If it bends, it's funny; if it breaks, it's not funny.
quote by Kate O'Brien
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Adria, Adria, Adria Why Are You So Funny?
adria moya, hmm you do not like your name to be written in the poem
the problem with me is that
i am hardheaded and i am the kind of boy who does what mother
does not like me to do
i am naughty and so here i am
in all my mischief
adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny? adria, adria, why are you so funny?
hahahaha hahahaha hahahaha hahahaha hahahaha hahahaha hahahaha ha
do you see the train of hahahaha
come let us ride on it and forget the sad things of our lives
i will make another one the train of
tralalatralalatralalatralalatralalatralal atralalatralalatralalatralalatralalatralalatralal atralalatralalatralala
it is the train of dance and laughter
come, come, come,
let us be there, what is the use of being what they want you to be?
the place is here and it must be a place of fun and laughter
and something so divine later.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It's Not Funny!
IT'S NOT FUNNY!
Times are changing and the world is flaming,
from disappointment, it's so sad that we can't even see it.
Blinded by the outsiders that bring fear to us, but it
Is we that fear us. It's not funny when you have to sit back and
destroy yourself just to fit into this typical place.
It's not funny when you sit back and let people judge you because
you're not what they expect you to be.
It's not funny when teachers with the same skin as you
break you down like you're a piece of trash that can be thrown away.
It's not funny when we fight our own because we don't rep something that means nothing.
It's not funny when we're facing a war at home that
Has No Point!
It's not funny when you can't tell the difference from what yes
and no feels like.
It's not funny when you look in the mirror and don't notice you.
It's not funny when you don't break the stereotype that marks where your future goes.
It's not funny when you can't be yourself with another race of friends.
It's not funny when the word N***er can't be said by a race that has been driven through hell, but is okay for the next person.
It's not funny that hip- hop is just about sex and not the struggle that is in our neighborhoods.
It's not funny when your community is plagued by death, drugs, and lies.
It's not funny when people fall into the gap that has been left as a trap.
It's not funny when we thrive for money, cars, and clothes.
It's not funny when success isn't success anymore.
It's not funny when we live to die and die to live.
It's not funny when we deal our own cards and then it's not what it's cracked up to be.
It's not funny when females settle for less.
It's not funny when females settle for a job as a video vixen or an exotic dancer.
It's not funny when guys settle for a future at the morgue.
It's not funny when Hollywood is set as paradise and anywhere else is imitation.
It's not funny when you have a future of guns, gangs, and death.
It's not funny when we plan our own funeral.
It's not funny when we change our hair, breast, teeth, butts, and clothes just because it looks better.
It's not funny when we don't look to God anymore for answers.
It's not funny when the world isn't a world anymore it's just a mark of death.
It's just not funny!
(inspiration for this poem is the death of Derrion Albert and all those lost in a battle they weren't meant to fight wrong plagues this earth and we have to realize how to live free and not in fear.)
poem by Erika Peace
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Funny How Love Is
Funny how love is everywhere just look and see
Funny how love is anywhere you're bound to be
Funny how love is every song in every key
Funny how love is coming home in time for tea
Funny funny funny oh
Funny how love is the end of the lies
When the truth begins tomorrow comes
Tomorrow brings tomorrow brings love
In the shape of things
That's what love is that's what love is
Funny how love can break your heart so suddenly
Funny how love came tumbling down with Adam and Eve
Funny how love is running wild feeling free
Funny how love is coming home in time for tea
Funny funny funny oh
From the earth below to the heavens above
That's how far and funny is love
At any time anywhere
If you gotta make love do it everywhere
That's what love is that's what love is
Funny how love is everywhere just look and see
Funny how love is anywhere you're bound to be
Funny how love is every song in every key
Funny how love is when you gotta hurry
Because you're late for tea
Funny funny funny oh
Tommorrow comes tomorrow brings
Tomorrow brings love in the shape of things
At any time anywhere
If you gotta make love do it everywhere
That's what love is that's what love is
song performed by Queen from Queen II
Added by Lucian Velea
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When Love Breaks Down
My love and I
We work well together
But often we're apart
Absence makes the
heart lose weight, yeah
'Til love breaks down,
love breaks down
Oh my, oh my
Have you seen the weather
The sweet September rain
Rain on me
like no other
Until I drown, until I drown
When love breaks down
the things you do
To stop the truth from hurting you
When love breaks down
the lies we tell
They only serve to fool ourselves
When love breaks down
When love breaks down
My love and I
We are boxing clever
He'll never crowd me out
Both be free as old confetti
And paint the town, paint the town
When love breaks down
the things you do
To stop the truth from hurting you
When loves breaks down
the lies we tell
They only serve to fool ourselves
When love breaks down
we join the wrecks
Who leave their hearts for easy sex
When love breaks down
When love breaks down
My love and I
We were high and climbing
Into the sky of blue
Loud with colours
of a rainbow
A changing view
Changing view
When love breoks down
the things you do
To stop the truth from hurting you
When love breaks down
the lies we tell
They only serve to fool ourselves
[...] Read more
song performed by Lisa Stansfield
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Funny Thing
A funny thing to do
Is everyone like you
'Cause people seldom change
They all just stay the same
A funny htin to say
Suppose you're just that way
Although you're sure you're sure
There really is no cure
A funny kind of way
A funny kind of day
You're funny all the time
Do you want a piece of mine
Cause I've seen it all before
When you're closing all the doors
It's not funny anymore
A funny thing to do
Because the sky was blue
You ran away for good
Cause no one understood
The funny things you said
Because the sky was red
A funny kind of way
A funny kind of day
You're funny all the time
Do you want a piece of mine
Cause I've seen it all before
When you're closing all the doors
It's not funny anymore
A funny kind of way
A funny kind of day
You're funny all the time
Do you want a piece of mine
Cause I've seen it all before
When you're closing all the doors
It's not funny anymore
A funny thing to do
Is everyone like you
Cause people seldom change
They all just stay the same
song performed by Travis from Good Feeling
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When Your Lonely Heart Breaks
When your lonely heart breaks
Dont sit counting your mistakes
Dont be waiting for love to come back
Dont be wastin time
Dont be lost in crime
When your lonely heart breaks
When your lonely heart breaks.
Whats your problem, shes gone
Youre still movin, movin on
You got memories, she got strong
Theres a lot of things
That arent gone
When your lonely, lonely heart breaks
When your lonely heart breaks.
When your lonely heart breaks
Dont be cryin for good times you had
When your lonely heart breaks.
When your lonely heart breaks
Dont sit counting your mistakes
Dont be waiting for love to come back
Dont be wastin time
Dont be lost in crime
When your lonely, lonely heart breaks
When your lonely, lonely heart breaks
When your lonely heart breaks.
song performed by Neil Young
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Berrathah
ARGUMENT.
Fingal, in his voyage to Lochlin, whither he had been invited by Starno, the father of Agandecca, touched at Berrathon an island of Scandinavia, where he was kindly entertained by Larthmor, the petty king of the place, who was a vassal of the supreme kings of Lochlin. The hospitality of Larthmor gained him Fingal's friendship, which that hero manifested, after the imprisonment of Larthmor by his own son, by sending Ossian and Toscar, the father of Malvina, so often mentioned, to rescue Larthmor, and to punish the unnatural behavior of Uthal. Uthal was handsome, and, by the ladies, much admired. Nina-thoma, the beautiful daughter of Tor-thoma, a neighboring prince, fell in love and fled with him. He proved inconstant; for another lady, whose name is not mentioned, gaining his affections, he confined Nina-thoma to a desert island, near the coast of Berrathon. She was relieved by Ossian, who, in company with Toscar, landing on Berrathon, defeated the forces of Uthal, and killed him in single combat. Nina-thoma, whose love not all the bad behavior of Uthal could erase, hearing of his death, died of grief. In the mean time Larthmor is restored, and Ossian and Toscar return in triumph to Fingal.
The poem opens with an elegy on the death of Malvina, the daughter of Toscar, and closes with the presages of Ossian's death.
BEND thy blue course, O stream! round the narrow plain of Lutha. Let the green woods hang over it, from their hills; the sun look on it at noon. The thistle is there on its rock, and shakes its beard to the wind. The flower hangs its heavy head, waving, at times, to the gale. "Why dost thou awake me, O gale?" it seems to say: "I am covered with the drops of heaven. The time of my fading is near, the blast that shall scatter my leaves. To-morrow shall the traveller come; he that saw me in my beauty shall come. His eyes will search the field, but they will not find me." So shall they search in vain for the voice of Cona, after it has failed in the field. The hunter shall come forth in the morning, and thee vote a of my harp shall not be heard. "Where is the son of car-borne Fingal?" The tear will be on his cheek! Then come thou, O Malvina! with all thy music, come! Lay Ossian in the plain of Lutha: let his tomb rise in the lovely field.
Malvina! where art thou, with thy songs; with the soft sound of thy steps? Son of Alpin, art thou near? where is the daughter of Toscar? "I passed, O son of Fingal, by Torlutha's mossy walls. The smoke of the hall was ceased. Silence was among the trees of the hill. The voice of the chase was over. I saw the daughters of the bow. I asked about Malvina, but they answered not. They turned their faces away: thin darkness covered their beauty. They were like stars, on a rainy hill, by night, each looking faintly through the mist!"
Pleasant be thy rest, O lovely beam! soon hast thou set on our hills! The steps of thy departure were stately, like the moon, on the blue-trembling wave. But thou hast left us in darkness, first of the maids of Lutha! We sit, at the rock, and there is no voice; no light but the meteor of fire! Soon hast thou set, O Malvina, daughter of generous Toscar! But thou risest, like the beam of the east, among the spirits of thy friends, where they sit, in their stormy halls, the chambers of the thunder! A cloud hovers over Cona. Its blue curling sides are high. The winds are beneath it, with their wings. Within it is the dwelling of Fingal. There the hero sits in darkness. His airy spear is in his hand. His shield, half covered with clouds, is like the darkened moon; when one half still remains in the wave, and the other looks sickly on the field!
His friends sit round the king, on mist! They hear the songs of Ullin; he strikes the half-viewless harp. He raises the feeble voice. The lesser heroes, with a thousand meteors, light the airy hall. Malvina rises in the midst: a blush is on her cheek. She beholds the unknown faces of her fathers. She turns aside her humid eyes. "An thou come so soon," said Fingal, "daughter of generous Toscar! Sadness dwells in the halls of Lutha. My aged son is sad! I hear the breeze of Cona, that was wont to lift thy heavy locks. It comes to the hall, but thou art not there. Its voice is mournful among the arms of thy fathers! Go, with thy rustling wing, O breeze! sigh on Malvina's tomb. It rises yonder beneath the rock, at the blue stream of Lutha. The maids are departed to their place. Thou alone, O breeze, mournest there!"
But who comes from the dusky west, supported on a cloud? A smile is on his gray, watery face. His locks of mist fly on wind. He bends forward on his airy spear. It is thy father, Malvina! "Why shinest thou, so soon, on our clouds," he says, "O lovely light of Lutha? But thou wert sad, my daughter. Thy friends had passed away. The sons of little men were in the hail. None remained of the heroes, but Ossian, king of spears!"
And dost thou remember Ossian, car-borne Toscar, son of Conloch? The battles of our youth were many. Our swords went together to the field. They saw us coming like two falling rocks. The sons of the stranger fled. "There come the warriors of Cona!" they said. "Their steps are in the paths of the flying!" Draw near, son of Alpin, to the song of the aged. The deeds of other times are in my soul. My memory beams on the days that are past: on the days of mighty Toscar, when our path was in the deep. Draw near, son of Alpin, to the last sound of the voice of Cona!
The king of Morven commanded. I raised my sails to the wind. Toscar, chief of Lutha, stood at my side: I rose on the dark-blue wave. Our course was to sea-surrounded Berrathon, the isle of many storms. There dwelt, with his locks of age, the stately strength of Larthmor. Larthmor, who spread the feast of shells to Fingal, when he went to Starno's halls, in the days of Agandecca. But when the chief was old, the pride of his son arose; the pride of fair-haired Uthal, the love of a thousand maids. He bound the aged Larthmor, and dwelt in his sounding halls!
Long pined the king in his cave, beside his rolling sea. Day did not come to his dwelling: nor the burning oak by night. But the wind of ocean was there, and the parting beam of the moon. The red star looked on the king, when it trembled on the western wave. Snitho came to Selma's hall; Snitho, the friend of Larthmor's youth. He told of the king of Berrathon: the wrath of Fingal arose. Thrice he assumed the spear, resolved to stretch his hand to Uthal. But the memory of his deeds rose before the king. He sent his son and Toscar. Our joy was great on the rolling sea. We often half unsheathed our swords. For never before had we fought alone, in battles of the spear.
Night came down on the ocean. The winds departed on their wings. Cold and pale is the moon. The red stars lift their heads on high. Our course is slow along the coast of Berrathon. The white waves tumble on the rocks. "What voice is that," said Toscar, "which comes between the sounds of the waves? It is soft hut mournful, like the voice of departed bards. But I behold a maid. She sits on the rock alone. Her head bends on her arms of snow. Her dark hair is in the wind. Hear, son of Fingal, her song; it is smooth as the gliding stream. We came to the silent bay, and heard the maid of night.
"How long will ye roll round me, blue-tumbling waters of ocean? My dwelling was not always in caves, nor beneath the whistling tree. The feast was spread in Tor-thoma's hall. My father delighted in my voice. The youths beheld me in the steps of my loveliness. They blessed the dark-haired Nina-thoma. It was then thou didst come, O Uthal! like the sun €4 heaven! The souls of the virgins are thine, son of generous Larthmor! But why dost thou leave me alone, in the midst of roaring waters? Was my soul dark with thy death? Did my while hand lift the sword? Why then hast thou left me alone, king of high Fin-thormo?"
The tear started from my eye, when I heard the voice of the maid. I stood before her in my arms. I spoke the words of peace! "Lovely dweller of the cave! what sigh is in thy breast? Shall Ossian lift his sword in thy presence, the destruction of thy foes? Daughter of Tor-thoma, rise! I have heard the words of thy grief. The race of Morven are around thee, who never injured the weak. Come to our dark bosomed ship, thou brighter than the setting moon! Our course is to the rocky Berrathon, to the echoing walls of Fin-thormo." She came in her beauty; she came with all her lovely steps. Silent joy brightened in her face; as when the shadows fly from the field of spring; the blue stream is rolling in brightness, and the green bush bends over its course!
The morning rose with its beams. We came to Rothma's bay. A boar rushed from the wood: my spear pierced his side, and he fell. I rejoiced over the blood. I foresaw my growing fame. But now the sound of Uthal's train came, from the high Fin-thormo. They spread over the heath to the chase of the boar. Himself comes slowly on, in the pride of his strength. He lifts two pointed spears. On his side is the hero's sword. Three youths carry his polished bows. The bounding of five dogs is before him. His heroes move on, at a distance, admiring the steps of the king. Stately was the son of Larthmor! but his soul was dark! Dark as the troubled face of the moon, when it foretells the storms.
We rose on the heath before the king. He stopped in the midst of his course. His heroes gathered around. A. gray-haired bard advanced. "Whence are the sons of the strangers?" began the bard of song. "The children of the unhappy come to Berrathon: to the sword of car-borne Uthal. He spreads no feast in his hall. The blood of strangers is on his streams. If from Selma's walls ye come, from the mossy walls of Fingal, choose three youths to go to your king to tell of the fall of his people. Perhaps the hero may come and pour his blood on Uthal's sword. So shall the fame of Fin-thormo arise; like the growing tree of the vale!"
"Never, will it rise, O bard!" I said, in the pride of my wrath. "He would shrink from the presence of Fingal, whose eyes are the flames of death. The son of Comhal comes, and kings vanish before him. They are rolled together, like mist, by the breath of his rage. Shall three tell to Fingal, that his people fell? Yes! they may tell it, bard! but his people shall fall with fame!"
I stood in the darkness of my strength. Toscar drew his sword at my side. The foe came on like a stream. The mingled sound of death arose. Man took man; shield met shield; steel mixed its beams with steel. Darts hiss through air. Spears ring on mails. Swords on broken bucklers bound. All the noise of an aged grove beneath the roaring wind, when a thousand ghosts break the trees by night, such was the din of arms! But Uthal fell beneath my sword. The sons of Berrathon fled. It was then I saw him in his beauty, and the tear hung in my eye! "Thou art fallen, young tree, I said, with all thy beauty round thee. Thou art fallen on thy plains, and the field is bare. The winds come from the desert! there is no sound in thy leaves! Lovely art thou in death, son of car-borne Larthmor"
Nina-thoma sat on the shore. She heard the sound of battle. She turned her red eyes on Lethmal, the gray-haired bard of Selma. He alone had remained on the coast with the daughter of Tor-thoma. "Son of the times of old!" she said, "I hear the noise of death. Thy friends have met with Uthal, and the chief is low! O that I had remained on the rock, enclosed with the tumbling waves? Then would my soul be sad, but his death would not reach my ear. Art thou fallen on the heath, O son of high Fin-thormo? Thou didst leave me on a rock, but my soul was full of thee. Son of high Fin-thormo! art thou fallen on thy heath?"
She rose pale in her tears. She saw the bloody shield of Uthal. She saw it in Ossian's hand. Her steps were distracted on the heath. She flew. She found him. She fell. Her soul came forth in a sigh. Her hair is spread on her face. My bursting tears descend. A tomb arose on the unhappy. My song of wo was heard. "Rest, hapless children of youth! Rest at the noise of that mossy stream! The virgins will see your tomb, at the chase, and turn away their weeping eyes. Your fame will be in song. The voice of the harp will be heard in your praise. The daughters of Selma shall hear it: your renown shall be in other lands. Rest, children of youth, at the noise of the mossy stream!"
Two days we remained on the coast. The heroes of Berrathon convened. We brought Larthmor to his halls. The feast of shells is spread. The joy of the aged was great. He looked to the arms of his fathers; the arms which he left in his hall, when the pride of Uthal rose. We were renowned before Larthmor. He blessed the chiefs of Morven. He knew not that his son was low, the stately strength of Uthal! They had told, that he had retired to the woods, with the tears of grief. They had told it, but he was silent in the tomb of Rothma's heath.
On the fourth day we raised our sails, to the roar of the northern wind. Larthmor came to the coast. His bards exalted the song. The joy of the king was great; he looked to Rothma's gloomy heath. He saw the tomb of his son. The memory of Uthal rose. "Who of my heroes," he said, "lies there? he seems to have been of the kings of men. Was he renowned in my halls before the pride of Uthal rose? Ye are silent, sons of Berrathon! is the king of heroes low? My heart melts for thee, O Uthal! though thy hand was against thy father. O that I had remained in the cave! that my son had dwelt in Fin-thormo! I might have heard the tread of his feet, when he went to the chase of the boar. I might have heard his voice on the blast of my cave. Then would my soul be glad; but now darkness dwells in my halls."
Such were my deeds, son of Alpin, when the arm of my youth was strong. Such the actions of Toscar, the car-borne son of Conloch. But Toscar is on his flying cloud. I am alone at Lutha. My voice is like the last sound of the wind, when it forsakes the woods. But Ossian shall not be long alone. He sees the mist that shall receive his ghost. He beholds the mist that shall form his robe, when he appears on his hills. The Sons of feeble men shall behold me, and admire the stature of the chiefs of old. They shall creep to their caves. They shall look to the sky with fear: for my steps shall be in the clouds. Darkness shall roll on my side.
Lead, son of Alpin, lead the aged to his woods. The winds begin to rise. The dark wave of the lake resounds. Bends there not a tree from Mora with its branches bare? It bends, son of Alpin, in the rustling blast. My harp hangs on a blasted branch. The sound of its strings is mournful. Does the wind touch thee, O harp, or is it some passing ghost? It is the hand of Malvina! Bring me the harp, son of Alpin. Another song shall rise. My soul shall depart in the sound. My fathers shall hear it in their airy hail. Their dim faces shall hang, with joy, from their clouds; and their hands receive their son. The aged oak bends over the stream. It sighs with all its moss. The withered fern whistles near, and mixes, as it waves, with Ossian's hair.
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poem by James Macpherson
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The Columbiad: Book I
The Argument
Natives of America appear in vision. Their manners and characters. Columbus demands the cause of the dissimilarity of men in different countries, Hesper replies, That the human body is composed of a due proportion of the elements suited to the place of its first formation; that these elements, differently proportioned, produce all the changes of health, sickness, growth and decay; and may likewise produce any other changes which occasion the diversity of men; that these elemental proportions are varied, not more by climate than temperature and other local circumstances; that the mind is likewise in a state of change, and will take its physical character from the body and from external objects: examples. Inquiry concerning the first peopling of America. View of Mexico. Its destruction by Cortez. View of Cusco and Quito, cities of Peru. Tradition of Capac and Oella, founders of the Peruvian empire. Columbus inquires into their real history. Hesper gives an account of their origin, and relates the stratagems they used in establishing that empire.
I sing the Mariner who first unfurl'd
An eastern banner o'er the western world,
And taught mankind where future empires lay
In these fair confines of descending day;
Who sway'd a moment, with vicarious power,
Iberia's sceptre on the new found shore,
Then saw the paths his virtuous steps had trod
Pursued by avarice and defiled with blood,
The tribes he foster'd with paternal toil
Snatch'd from his hand, and slaughter'd for their spoil.
Slaves, kings, adventurers, envious of his name,
Enjoy'd his labours and purloin'd his fame,
And gave the Viceroy, from his high seat hurl'd.
Chains for a crown, a prison for a world
Long overwhelm'd in woes, and sickening there,
He met the slow still march of black despair,
Sought the last refuge from his hopeless doom,
And wish'd from thankless men a peaceful tomb:
Till vision'd ages, opening on his eyes,
Cheer'd his sad soul, and bade new nations rise;
He saw the Atlantic heaven with light o'ercast,
And Freedom crown his glorious work at last.
Almighty Freedom! give my venturous song
The force, the charm that to thy voice belong;
Tis thine to shape my course, to light my way,
To nerve my country with the patriot lay,
To teach all men where all their interest lies,
How rulers may be just and nations wise:
Strong in thy strength I bend no suppliant knee,
Invoke no miracle, no Muse but thee.
Night held on old Castile her silent reign,
Her half orb'd moon declining to the main;
O'er Valladolid's regal turrets hazed
The drizzly fogs from dull Pisuerga raised;
Whose hovering sheets, along the welkin driven,
Thinn'd the pale stars, and shut the eye from heaven.
Cold-hearted Ferdinand his pillow prest,
Nor dream'd of those his mandates robb'd of rest,
Of him who gemm'd his crown, who stretch'd his reign
To realms that weigh'd the tenfold poise of Spain;
Who now beneath his tower indungeon'd lies,
Sweats the chill sod and breathes inclement skies.
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poem by Joel Barlow
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Funnny? .. Not So Much
it's funny how hello
is always accompanied by good bye
it's funny how good memories
can start to make you cry
it's funny how forever
never seems to last
it's funny how much you'd lose
if you forgot about your past
it's funny how good friends
can just leave you when your down
it's funny how when you need someone
they're nowhere to be found
it's funny how people change
to make themselfs seem better
it's funny how many lies
are packed into one love letter
it's funny how people can forgive
but they can never really forget
it's funny how one night
can be filled with so many regrets
it; s funny how ironic
lifes turns out to be
it's funny how none of these things
seem really funny to me
poem by Jessica Richards
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Funny You Should Say That
Lead vocal: the flying pickets
Well its funny you should say that
Its a most peculiar thing
Yes its funny you should say that
I was talking to a man
And I saw he wore a ring
Yes its funny you should say that
And I told him of a dream
Where I caught and ate a whale
Then I woke up feeling hungry, he said
Thats a curious tale
For a dream contains a wish
In this case a giant fish
As the pressure you were under
Might have woken you from slumber
To relieve the pangs of hunger
You just dreamed yourself a dish
Well its funny you should say that
Its a most peculiar thing
Yes its funny you should say that
For I also met a man
And he also wore a ring
Yes its funny you should say that
And I told him of a dream
Where the sun was at its height
But my toes were blocks of ice, he said
Let me get this right
You are tall and so your feet
Must protrude beyond the sheet
While you sleep theyre unprotected
And its just as I suspected
You were trying to dream some heat
But there are six white wolves
In the dead of the night
On the branch of a tree
And they have such big eyes
And theyre shining so bright
All the better to see
And they have such big ears
All the better to hear
And theyre listening to me
And they have such sharp teeth
All the better to eat
And theyre looking at me
Well its funny you should say that
Its a most peculiar thing
Yes its funny you should say that
I was speaking to a man
But I dont recall a ring
Yes its funny you should say that
[...] Read more
song performed by Alan Parsons Project
Added by Lucian Velea
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Funny... But Not
it's funny how hello is always accompanied with goodbye
it's funny how good memories can start to make you cry
it's funny how forever never seems to last
it's funny how much you'd lose if you forgot about your past
it's funny how “friends” can just leave when you are down
it's funny how when you need someone they never are around
it's funny how people change and think they're so much better
it's funny how many lies are packed into one “love letter”
it's funny how one night can contain so much regret
it's funny how you can forgive but not forget
it's funny how ironic life turns out to be
but the funniest part of all, is none of thats funny to me
poem by Arianna Loshnowsky
Added by Poetry Lover
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Its funny how
Its funny how hello is always accompanied with good-bye
Its funny how remembering good memories can make you cry
Its funny how forever never seems to really last
Its funny how much you'd lose if you forgot your past
Its funny how friends can just leave you when you're down
Its funny how when you need someone there never around
Its funny how people can change and think there so much betta
Its funny how many lies can be packed into one love letta
Its funny how people can forgive even tho they cant forget
Its funny how one night can catain of so much regret
Its funny how crazy and ironic life turns out to be
but the funniest part of all is that none of that seems funny to me
poem by Heather Noble
Added by Poetry Lover
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Funny?
It's funny how hello is always accompanied with goodbye
It's funny how good memories can start to make you cry
It's funny how forever never seems to really last
It's funny how much you'd loose if you forgot about your past
It's funny how friends can just leave you when you're down
It's funny how when you need someone they're never around
It's funny how people can change and think they're so much better
It's funny how many lies can be packed in one ''love letter''
It's funny how people can forgive even though they can't forget
It's funny how one night can contain so much regret
It's funny how ironic life turns out to be,
But the funniest part,
Is that none of it is funny...
To me.
poem by Patrick 'the pyropoet' littrell
Added by Poetry Lover
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Funny....But Not For Me! ! ! !
t's funny how hello is always accompanied with goodbye
it's funny how good memories can start to make you cry
it's funny how forever never seems to last
it's funny how much you'd lose if you forgot about your past
it's funny how “friends” can just leave when you are down
it's funny how when you need someone they never are around
it's funny how people change and think they're so much better
it's funny how many lies are packed into one “love letter”
it's funny how one word can contain so much regret
it's funny how you can forgive but not forget
it's funny how ironic life turns out to be
but the funniest part of all, is none of thats funny to me
poem by Gaurav Sharma
Added by Poetry Lover
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Funny, But Not So Funny
Funny am I
How at this point of my life
That I'll ever see such as these
That people find it humorous
Of which I don't, at least, not as much
To live a life of folly.
Funny is it
How this world evolve with things
Looking real when everyone knows
That it isn't all there is to it
Wanting 'em with their life at stake
Wishing like nothing in carelessness.
Funny, but not so funny
For people could think as such
Like no one will know of it;
For people could do as such
Like there is no a payback for it;
Funny, but not so funny.
Funny, but not so funny
When such a time comes
As the world evolves
So is what have been sown
May not be at your lifetime
But to the lives of the generation to come.
Funny, but not so funny
When given a time to live
But only not many have the thought of it
Living a life just to get by
Is not what accounted for
But living under the will of God.
Funny, but not so funny... at least, not just yet.
poem by Mary Louise Mann Gabumpa
Added by Poetry Lover
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Funny, But Then Not...
Its funny how hello is alway accompanied with goodbye,
Its funny how good memories can start to make you cry.
Its funny how forever never really seems to last,
Its funny how much you'd lose if you forgot about your past.
Its funny how 'friends' can just leave you when your down,
Its funny how when you need someone their never around.
Its funny how people change and think they're so much better,
Its funny how many lies can be packed into one 'love letter'.
Its funny how people forgive even though they cant forget,
Its funny how one night can contain so much regret.
Its funny how ironic life turns out to be,
But the funniest part of all...
Is that none of thats funny to me
poem by Daniela X. Daraz
Added by Poetry Lover
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Isn't It Funny?
t's funny how hello is always accompanied with goodbye
It's funny how good memories can start to make you cry
It's funny how forever never seems to really last
It's funny how much you'd loose if you forgot about your past
It's funny how friends can just leave you when you're down
It's funny how when you need someone they're never around
It's funny how people can change and think they're so much better
It's funny how many lies can be packed in one ''love letter''
It's funny how people can forgive even though they can't forget
It's funny how one night can contain so much regret
It's funny how ironic life turns out to be,
But the funniest part,
Is that none of it is funny...
To me.
poem by Gina Durst
Added by Poetry Lover
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It's Funny How
It's funny how hello is always accompanied with goodbye
It's funny how remembering good memories can make you cry
It's funny how forever never seems to really last
It's funny how much you'd lose if youforgot youre past
It's funny how friends can just leave when you're down
It's funny how when you need someone the're never around
It's funny how people can change and think the're so much better
It's funny how many lies can be packed into one love letter
It's funny how people can forgive even tho they cant forget
It's funny how one night can catain of so much regret
It's funny how crazy and ironic life turns out to be but the funniest part of all is that non of that seeems funny to me.
I got this poem from a friend i dont know who writ it or where it came from.
poem by Amelia Gardiner
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My Daddy's So Funny
My daddy’s so funny; always making me laugh
But, he’s the best daddy anybody could have
Every time he comes around he has something funny to say
On days when I feel down daddy can always makes my day
My daddy’s so funny even when he’s not trying to be
He has a way with words and gestures that always tickles me
He makes funny expressions, and he’s so witty too
He’s so funny he’ll make you forget you were feeling blue
My daddy’s so funny, but he is also sweet
He will do anything to help someone else; even get them off the street
You can find him givin’ change, or just standing up talkin’
To a person that most people would look at and just keep on walkin’
My daddy’s so funny, but he is such a good provider
He would do anything to take care of his family, even use the car like a taxi driver
I’ll never forget the time he got up at 5: 00 in the mornin’
He walked me all the way to my train stop, even though it was stormin’
My daddy’s so funny, but helped raise us girls so well
When my mama told us “no, ” we couldn’t run to him and tell
He taught us to be dainty and to act like ladies
He was always involved in our lives from the time that we were babies
My daddy’s so funny, but he takes good care of my mother
No matter how tough times would get, he always stood by her
He has been with her for more than 50 years
With her he has shared much marital bliss and many tears
My daddy’s so funny, but there is something you should know
He might laugh and joke a lot, but he takes life seriously though
His personality and the things he does are not for him to be seen
He just is who he is, and really loves people; from that we can all glean
My daddy’s so funny, when you ask him what he has to give
He’ll tell you in a minute, “I got mo’ cold cash than you got days to live! ”
My daddy is so funny, when I just think about him I laugh
I thank God for my daddy, one of the greatest gifts any girl could have.
poem by Deidre Blair
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Corsair
'O'er the glad waters of the dark blue sea,
Our thoughts as boundless, and our soul's as free
Far as the breeze can bear, the billows foam,
Survey our empire, and behold our home!
These are our realms, no limits to their sway-
Our flag the sceptre all who meet obey.
Ours the wild life in tumult still to range
From toil to rest, and joy in every change.
Oh, who can tell? not thou, luxurious slave!
Whose soul would sicken o'er the heaving wave;
Not thou, vain lord of wantonness and ease!
whom slumber soothes not - pleasure cannot please -
Oh, who can tell, save he whose heart hath tried,
And danced in triumph o'er the waters wide,
The exulting sense - the pulse's maddening play,
That thrills the wanderer of that trackless way?
That for itself can woo the approaching fight,
And turn what some deem danger to delight;
That seeks what cravens shun with more than zeal,
And where the feebler faint can only feel -
Feel - to the rising bosom's inmost core,
Its hope awaken and Its spirit soar?
No dread of death if with us die our foes -
Save that it seems even duller than repose:
Come when it will - we snatch the life of life -
When lost - what recks it but disease or strife?
Let him who crawls enamour'd of decay,
Cling to his couch, and sicken years away:
Heave his thick breath, and shake his palsied head;
Ours - the fresh turf; and not the feverish bed.
While gasp by gasp he falters forth his soul,
Ours with one pang - one bound - escapes control.
His corse may boast its urn and narrow cave,
And they who loath'd his life may gild his grave:
Ours are the tears, though few, sincerely shed,
When Ocean shrouds and sepulchres our dead.
For us, even banquets fond regret supply
In the red cup that crowns our memory;
And the brief epitaph in danger's day,
When those who win at length divide the prey,
And cry, Remembrance saddening o'er each brow,
How had the brave who fell exulted now!'
II.
Such were the notes that from the Pirate's isle
Around the kindling watch-fire rang the while:
Such were the sounds that thrill'd the rocks along,
And unto ears as rugged seem'd a song!
In scatter'd groups upon the golden sand,
They game-carouse-converse-or whet the brand:
[...] Read more