Creativity is merely a plus name for regular activity . . . any activity becomes creative when the doer cares about dong it right, or better.
quote by John Updike
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Related quotes
Corydon's Doleful Knell
My Phillida, adieu love!
For evermore farewel!
Ay me! I've lost my true love,
And thus I ring her knell,
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong,
My Phillida is dead!
I'll stick a branch of willow
At my fair Phillis' head.
For my fair Phillida
Our bridal bed was made;
But 'stead of silkes so gay,
She in her shroud is laid.
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.
Her corpse shall be attended
By maides in fair array,
Till the obsequies are ended,
And she is wrapt in clay.
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.
Her herse it shall be carried
By youths that do excell;
And when that she is buried,
I thus will ring her knell.
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.
A garland shall be framed
By art and natures skill,
Of sundry-colour'd flowers,
In token of good-will.
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.
And sundry-colour'd ribbands
On it I will bestow;
But chiefly black and yellowe
With her to grave shall go.
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.
I'll decke her tomb with flowers,
The rarest ever seen,
And with my tears, as showers,
I'll keepe them fresh and green.
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.
Instead of fairest colours,
Set forth with curious art,
Her image shall be painted
On my distressed heart.
Ding dong, ding dong, ding dong.
[...] Read more
poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Holidays Celebrated
Ding.
Dong.
Ding.
Dong.
Ding...
Ramadan begins with a fast that cleanses.
At least 10 days when this begins.
The Muslims practice this with faith.
A faith for them without an end.
Ding.
Dong.
Ding.
Dong.
Ding. ..
So many wish for Santa Claus,
To gift them with a tax write off!
And those who celebrate the days of Kwanzaa,
Do this when Christmas has gone.
Ding.
Dong.
Ding.
Dong.
Ding ...
Hanukkah Feast of Consecration,
Has a Menorah glowing bright.
And everyone wishes a pleasing season.
With no appetite to fight.
Ding.
Dong.
Ding.
Dong.
Din g...
Why can't these be holidays,
Celebrated each and everyday?
Ding.
Dong.
Ding.
Dong.
Ding...Why can't these be holidays,
Celebrated each and everyday?
Ding.
Dong.
Ding.
Dong.
Ding...
Ramadan begins with a fast that cleanses.
At least 10 days when this begins.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Jesus Built Me Hot Rod
soon i discovered that this rock thing was true
jerry lee lewis was the devil
jesus was an architect previous to his career as a prophet
all of a sudden, i found myself in love with the world
so there was only one thing that i could do
was ding a ding dang my dang a long ling long
ding dang a dong bong bing bong
ticky ticky thought of a gun
everytime i try to do it all now baby
am i on the run
why why why why why baby
if it's so evil then?
give me my time, with all my power
give it to me all again (wow)
ding a ding a dang a dong dong ding dong
every where i go
everytime you tell me baby
when i settle down
got to get me a trailer park
and hold my world around
why why why why?
ding ding donga dong dong ding dong
dingy dingy son of a gun
half my time i tell you baby
never am I all for sure
why why why why why baby
sicky sicky from within
everytime I stick my finger on in ya
you're a wild wild little town bitch
now how 'bout ding a dang dong dong dong ling long
dingy a dingy dong a down
everytime you tell me baby
when i settle down
got to get me a trailer park
and hold my world around
why why why why?
in my dang a ding a ding a ding dong
a sticky sticky son of a gun
ding a danga danga dong dong ding dong
why why never know
why why wack a dong a dang ding dong
then you take it on the bill
ding dang dong don't dong
whoa!
i wanna love ya!
why why why, why why darling
do you do you tell me to play?
half the time I talk about it all now baby
you know what I'm talkin' about I said
why why why it'll
[...] Read more
song performed by Ministry
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Ding Dong, Ding Dong
Ring out the old
Ring in the new
Ring out the old
Ring in the new
Ring out the false
Ring in the true
Ring out the old
Ring in the new
Ding-dong, ding-dong
Ding-dong, ding-dong
Ding-dong, ding-dong
Ding-dong, ding-dong
Yesterday, today was tomorrow
And tomorrow, today will be yesterday
So ring out the old
Ring in the new
Ring out the old
Ring in the new
Ring out the false
Ring in the true
Ring out the old
Ring in the new
Ding-dong, ding-dong
Ding-dong, ding-dong
Ding-dong, ding-dong
Ding-dong, ding-dong
song performed by George Harrison
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Ding Dong Ding Dong (band Demo)
Ring out the old
Ring in the new
Ring out the old
Ring in the new
Ring out the false
Ring in the true
Ring out the old
Ring in the new
Ding-dong, ding-dong
Ding-dong, ding-dong
Ding-dong, ding-dong
Ding-dong, ding-dong
Yesterday, today was tomorrow
And tomorrow, today will be yesterday
So ring out the old
Ring in the new
Ring out the old
Ring in the new
Ring out the false
Ring in the true
Ring out the old
Ring in the new
Ding-dong, ding-dong
Ding-dong, ding-dong
Ding-dong, ding-dong
Ding-dong, ding-dong
song performed by George Harrison
Added by Lucian Velea
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With A Slacking Done To Piggyback
With a slacking done to piggyback.
Some boot the doer,
Strapped in a saddle and allowing that.
Some boot the doer,
All day long.
And showing strength,
With a disposition strong.
With a knick-knack paddywhack,
Slapped and smacked back...
Some boot the doer.
Pity patters chit chat.
Some boot the doer.
And all day long...
Showing strength is the doer.
The doer shows strength and is strong.
Que cherche-tu mais oui beaucoup...
Some boot the doer.
Yes,
It's true.
Very much of this if you look for it.
Some boot the doer.
Yes,
And quick!
Strapped in a saddle and allowing that.
Some boot the doer.
Some boot the doer.
With a slacking done to piggyback.
Some boot the doer.
Some boot the doer.
With a knick-knack paddywhack,
Slapped and smacked back...
Some boot the doer.
Some boot the doer.
Que cherche-tu mais oui beaucoup...
Some boot the doer.
Yes,
It's true.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Broom, the Shovel, the Poker and the Tongs
The Broom and the Shovel, the Poker and Tongs,
They all took a drive in the Park,
and they each sang a song, Ding-a-dong, Ding-a-dong,
Before they went back in the dark.
Mr Poker he sate quite upright in the coach,
Mr Tongs made a clatter and clash,
Miss Shovel was dressed all in black (with a brooch),
Mrs Broom was in blue (with a sash).
Ding-a-dong! Ding-a-dong!
And they all sang a song!
'O Shovely so lovely!' the Poker he sang,
'You have perfectly conquered my heart!
Ding-a-dong! Ding-a-dong! If you're pleased with my song,
I will feed you with cold apple tart!
When you scrape up the coals with a delicate sound,
You enrapture my life with delight!
Your nose is so shiny! your head is so round!
And your shape is so slender and bright!
Ding-a-dong! Ding-a-dong!
Ain't you pleased with my song?'
'Alas! Mrs Broom!' sighed the Tongs in his song,
'O is it because I'm so thin,
And my legs are so long - Ding-a-dong! Ding-a-dong!
That you don't care about me a pin?
Ah! fairest of creatures, when sweeping the room,
Ah! why don't you heed my complaint!
Must you needs be so cruel, you beautiful Broom,
Because you are covered with paint!
Ding-a-dong! Ding-a-dong!
You are certainly wrong!'
Mrs Broom and Miss Shovel together they sang,
'What nonsense you're singing today!'
Said the Shovel, 'I'll certainly hit you a bang!'
Said the Broom, 'And I'll sweep you away!'
So the Coachman drove homeward as fast as he could,
Perceiving their anger with pain;
But they put on the kettle, and little by little,
They all became happy again.
Ding-a-dong! Ding-a-dong!
There's an end of my song!
poem by Edward Lear
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The Dong with a Luminous Nose
When awful darkness and silence reign
Over the great Gromboolian plain,
Through the long, long wintry nights; --
When the angry breakers roar
As they beat on the rocky shore; --
When Storm-clouds brood on the towering heights
Of the Hills of the Chankly Bore: --
Then, through the vast and gloomy dark,
There moves what seems a fiery spark,
A lonely spark with silvery rays
Piercing the coal-black night, --
A Meteor strange and bright: --
Hither and thither the vision strays,
A single lurid light.
Slowly it wander, -- pauses, -- creeps, --
Anon it sparkles, -- flashes and leaps;
And ever as onward it gleaming goes
A light on the Bong-tree stems it throws.
And those who watch at that midnight hour
From Hall or Terrace, or lofty Tower,
Cry, as the wild light passes along, --
"The Dong! -- the Dong!
"The wandering Dong through the forest goes!
"The Dong! the Dong!
"The Dong with a luminous Nose!"
Long years ago
The Dong was happy and gay,
Till he fell in love with a Jumbly Girl
Who came to those shores one day.
For the Jumblies came in a sieve, they did, --
Landing at eve near the Zemmery Fidd
Where the Oblong Oysters grow,
And the rocks are smooth and gray.
And all the woods and the valleys rang
With the Chorus they daily and nightly sang, --
"Far and few, far and few,
Are the lands where the Jumblies live;
Their heads are green, and the hands are blue
And they went to sea in a sieve.
Happily, happily passed those days!
While the cheerful Jumblies staid;
They danced in circlets all night long,
To the plaintive pipe of the lively Dong,
In moonlight, shine, or shade.
For day and night he was always there
By the side of the Jumbly Girl so fair,
[...] Read more
poem by Edward Lear
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Wonderful Christmas
The moon is right
The spirits up
We're here tonight
And that's enough
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
The party's on
The feelin's here
That only comes
This time of year
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
The choir of children sing their song
Ding dong, ding dong
Ding dong, ding Ohhhh
Ohhhhhhh
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
The word is out
About the town
To lift a glass
Ahhh don't look down
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
The choir of children sing their song
They practiced all year long
Ding dong, ding dong
Ding dong, ding dong
Ding dong, ding dong
The party's on
The spirits up
We're here tonight
And that's enough
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
The moon is right
The spirits up
We're here tonight
And that's enough
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
Ohhhhhhhhh
Christmastime
song performed by Paul McCartney
Added by Lucian Velea
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Wonderful Christmastime
The moon is right
The spirits up
Were here tonight
And thats enough
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
The partys on
The feelins here
That only comes
This time of year
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
The choir of children sing their song
Ding dong, ding dong
Ding dong, ding ohhhh
Ohhhhhhh
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
The word is out
About the town
To lift a glass
Ahhh dont look down
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
The choir of children sing their song
They practiced all year long
Ding dong, ding dong
Ding dong, ding dong
Ding dong, ding dong
The partys on
The spirits up
Were here tonight
And thats enough
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
The moon is right
The spirits up
Were here tonight
And thats enough
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
Ohhhhhhhhhhhhhh
Christmastime
song performed by Paul McCartney
Added by Lucian Velea
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Regular Guy
Im the kind of guy a girl takes home to mom
Pleated khaki pants, and cologne thats the bomb
(you sure smell perty)
Shake her dads hand
Look him in the eye
And tell him straight up Im just a regular guy (ill have her home by 9 sir)
Im a regular guy who stays out of trouble( let me get that for you mam)
A regular guy says mam on the double( Im on it)
Im a regular guy just like dawsons creek
A regular guy just dont call me a geek, a geek yeah
But sometimes I remember what got me here
It was friday and cussing
Back off Im in a boy band
And showing no fear
I watch jay leno (hes funny) 7th heaven too
And I ask myself sometimes what would jesus do
Grab me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change
Im buds with my mom
And I hang out with my dad..hes my buddy
I play everything safe so Ill never be sad (boo hoo)
Im a regular guy who stays out of trouble( let me get that for you mam)
A regular guy says mam on the double( Im on it)
Im a regular guy just like dawsons creek
A regular guy just dont call me a geek, a geek yeah
Dont push me.
Damnt sometimes I wanna smash things up
Jacked up and wrapped upIm in a boy band.. a boyband
And have to pee in a cup
Im a regular guy who stays out of trouble( let me get that for you mam)
A regular guy says mam on the double( Im on it)
Im a regular guy just like dawsons creek
A regular guy just dont call me a geek, a geek yeah
song performed by 2gether
Added by Lucian Velea
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Magpie, My Keeper, Is Flying - Upon Freeing the Gift of Creativity Turned Inward
.
for Elaine Bellezza, Beloved Anima-as-Fate
'There is only one real deprivation, I decided this morning, and that is not to be able to give one's gift to those one loves most...The gift turned inward, unable to be given, becomes a heavy burden, even sometimes a kind of poison. It is as though the flow of life were backed up.' - May Sarton, Journal of a Solitude
This afternoon while still somewhat hungover from last night's rich meal and several glasses of strong red wine, I stumbled as one does when hungover, only today without feet but with eyes, upon the above quote by May Sarton. I had awakened this morning with fragments of a dream, repetitive of other dreams the past few months, where I am carrying something precious and just cannot put it down in any old place or upon just any available surface. I cannot put it down until I find the right surface and location.
These dreams are full of torrential flood waters, or backed up, stagnant water, toilets full of filth and pungent bright orange dark urine days old and fermenting. I cannot unhand the burden even though the urge to pee or flee or drive a car away or into flood waters is strong. I must not put down the burden odd as it is; it is my laptop carrying case made of canvas. It is large enough to carry not only my laptop but also many books with which I cannot, will not be parted from as they are the must-have-with-me-always 'bread', my staple and stability in a given to me world out of balance.
I have understood the dreams only a little - something within the psyche is flooding up, over-spilling or has already, has not been adequately canalized, channeled, streamed and guided, shaped and formed. Or flushed. I knew that eventually, as dreams do when one sits consciously, patiently, persistently with them, they would yield their messages to me, and upon revelation these must be obeyed, brought out into the world, Carl Jung having said that one has a moral responsibility to dreams once they are kenned and must be conscientiously acted upon in the outer world. Just dreaming is not enough. Everyone dreams but not very many know to dream them out into the world, to let their messages unfurl, flood and flow to bring forth new consciousness, to reshape old forms no longer adequate to self, place and time into symbol and their sense, usually not literal.
And thus, only just now, upon opening up haphazardly in a book about Dostoevsky and his struggle with addictions which mirror the profound compulsion to create at any cost perhaps beyond one's capacities to renew oneself, I find May Sarton's quote and suddenly the dreams clarify and sharpen into focus; I understand them as the burden of creativity too long turned inward, the burden of writing, the burden of poetry which I have carried heavily for most of my life since middle school when I was 11 or 12 years old when books became my lifeline, my link to existence that I could live on in spite of not wanting to do so. Written words, books, kept me from disappearing though I was and remain a mostly invisible word.
And thus the floods. One cannot ignore them. Alphabets tumble and roil. One dare not ignore them. One must see them without a choice to not see them. In them I am suddenly made visible, bright orange p*ss pots and all. I am both appalled and pleased. My burden is upon my knees.
The backed up water, the urine, is creativity. A somewhat odd symbol of creativity, there is more than enough evidence that urination is symbolic of self expression which is creativity. In ancient Rome the highly valued dirt from the urinals of boys' schools was collected to be used as a cosmetic in order to restore youthful energy and looks. A young boy, or puer in Latin, is an archetypal symbol of ongoing creativity and inspiration, the puer aeternas, the eternal youth, well springs of ongoing creativity still imaged in solid fountains of the world where eternal waters flow from the peni of cherubic youth.
I have struggled my entire life with a strong urge to create, to write, to express in words that creative daemon within which torments no matter the completion of a poem or essay, a lecture, a psalm. And now my dreams have had me consciously, urgently seeking a place to put the burden down, to perhaps come to it anew. I imagine that landing the burden means bringing it down to earth, manifesting creativity all the more by bringing my efforts to others for the strongest part of the compulsive urge in my creativity has been to contribute one good thing, one good poem or piece of writing which in some way might further the culture even if only by a flea's leg length.
The dreams urge me to let the urine flow, to let the flood waters indeed flood over, to be less self conscious of what I write and say but to have at it all and to say my say. And to let whatever waves there are crest and break upon ever receptive banks and shores whose duty it is to allow what may come from motion without complaint, the more compliant toward as yet to be fully formed purposes as yet to be scored.
Synchronistically, a few days ago I listened to a lecture by poet Allen Ginsberg about Walt Whitman and his imitators, those who were goodly influenced by his effulgent, self indulgent style, his garrulous poems which presumed to express the very expansiveness of the North American continent over-flooded by a plague of itinerant, persistent poachers and prophets from Europe to Eastern disembarkation and then inland and Westward, compelled to overtake land and native peoples in their possessed, pushed wake. Ginsberg imagined himself to be a timely extension of this unruly school, as savage as the projected upon land and justly-resistant, resident humanity stretched beyond known bounds and sounds. Blood drowned and pounded the god-hounded land even now is flooded by unleashed mighty rivers seeking, if rivers seek at all, to undo and renew in horse shoe and other shapes the crimes of consciousness compelled to overtake while leaving it up to human souls to repent and repair, to prepare for more powerful insurgencies of land and Self ever seeking new and nower expressions of dirt and deity. There's enough history beneath layers to support the scarp and scrape of momentary yet monumental motions finally given mouths to utter what lies both beneath and within the heaping huzzahs of here here here full and deep. As in my dream, it is hard to steer in such surpassing tides and currents. Still, I am searching for holy campground that I may lay my burden down.
I have no wish to imitate Whitman nor Ginsberg - though both are easily imitated since they did so themselves, an occupational hazard for writers - but only to be obedient to the daemon, that urgent, emergent, creative force within. It rushes within and against me. No matter whether derived of the grandiose American continent and the even more grandiose sky or not, I have all too successfully braced against it in fear of failure, reprisal or, worse, complete indifference from others. My dreams now urge floods and resultant coagulations, they bring creative splurges to ground from hand to the hard world. And Nature, too, is indifferent but begs none the less and all the more to be given utterance and response.
Respondeo ergo sum. I respond, therefore I am. I respond, therefore the other, earth, all her ants, is as long as there are eyes, ears, and scanning minds to acknowledge and touch, wrestle, caress, shape - some in scansions - outer from inner, inner from outer, landscapes to be all too quickly discarded in time for what is sung just ahead. And seen. Or hoped, all praise to telescopes. We would be they, so addicted to horizons, to bring them close.
Something there is needs completion via coagulation, forming, shaping, and sharing with whomever may be open to clods delivered. If not, rivers will, as they will without reason, continue to overrun their banks and insist upon covering designated previous cultivations. Let then excess of creativity have its say, play out, and leave the critical post-considerations to others. I will surely sit and ponder spent what spills forth, to shape, to edit, to discard. And watch my little yard sink beneath needed and needy floods.
I will have done with deprivation and bring myself, what I have shaped and misshapen, to the world. These things, this burden, have I most loved and felt responsible for, have born the shame of. I have fought and have failed utterly again and again though my attempts have been, and still are, sincere though not blameless. Fear has been my encampment, a longing beneath knowing feet in secret cellars just beyond reach of contracted hands forever spelling hunger. I know open bastion doors and windows to now fling beyond embankments what has been wrung out of my floes and woes though hands wither from too much turning against and inward. What a relief to burst beyond boundaries too long successfully restraining.
I recently wrote a poem about much too too solid bastions of self, of forceful puer energy ramming through and over and into long buried storms and petrified forms, of passion mangling the delusion of 'norms' ignoring too sensitive alarms. Given May Sarton's May revelation this morning I now understand that the poem is about more than eros, it is about that powerful creative/destructive force, the daemon/tyro that ever urges outward intent on making and staking Self in new land and at least one aging man wrenched and rendered from dried and calcified encrustations. I am, to borrow from the insistent dream image, beginning to leak. And to break open.
Archeology - What The Stele Says 'Upon Taking A Much Younger Lover'
That this old ground yields to plow stuns.
What begins to be, earth swell, breaks
root-room open to blood means.
Old skeins tear upon what is new terrain,
hunger worn, long appended. There is
no blame for pain is the blessing.
All hurt now stings twilight quaked into being.
Your breath falls upon me now, taut, sinew,
bruising hand, purple inside flares warrior nerves
[...] Read more
poem by Warren Falcon
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Wonderful Christmas Time
Simply having a Wonderful Christmas Time
A Wonderful Christmas Time
A Wonderful Christmas Time
Mood is right
Spirits up
We're here tonight
And that's enough
Simply havng a Wonderful Christmas Time
Simply having a Wonderful Christmas Time
The party's on
The feeling here
It's all because
This time of year
Simply having a Wonderful Christmas Time
Simply having a Wonderful Christmas Time
A Wonderful Christmas Time
A Wonderful Christmas Time
The choir of children
Singing their song
Ding dong
Ding dong
Ding dong
Ding dong
They practice
All night long
Ding dong
Ding dong
Ding dong
Ding dong
The word is out
About the town
To lick your glass
I don't doubt
Simply having a Wonderful Christmas Time
Simply having a Wonderful Christmas Time
Mood is right
Spirits up
We're here tonight
And that's enough
Simply having a Wonderful Christmas Time
x7
song performed by Hilary Duff
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Sleigh-Bells
'Tis merry to hear, at evening time,
By the blazing hearth the sleigh-bells chime;
To know the bounding steeds bring near
The loved one to our bosoms dear.
Ah, lightly we spring the fire to raise,
Till the rafters glow with the ruddy blaze;
Those merry sleigh-bells, our hearts keep time
Responsive to their fairy chime.
Ding-dong, ding-dong, o'er vale and hill,
Their welcome notes are trembling still.
'Tis he, and blithely the gay bells sound,
As his sleigh glides over the frozen ground;
Hark! He has pass'd the dark pine wood,
He crosses now the ice-bound flood,
And hails the light at the open door
That tells his toilsome journey's o'er.
The merry sleigh-bells! My fond heart swells
And trobs to hear the welcome bells;
Ding-dong, ding-dong, o'er ice and snow,
A voice of gladness, on they go.
Our hut is small, and rude our cheer,
But love has spread the banquet here;
And childhood springs to be caress'd
By our beloved and welcome guest.
With a smiling brow his tale he tells,
The urchins ring the merry sleigh-bells;
The merry sleigh-bells, with shout and song
They drag the noisy string along;
Ding-dong, ding-dong, the father's come
The gay bells ring his welcome home.
From the cedar swamp the gaunt wolves howl,
From the oak loud whoops the felon owl;
The snow-storm sweeps in thunder past,
The forest creaks beneath the blast;
No more I list, with boding fear,
The sleigh-bells distant chime to hear.
The merry sleigh-bells with soothing power
Shed gladness on the evening hour.
Ding-dong, ding-dong, what rapture swells
The music of those joyous bells!
poem by Susanna Strickland Moodie
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Davy Jones' Door-Bell
A Chant for Boys with Manly Voices
(Every line sung one step deeper than the line preceding)
Any sky-bird sings,
Ring, ring!
Any church-chime rings,
Dong ding!
Any cannon says,
Boom bang!
Any whirlwind says,
Whing whang!
The bell-buoy hums and roars,
Ding dong!
And way down deep,
Where fishes throng,
By Davy Jones' big deep?sea door,
Shaking the ocean's flowery floor,
His door-bell booms
Dong dong,
Dong dong,
Deep, deep down,
Clang boom,
Boom dong.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Carol Of The Bells
Hark! how the bells, sweet silver bells
All seem to say, throw cares away.
Christmas is here, bringing good cheer
To young and old, meek and the bold
Ding, dong, ding, dong, that is their song,
With joyful ring, all caroling
One seems to hear words of good cheer
From everywhere, filling the air
O, how they pound, raising the sound
Oer hill and dale, telling their tale
Gaily they ring, while people sing
Songs of good cheer, christmas is here!
Merry, merry, merry, merry christmas!
Merry, merry, merry, merry christmas!
On, on they send, on without end
Their joyful tone to every home
Hark! how the bells, sweet silver bells
All seem to say, throw cares away.
Christmas is here, bringing good cheer
To young and old, meek and the bold
Ding, dong, ding, dong, that is their song
With joyful ring, all caroling.
One seems to hear words of good cheer
From everywhere, filling the air
O, how they pound, raising the sound
Oer hill and dale, telling their tale
Gaily they ring, while people sing
Songs of good cheer, christmas is here!
Merry, merry, merry, merry christmas!
Merry, merry, merry, merry christmas!
On, on they send, on without end
Their joyful tone to every home.
Ding dong ding dong
song performed by Carpenters
Added by Lucian Velea
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Regulate Your Flowing
Poopoop-a-doom-a-doom-a-doom.
Poopoop-a-doom-a -doom-a-doom.
Poopoop-a-doom-a-doom-a-doom.
Bah bah-2-poppa.
Poopoop-a-doom-a-doom-a-doom.
Poopoop-a-doom-a-doom-a-doom.
Poopoop-a-do om-a-doom-a-doom.
Bah bah-2-poppa.
Real neat.
And not a picky eater.
Toasted whole wheat,
With jam-a or rye-i.
Pickled beets,
Mixed with chili and green peppers.
Sweetens a deliciousness,
You've gotta once try!
Poopoop-a-doom-a-doom-a-doom.
Poopoop- a-doom-a-doom-a-doom.
Poopoop-a-doom-a-doom-a- doom.
Bah bah-2-poppa.
Poopoop-a-doom-a-doom-a-doom.
Poopoop-a-doom-a-doom-a-doom.
Poopoop-a-do om-a-doom-a-doom.
Bah bah-2-poppa.
Regulate your flowing,
By going regular.
Regulate your flowing,
By going regular.
Regulate your flowing,
By going regular.
Regulate your flowing,
And go,
Regular.
Real neat.
And not a picky eater.
Toasted whole wheat,
With jam-a or rye-i.
Pickled beets,
Mixed with chili and green peppers.
Sweetens a deliciousness,
You've gotta once try!
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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Ding Dang
Ding (ding) dang (woo!)
Ding and a ding dong
Ding (ding) dang (woo!)
Ding and a ding dong
I love a girl, I love her so madly
I treat her so fine but she treats me so badly
Ding (ding) dang (woo!)
Dang and a ding dong
Ding (ding) dang (woo!)
Dang and a ding dong
I love a girl, I love her so madly
I treat her so fine but she treats me so badly
Ding (ding) dang (woo!)
Dang and a ding dong
Ding (ding) dang (woo!)
Dang and a ding dong
I love a girl, I love her so madly
I treat her so fine but she treats me so badly
I love a girl, I love her so madly
I treat her so fine but she treats me so badly
song performed by Beach Boys
Added by Lucian Velea
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A Dirge for a Righteous Kitten
To be intoned, all but the two italicized lines, which are to be spoken in a snappy, matter-of-fact way.
Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong.
Here lies a kitten good, who kept
A kitten's proper place.
He stole no pantry eatables,
Nor scratched the baby's face.
He let the alley-cats alone.
He had no yowling vice.
His shirt was always laundried well,
He freed the house of mice.
Until his death he had not caused
His little mistress tears,
He wore his ribbon prettily,
He washed behind his ears.
Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
Added by Poetry Lover
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Wonderful Christmastime
(paul mccartney)
The mood is right, the spirits up
Were here tonight and thats enough
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
The partys on, the feelings here
That only comes this time of year
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
The choir of children sing their song
They practiced all year long
Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding
Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
The world is out, about the town
To lift a glass, oh dont look down
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
The choir of children sing their song
They practiced all year long
Ding-dong, ding-dong, ding-dong, ding
Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh
Ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh, ooh
The partys on, the feelings here
That only comes this time of year
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
Were simply having a wonderful christmastime
Simply having a wonderful christmastime
song performed by Diana Ross
Added by Lucian Velea
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