As they use to say, spick and span new.
quote by Miguel de Cervantes
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Related quotes
I can EMIT TIME
'I Can! ' EMIT TIME
Kindly Refer to Notes
.
.
This retourne shows how Time bright glows,
Inspiring plan Life offers man,
Maintains red rose, sustains verse, prose,
Egg, chicken, span, - ensure ‘I can! ’
TIME’s sum’s not dumb, repeating drum
Inspiring plan Life offers man,
May link ‘become’ through rule of thumb
EMIT true scan light once began.
The heart that sows is star that glows
In tune reel ran fed through rhyme’s fan,
Maintains red rose, sustains verse, prose,
Ends in well ran, begins “I can! ”
Time’s reel ebbs, flows, all comes and goes,
In caravan reversing scan
Much magic flows, touch insight knows,
Egg, chicken, span, - ensure ‘I can! ’
.
Egg, chicken, span, - ensure ‘I can! ’
Much magic flows, touch insight knows,
In caravan reversing scan, -
Time’s reel ebbs, flows, all comes and goes.
Ends in well ran, begins “I can! ”
Maintains red rose, sustains verse, prose,
In tune reel ran fed through rhyme’s fan, -
The heart that sows is star that glows.
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Eve- Song
I span and Eve span
A thread to bind the heart of man;
But the heart of man was a wandering thing
That came and went with little to bring:
Nothing he minded what we made,
As here he loitered, and there he stayed.
I span and Eve span
A thread to bind the heart of man;
But the more we span the more we found
It wasn't his heart but ours we bound.
For children gathered about our knees:
The thread was a chain that stole our ease.
And one of us learned in our children's eyes
That more than man was love and prize.
But deep in the heart of one of us lay
A root of loss and hidden dismay.
He said he was strong. He had no strength
But that which comes of breadth and length.
He said he was fond. But his fondness proved
The flame of an hour when he was moved.
He said he was true. His truth was but
A door that winds could open and shut.
And yet, and yet, as he came back,
Wandering in from the outward track,
We held our arms, and gave him our breast,
As a pillowing place for his head to rest.
I span and Eve span,
A thread to bind the heart of man!
poem by Dame Mary Gilmore
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COUCH POTATO
Parody of "Lose Yourself" by Eminem
Look
If you had
One shot
To sit on your lazy butt
And watch all the TV you ever wanted
Until your brain turned to mush
Would you go for it
Or just let it slip?
Yo
Remote is ready
Eyes wide, palms are sweaty
There's Flintstone's on the TV already
Wilma N' Betty
No virgin to channel surfin
And I'm HD ready
So I flip, garbage is all I'm getting
There's Simon Cowell
Who folks wanna disembowel
He opens his mouth, always says something foul
They're dying, Wow!
Wannabe's are crying now
He votes them out
Time to throw in the towel
Show's based on reality
Oh the humanity!
Oh! Ozzy's family!
Sho' loves profanity!
Whoa! The insanity!
Oh! Dogs that crap and pee
Home of depravity?
No! They live happily
Yo! Plus "The Ali G Show"
And "Celebrity Mole"
Oh there's Anna Nicole
She's scaring me
"Look ma, no cavities!"
Oh! It's a station break
Better go out to the kitchen and microwave something
"You're gonna lose your mind watchin TV"
They told me, they'd scold me
But I still tune in every show (show)
My cable gets C-SPAN, TV Land and HBO
The Travel Channel, Discovery, and Lifetime (yo)
"You're gonna lose your mind watchin' TV"
They told me, cajoled me
"Turn off those music videos!" (no!)
I'm gonna watch C-SPAN TV Land and HBO
The History Channel and QVC and Lifetime (yo)
"You're Gonna..."
[...] Read more
song performed by Weird Al Yankovic
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Pillage Hangman - Parody LONGFELLOW - The Village Blacksmith
Under a spreading chestnut tree
The village smithy stands;
The Smith, a mighty man is he,
With large and sinewy hands;
And the muscles of his brawny arms
Are strong as iron bands.
His hair is crisp, and black, and long,
His face is like the tan;
His brow is wet with honest sweat,
He earns whate'er he can
And looks the whole world in the face
For he owes not any man.
Week in, week out, from morn till night,
You can hear his bellows blow;
You can hear him swing his heavy sledge,
With measured beat and slow,
Like a sexton ringing the village bell,
When the evening sun is low.
And children coming home from school
Look in at the open door;
They love to see the flaming furge,
And hear the bellows roar,
And catch the burning sparks that fly
Like chaff from a threshing floor.
He goes on Sunday to the church
and sits among his boys;
He hears the parson pray and preach.
He hears his daughter's voice
singing in the village choir,
And it makes his heart rejoice.
It sounds to him like her mother's voice,
Singing in Paradise!
He needs must think of her once more,
How in the grave she lies;
And with his hard, rough hand he wipes
A tear out of his eyes.
Toiling, -rejoicing, -sorrowing,
Onward through life he goes;
Each morning sees some task begin,
Each evening sees it close;
Something attempted, something done,
Has earned a night's repose.
Thanks, thanks to thee, my worthy friend
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Greenland Whale Fisheries
[the pogues version]
------------------------------------------
In eighteen hundred and forty-six
And of march the eighteenth day,
We hoisted our colors to the top of the mast
And for greenland sailed away, brave boys,
And for greenland sailed away.
The lookout in the crosstrees stood
With spyglass in his hand;
Theres a whale, theres a whale,
And a whalefish he cried
And she blows at every span, brave boys
She blows at every span.
The captain stood on the quarter deck,
The ice was in his eye;
Overhaul, overhaul! let your gibsheets fall,
And youll put your boats to sea, brave boys
And youll put your boats to sea.
Our harpoon struck and the line played out,
With a single flourish of his tail,
He capsized the boat and we lost five men,
And we did not catch the whale, brave boys,
And we did not catch the whale.
The losing of those five jolly men,
It grieved the captain sore,
But the losing of that fine whalefish
Now it grieved him ten times more, brave boys
Now it grieved him ten times more.
Oh greenland is a barren land
A land that bares no green
Where theres ice and snow, and the whalefishes blow
And the daylights seldom seen, brave boys
And the daylights seldom seen.
[greenland fisheries]
------------------------------------------------
twas in eighteen hundred and fifty-three
And of june the thirteenth day,
That our gallant ship her anchor weighed,
And for greenland bore away, brave boys,
And for greenland bore away.
The lookout in the crosstrees stood
With spyglass in his hand;
Theres a whale, theres a whale,
Theres whalefish he cried
And she blows at every span, brave boys
She blows at every span.
The captain stood on the quarter deck,
And a fine little man was he;
Overhaul, overhaul! let your davit tackles fall,
And launch your boats for sea, brave boys
[...] Read more
song performed by Pogues
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Intelligent Design
I, dot, would score, scour ocean floor,
you too were dot, not more.
We'd LOOP the LOOP in primaeval soup
our POOL gene POOL core corps.
We'd POLO here, there POLO for
none then knew scoop could droop.
We'd grin, twin core to win encore
no sour sin, hour, no law!
No fairies, flowers' fragrant bower,
nor need, nor greed for power.
No men's omens, hymns, amens dour,
no hymen's Babylonian tower -
no cause because nor clause, paws' claws,
no doors, chores, flaws, no pause.
I'd stoop, you'd swoop, with helluva whoop -
no care, unfair dis....pair.
Above, below, we'd group, regroup
all with no 'mal[e] de mer'.
Amino here, ah me! know there
was troop on troop on troop, -
we'd pair, repair, again prepare
see sea combine with air.
We'd twirl, we'd whirl, like a hoola-hoop
around, around some more,
in tune to moon as cock-a-hoop
we'd twin, to spin restore.
Linked chain would roam upon Time's foam,
off shore s[p]aw[n], sink or soar,
'neath starry dome in mono chrome,
no after, no before!
We'd skirl, we'd swirl, up, down would curl,
ages of practised ease,
we'd furl, unfurl, in endless whorl,
world with no word disease.
When I was girl and you my pearl,
no men, to bend, no knees, -
no need but feed we all agreed
to speed on pretty please!
No peg was round, no hole square found,
when round and round half, whole,
ringed whole half bound by no compound
too stable. Time redoled
quad code surround life force around
niche roles from pole to pole.
Unsound were some, some sound, none crowned
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Unreal Reality
All that i see, seems so unreal to me,
Is it the truth or is it only fantasy,
Is it a dream or is it unreal reality?
All around me is such unreality,
Optical illusions as far as my eyes can see,
Is the whole thing a fake, or the ultimate reality?
That house is so big that it reaches right up to the clouds
It's got hundreds of windows, so the people inside can look out,
And they look down below and wonder what it's all about.
Look at that lady she got silver all over her face,
Is she a human being or a creature from outer space,
Is she authentic or phoney, i guess it's just a matter of taste.
Oh because they can feel it, it's gotta be the real thing,
Because they can touch it, it's gotta be reality.
If they say it's real, it's gotta be the real thing.
See that fella, looking all spick and span,
Is he a tailor's dummy or is he a real man,
Is he genuine, or straight off the assembly line.
All round me is such unreality,
Optical illusions as far as my eyes can see,
Is the whole thing a fake or the ultimate reality?
Is it a dream, or is it the real reality?
song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
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Aspirants Three
DRAMATIS PERSONAE.
_QUICK_:
DE YOUNG _a Brother to Mushrooms_
_DEAD_:
SWIFT _an Heirloom_
ESTEE _a Relic_
_IMMORTALS_:
THE SPIRIT OF BROKEN HOPES. THE AUTHOR.
_MISCELLANEOUS_:
A TROUPE OF COFFINS. THE MOON. VARIOUS COLORED FIRES.
_Scene_-The Political Graveyard at Bone Mountain.
DE YOUNG:
This is the spot agreed upon. Here rest
The sainted statesman who upon the field
Of honor have at various times laid down
Their own, and ended, ignominious,
Their lives political. About me, lo!
Their silent headstones, gilded by the moon,
Half-full and near her setting-midnight. Hark!
Through the white mists of this portentous night
(Which throng in moving shapes about my way,
As they were ghosts of candidates I've slain,
To fray their murderer) my open ear,
Spacious to maw the noises of the world,
Engulfs a footstep.
(_Enter Estee from his tomb._)
Ah, 'tis he, my foe,
True to appointment; and so here we fight
Though truly 'twas my firm belief that he
Would send regrets, or I had not been here.
ESTEE:
O moon that hast so oft surprised the deeds
Whereby I rose to greatness!-tricksy orb,
The type and symbol of my politics,
Now draw my ebbing fortunes to their flood,
As, by the magic of a poultice, boils
That burn ambitions with defeated fires
Are lifted into eminence.
(_Sees De Young._)
[...] Read more
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Sonnet: Heaven 's Immaculate
How well it looks when combed, the hair of man!
The lawn that’s green and mowed quite recently!
The lovely plaited hair of a woman!
The furrowed soil made by tractor, gently;
How well it looks a macadamized road!
The field ready for harvest, weeds all plucked;
The crane's pulley-lifting a heavy load;
The man wearing a tie and with shirt tucked.
How well it looks, the body spick and span!
The tranquil mind whose thoughts are always clear;
The purified and sinless soul of man;
The human heart whose love is crystal-pure.
Heav'n- abode of God's immaculate;
To enter, souls must be stringently fit.
poem by John Celes
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A Kiss Catcher
Lost kisses lost kisses
With the wind may fly
After finding him sleeping
On his shoulder you lie
Roll up on him tightly
But with greatest care
Gently delicate kindly
Shhh! Don't wake him
shh.. to not be aware
Then, all kisses! Once:
kiss deep:
the soul, not the skin!
-Vacuum any sad cry!
Spick and span cleaned
The heart of a child
Once again let rise!
Then slowly and kind
Sweet heart of a child
Let's start filling back
With goodness revived
And Smiles.. In biig size!
poem by Elena Sandu
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Verses on the Death of Dr. Swift, D.S.P.D.
As Rochefoucauld his maxims drew
From Nature, I believe 'em true:
They argue no corrupted mind
In him; the fault is in mankind.
This maxim more than all the rest
Is thought too base for human breast:
'In all distresses of our friends,
We first consult our private ends;
While Nature, kindly bent to ease us,
Points out some circumstance to please us.'
If this perhaps your patience move,
Let reason and experience prove.
We all behold with envious eyes
Our equal rais'd above our size.
Who would not at a crowded show
Stand high himself, keep others low?
I love my friend as well as you
But would not have him stop my view.
Then let him have the higher post:
I ask but for an inch at most.
If in a battle you should find
One, whom you love of all mankind,
Had some heroic action done,
A champion kill'd, or trophy won;
Rather than thus be overtopt,
Would you not wish his laurels cropt?
Dear honest Ned is in the gout,
Lies rack'd with pain, and you without:
How patiently you hear him groan!
How glad the case is not your own!
What poet would not grieve to see
His brethren write as well as he?
But rather than they should excel,
He'd wish his rivals all in hell.
Her end when emulation misses,
She turns to envy, stings and hisses:
The strongest friendship yields to pride,
Unless the odds be on our side.
Vain human kind! fantastic race!
Thy various follies who can trace?
Self-love, ambition, envy, pride,
Their empire in our hearts divide.
Give others riches, power, and station,
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Swift
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Ballad of Reading Gaol - I
Version I
He did not wear his scarlet coat,
For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were on his hands
When they found him with the dead,
The poor dead woman whom he loved,
And murdered in her bed.
He walked amongst the Trial Men
In a suit of shabby grey;
A cricket cap was on his head,
And his step seemed light and gay;
But I never saw a man who looked
So wistfully at the day.
I never saw a man who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
Which prisoners call the sky,
And at every drifting cloud that went
With sails of silver by.
I walked, with other souls in pain,
Within another ring,
And was wondering if the man had done
A great or little thing,
When a voice behind me whispered low,
'That fellows got to swing.'
Dear Christ! the very prison walls
Suddenly seemed to reel,
And the sky above my head became
Like a casque of scorching steel;
And, though I was a soul in pain,
My pain I could not feel.
I only knew what hunted thought
Quickened his step, and why
He looked upon the garish day
With such a wistful eye;
The man had killed the thing he loved
And so he had to die.
Yet each man kills the thing he loves
By each let this be heard,
[...] Read more
poem by Oscar Wilde
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Ballad of Reading Gaol II
Version II
He did not wear his scarlet coat,
For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were on his hands
When they found him with the dead,
The poor dead woman whom he loved,
And murdered in her bed.
He walked amongst the Trial Men
In a suit of shabby gray;
A cricket cap was on his head,
And his step seemed light and gay;
But I never saw a man who looked
So wistfully at the day.
I never saw a man who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
Which prisoners call the sky,
And at every drifting cloud that went
With sails of silver by.
I walked, with other souls in pain,
Within another ring,
And was wondering if the man had done
A great or little thing,
When a voice behind me whispered low,
'That fellow's got to swing.'
Dear Christ! the very prison walls
Suddenly seemed to reel,
And the sky above my head became
Like a casque of scorching steel;
And, though I was a soul in pain,
My pain I could not feel.
I only knew what haunted thought
Quickened his step, and why
He looked upon the garish day
With such a wistful eye;
The man had killed the thing he loved,
And so he had to die.
[...] Read more
poem by Oscar Wilde
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Sixty Years Ago
I
The double-blossomed peach-trees with rosy bloom were gay
When grandpa rode beneath them upon his courting way,
From the white gate to the homestead they stretched in stately row,
And showered his path with petals, just sixty years ago.
His riding suit was spick and span, his jingling bridle rein,
Was polished to the limit, his top-boots shone again;
A mass of youthful vanity, from curly head to toe,
Was my darling gay young grandpa – just sixty years ago.
Upon the broad veranda, demure my grandma sat,
And hid her girlish blushes beneath her garden hat,
Her dainty flowing muslins enfolded her like snow;
Ah! Very sweet my grandma was, just sixty years ago.
With sweeping bow and fluttering heart he told his hopes and fears,
And grandma gently said him ‘Yea’, mid blushes, smiles and tears.
When the double-blossomed peach-trees with fruit were bending low,
Good Father Flynn united them – just sixty years ago.
II
There’s a sound of mirthful revel in the dear old home to-night,
Where the merry young folk frolic ‘neath the incandescent light,
Jazzing on the broad veranda, listening to the radio,
Knowing wonders quite undreamt of in the days of long ago.
On the vine-enclosed veranda, sits my grandpa in his chair,
And the flower-scented night winds stirs the white locks of his hair;
Grandma sits and smiles beside him, happy in the young folks glee,
Such a dainty dear old lady, ever young at heart is she.
And the harvest of their labours in the moonlight stretches wide
All the land they’ve won and toiled for as they struggled side by side,
In their brave old eyes no shadow from the griefs of gone-by years,
For their hearts beat high within them – dauntless breed of pioneers.
Hand in hand they sit together, while the angels smile above,
On their long unbroken record of faith, sacrifice and love;
From the double-blossomed peach trees come the petals falling slow,
Bringing sweet and fadeless memories of Sixty Years ago.
poem by Alice Guerin Crist
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The Squatter's Man
Come, all ye lads an' list to me,
That's left your homes an' crossed the sea,
To try your fortune, bound or free,
All in this golden land.
For twelve long months I had to pace,
Humping my swag with a cadging face,
Sleeping in the bush, like the sable race,
As in my song you'll understand.
Unto this country I did come,
A regular out-and-out new chum.
I then abhorred the sight of rum
Teetotal was my plan.
But soon I learned to wet one eye
Misfortune oft-times made me sigh.
To raise fresh funds I was forced to fly,
And be a squatter's man.
Soon at a station I appeared.
I saw the squatter with his beard,
And up to him I boldly steered,
With my swag and billy-can.
I said, "Kind sir, I want a job!"
Said he, "Do you know how to snob
Or can you break in a bucking cob?"
Whilst my figure he well did scan.
"'Tis now I want a useful cove
To stop at home and not to rove.
The scamps go about—a regular drove
I 'spose you're one of the clan?
But I'll give ten—ten, sugar an' tea;
Ten bob a week, if you'll suit me,
And very soon I hope you'll be
A handy squatter's man.
"At daylight you must milk the cows,
Make butter, cheese, an' feed the sows,
Put on the kettle, the cook arouse,
And clean the family shoes.
The stable an' sheep yard clean out,
And always answer when we shout,
With ‘Yes, ma'am,' and ‘No, sir,' mind your mouth;
And my youngsters don't abuse.
"You must fetch wood an' water, bake an' boil,
Act as butcher when we kill;
The corn an' taters you must hill,
Keep the garden spick and span.
[...] Read more
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Munnar-The scenic beauty
We headed to the heavenly Munnar—
Our son-in-law with a golden heart,
Took us too with his family, in a car,
Winding its way over the hilly part.
The driver at the steering wheel,
At his side, my son-in-law,
Daughter, hubby and self in the mid to deal,
The children three, at the back did draw.
The evening was cool and bright,
Munnar being 2000 metres above sea level;
The wind breezed past through our car right,
With a wonderful feeling—hearts did swell.!
The landscape set a magic spell rolling,
It was in the Idukki district of Kerala;
The plantations of tea were lush and sprawling,
The different shades of nature took us in awe!
In curious shapes the clouds passed by,
Through which the evening sun took a peep.
Presently a mist surrounded us—Oh! My!
It turned to be a fog around us in the steep! .
Here a car, a bike, a bus and there a van,
Tourists wound their way through the bends,
They glided smoothly as a regal swan,
Sensing amongst the beauty, the mountain lends.
The car drew near the Munnar town,
And the blaring of horns took us right;
In a veil of haze the sun came down,
Darkness enveloped except for the vehicles'light.
The children were fatigued and listless,
Eager to reach our warm resort;
It was many kilometers away—no less,
Dialouges stopped -as we were a weary lot.
At last, into our luxury hotel, we ran,
As drops of rain welcomed us into the inn;
Two large suites, cosy, spick and span,
Beckoned us to be happily ensconced in.
Our gnawing hunger, being quelled,
We dreamt of the next day's sojourn;
The children were bouncing starry -eyed;
And to the warm beds they were borne.
[...] Read more
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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The Ballad Of Reading Gaol
(In memoriam
C. T. W.
Sometime trooper of the Royal Horse Guards
obiit H.M. prison, Reading, Berkshire
July 7, 1896)
I
He did not wear his scarlet coat,
For blood and wine are red,
And blood and wine were on his hands
When they found him with the dead,
The poor dead woman whom he loved,
And murdered in her bed.
He walked amongst the Trial Men
In a suit of shabby grey;
A cricket cap was on his head,
And his step seemed light and gay;
But I never saw a man who looked
So wistfully at the day.
I never saw a man who looked
With such a wistful eye
Upon that little tent of blue
Which prisoners call the sky,
And at every drifting cloud that went
With sails of silver by.
I walked, with other souls in pain,
Within another ring,
And was wondering if the man had done
A great or little thing,
When a voice behind me whispered low,
'THAT FELLOW'S GOT TO SWING.'
Dear Christ! the very prison walls
Suddenly seemed to reel,
And the sky above my head became
Like a casque of scorching steel;
And, though I was a soul in pain,
My pain I could not feel.
I only knew what hunted thought
Quickened his step, and why
He looked upon the garish day
With such a wistful eye;
The man had killed the thing he loved,
And so he had to die.
[...] Read more
poem by Oscar Wilde
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Hudibras: Part 1 - Canto III
THE ARGUMENT
The scatter'd rout return and rally,
Surround the place; the Knight does sally,
And is made pris'ner: Then they seize
Th' inchanted fort by storm; release
Crowdero, and put the Squire in's place;
I should have first said Hudibras.
Ah me! what perils do environ
The man that meddles with cold iron!
What plaguy mischiefs and mishaps
Do dog him still with after-claps!
For though dame Fortune seem to smile
And leer upon him for a while,
She'll after shew him, in the nick
Of all his glories, a dog-trick.
This any man may sing or say,
I' th' ditty call'd, What if a Day?
For HUDIBRAS, who thought h' had won
The field, as certain as a gun;
And having routed the whole troop,
With victory was cock a-hoop;
Thinking h' had done enough to purchase
Thanksgiving-day among the Churches,
Wherein his mettle, and brave worth,
Might be explain'd by Holder-forth,
And register'd, by fame eternal,
In deathless pages of diurnal;
Found in few minutes, to his cost,
He did but count without his host;
And that a turn-stile is more certain
Than, in events of war, dame Fortune.
For now the late faint-hearted rout,
O'erthrown, and scatter'd round about,
Chas'd by the horror of their fear
From bloody fray of Knight and Bear,
(All but the dogs, who, in pursuit
Of the Knight's victory, stood to't,
And most ignobly fought to get
The honour of his blood and sweat,)
Seeing the coast was free and clear
O' th' conquer'd and the conqueror,
Took heart again, and fac'd about,
As if they meant to stand it out:
For by this time the routed Bear,
Attack'd by th' enemy i' th' rear,
Finding their number grew too great
For him to make a safe retreat,
[...] Read more
poem by Samuel Butler
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Happy Mother’s Day,2008
I’m glad to have a mother good,
Who nursed me well and gave good food;
Who taught me how to read and write,
And sang a lullaby each night.
Who showed me how to walk and run,
And played with me to have some fun;
Who kept me spick and span each day,
And told me stories like a Fay.
Who showed me how to pray to God,
And caned me sometimes as a rod;
Who reared me well with love and care,
And toiled all life for my welfare.
A lovely soul, one’s mother is,
Who shows the way to every bliss!
God bless my mother specially,
And keep her happy and healthy.
‘Wish you dear mom, a Happy Mother’s Day,2008! ’
Copyright by Dr John Celes 5-1-2008
poem by John Celes
Added by Poetry Lover
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Pot Pourri of Personalities
I see some persons laughing all the time;
They wear a mask of artificial smiles;
Their tongues are smooth and eyes are deceptive;
They boast of living prudently and wise!
They mock at righteous and sincere persons;
They joke and give evasive replies oft;
Their blunders go undetected for long;
They sow the seed of discord amongst men!
And some are spick and span, overly too,
Their body odors by perfumes, well hid;
They weep a tear for some in grief at times;
They trust their toil and do not believe God!
But do they lament within heart always?
They cannot hide their nature real, long;
God knows these persons cheating world at large;
His rod of justice stern, awaits such men.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-29-2008
poem by John Celes
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