been gone turning turning turning
Through all I sit here and I wait I turn to stone I turn to stone
You will return again some day to my blue world
I turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
Turn to stone when you comin home, I cant go on.
Turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
I turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
Turn to stone when you comin home, I cant go on.
Turn to stone when you are gone, I turn to stone.
song performed by Electric Light Orchestra
Added by Lucian Velea
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I Choose You
(r palmer)
I choose you
When love comes along you go with the flow
You should trust your feelings on it
When you get hit by the arrow youll know
Cupids aim is always on it
Its half past two now
Your face is lovely
Its only lit by candlelight
Just me and you here
Our room is quiet
Only our sighs and whispers
You dont choose who you fall in love with
You dont mess with the gods of love
You cant choose who you fall in love with
So I choose you
When love comes along you go with the flow
You should trust your feelings on it
When you get hit by the arrow youll know
Cupids aim is always on it
You mesmerise me
My head is spinning
This is much more than fantasy
Lost in your kisses
My senses tingle
We lose our inhibitions
You dont choose who you fall in love with
You dont mess with the gods of love
You cant choose who you fall in love with
So I choose you
Ohohohah
I choose
I choose you
I choose
I choose you
I choose
Oh babe I choose you
I choose
I choose you
Whooo
You dont choose who you fall in love with
You dont mess with the gods of love
You cant choose who you fall in love with
So I choose you
Whoo
You dont choose who you fall in love with
You dont mess with the gods of love
You cant choose who you fall in love with
So I choose you
song performed by Robert Palmer
Added by Lucian Velea
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Brent River Bride
Flow proudly fair river,
For one who fell under
Your spell was the liver
Doc, Gershon - asunder
Found all his plans, muddled
By nymphs of the water -
He greatly befuddled
Then married the daughter
Of Count Joe of Wandle
Far south of the city
And went on to fondle
Her milk flowing titty.
I send this wet letter
To Brentische planners;
Such amour is better
Than yekkishe manners.
LRH
6.5.06 In reply to GWH's Bride of Brent of 6.5.06
Bride of Brent
Unlike Lucia from far Lammermoor,
fair Linda, hailing from far Chaumonix,
excels when she’s preparing salmon or
deep-frying spuds and spinach that aren’t gammony.
She tried to keep the frog which wooing went
outside the net she guarded as a goalie
till she became the Bride of River Brent
and played the role of Princess Rowley-Powley.
The frog, he always used to say “Heigh-ho, '
because he knew that he could never find a
more lovely princess once she’d kissed him so
he was more charmed than Chaumonix by Linda.
Inspired by Linda, who married me at the Brent Bridge Hotel in August 1996, and by “A frog he would a-wooing go”: [Old folk song].
A Frog he would a-wooing go,
Heigho! says Rowley,
Whether his mother would let him or no.
With a rowley, powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho! says Anthony Rowley.
So off he set with his opera hat,
Heigho! says Rowley,
And on the way he met with a Rat.
With a rowley, powley, gammon and spinach,
Heigho! says Anthony Rowley.
[...] Read more
poem by Linda Hepner
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My Frog
As I was walking by a pungent lake
Just outside of Meigs,
I stopped and did a double-take,
A frog with four hind legs! ! ! ! !
He was a rather normal frog,
From his head down to his waist,
And even with his excess limbs,
He had a certain grace.
So I picked him up and took him home
And there he would be today,
If that Molly girl hadn't come along
And stolen my frog away.
She snuck into my house, that thief,
And took him from his bed,
Then later had the gall to say:
'I had to bury him cause he was dead! '
Well one day Molly came to school
And said something about her frog
And when I questioned mine's whereabouts
She said she'd found hers on a log.
She went on to say that yesterday
Her little frog had died;
She sat there a while, just sat and sat
And cried, cried, cried, cried, cried.
I went to her frog's funeral,
Just to ease my suspicious mind,
And there lay a frog with four hind legs
Which looked a lot like mine!
Once again I questioned her
About her frog's strange state
And then she told the strange tale
Which I will now relate.
As she walked through my house
She heard a small voice say,
'I will gwant you any wish
If you'll take me away.
'Fow I'm not an owdinary fwog,
And with some love and cawe,
I will be bown again with golden wings
And Heavenly will be my share.'
[...] Read more
poem by Lydia Thacker
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The Greenie
A frog, dark green, sat in the gutter
and waited for the frightened flutter
of insects native to these parts.
He heard, that evening, just farts.
He had been raised by his grandmother
together with a younger brother.
His mom had died when she was two
inside the cistern of a loo.
The plumber had installed within
and fastened by a stainless pin
a reservoir that would dispense
blue liquid here to recompense
for odours, stains and other matters
like flying pieces, even splatters.
Yet no one had observed the critter
who spent her days inside the shitter.
Her skin was green, she was depressed
although with man and children blessed.
Postpartum blues had been the rumour,
her neighbour whispered the word tumour.
She was in somewhat of a trance
and took the first and final chance
drank Mrs. Stewart's liquid blue
and found her private Waterloo.
But I digress, back to emissions
they sound in insects like small fissions,
though frogs can never ascertain
if creatures on the windowpane
are moving, ready to be guzzled
or if their rectum is unmuzzled.
The flutter is what Nature chose
it is a way to diagnose.
A thunderbolt now shook the city
what follows really was a pity.
A huge white bird with bright red feet
reached up and grabbed, to taste and eat
the frog, our hero who had not
hatched from his mother's rooftop cot.
Still mourning noisily her death,
he took a long and final breath.
[...] Read more
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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The History Of Frog Pigment
A frog is green not by design,
but by his own volition,
it started all with Father Rhine
where Grandpa did his fishing.
Back then pollution was a word
used only by the teachers,
it's what they read and overheard
on air wave science features.
Each Saturday, my Opa sat
down by the raging river
he was a stocky man, not fat
and had a touchy liver.
I think they told us kids that fate
had brought him this affliction
I had my doubts....at any rate
it was a plain addiction.
His tackle box contained the lure
and hooks and rooster feathers,
two flasks of Russian Vodka, pure
a snot rag which was Heather's.
He'd spend the afternoon in place
and caught some on occasion,
a buddy from a different race
would join him, he was Asian.
The Asian fellow saw him first,
a frog of brownish colour,
and while they stilled their urgent thirst
Opa began to holler:
'This animal seems bigger then
the fishes in these waters
I think it is a water hen
with lots of sons and daughters.'
It is unclear what happened now,
the frog took great exception
he raised one eye beneath each brow
to tender this subreption.
He had, from passing fishermen
heard of the Northern creatures,
there was a land beyond Big Ben
where publicans and preachers
[...] Read more
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
Added by Poetry Lover
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