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I didn't want to wear a checked shirt and grow a mustache - that's what you had to do, and everyone did.

quote by Neil Tennant
Added by Lucian Velea
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You Wear It So Well

All of those things
Yeah, that you got to give
Yeah, you wear it so well
Hey, you wear it so well
All of those stories
Honey, that i know you could tell
Yeah, you wear it so well
And your face hides it so we can't tell
That you knew we would wear it so well
You wear it so well
Yeah darling, you wear it so well
(you wear it so well)
Yeah baby, you wear it so well
(you wear it so well)
Yeah now baby, you wear it so well
(you wear it so well)
Hey now darling now, yeah, you wear it so well
(you wear it so well)
All of those things
That make poets sing
You wear it so well
Yeah, you hide it so well
And all of those pain
That you used to tell
You hide it so well
Can't tell from your face that you knew it so well
Hey, now that you have such a story to tell
Yeah, you got style and grace and you wear it so well
You wear it so well
And you got, you got such a story to tell
Yeah, yeah, yeah, you wear it so well
Grace and style equals you so well
Yeah, yeah, yeah, you wear it so well, well, yeah, so well
Yeah, you wear it, wear it, wear it now, wear it now, baby
Yeah, now you wear it so well
And you got such a story to tell
(ooohhh, ooohhh, ooohhh)
(ooohhh, you wear it so well)
(you wear it so well)
(you wear it so well)

song performed by Lou Reed
Added by Lucian Velea
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Pencil Thin Mustache

Pencil thin mustache
By: jimmy buffett
1974
Now they make new movies in old black and white
With happy endings, where nobody fights
So if you find yourself in that nostalgic rage
Honey, jump right up and show your age
Chorus:
I wish I had a pencil thin mustache
The boston blackie kind
A two toned ricky ricardo jacket
And an autographed picture of andy devine
I remember bein buck-toothed and skinny
Writin fan letters to sky king and penny
Oh I wish I had a pencil thin mustache
Then I could solve some mysteries too
Then its bandstand, disneyland, growin up fast
Drinkin on a fake i.d.
Yeah, and rama of the jungle was everyones bawana
But only jazz musicians were smokin marijuana
Yeah, I wish I had a pencil thin mustache
Then I could solve some mysteries too
Then its flat top, dirty bob, coppin a feel
Grubbin on the livin room floor (so sore)
Yeah, they send you off to college, try to gain a little knowledge,
But all you want to do is learn how to score
Yeah, but now Im gettin old, dont wear underwear
I dont go to church and I dont cut my hair
But I can go to movies and see it all there
Just the way that it used to be
Chorus:
Thats why I wish I had a pencil thin mustache
The boston blackie kind
A two-toned ricky ricardo jacket
And an autographed picture of andy devine
Oh, I could be anyone I wanted to be
Maybe suave errol flynn or the sheik of araby
If I only had a pencil thin mustache
Then I could do some cruisin too
Coda:
Yeah, bryl-cream, a little dabll do yah
Oh, I could do some cruisin too
Corrected by dub dublin

song performed by Jimmy Buffett
Added by Lucian Velea
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Grow

Grow.
Difficult it is.
And in the doing,
It is magical too.
If you,
Allow yourself to grow.
And not gloat upon your sensitivities.
With emotions on your sleeve to show.

Slow and determine,
To acquire knowledge.
And not upon it sit.

Become more inquisitive...
About life as it exists.

Don't permit,
Given criticisms to stop your quest.
The more that is learned,
The more of them...
May just manifest.

Grow.

It will become easy to be embittered,
By all that appears stagnant.
But a patience that develops,
Will within you begin to navigate...
Over obstacles and things that irritate.

You can and will,
Grow.
Show it with defined purpose.
Grow.
Don't fear ignorance.
Grow.
Overcome it like hopping a fence.
You can and will,
Grow.
Don't sit and bemoan your fate.
Grow.
Ignorance is not bliss.
Grow,
Ignorance can twist,
An unconscious mind into bits!

You can and will,
Grow.
Like a flower that blooms.
And reaches towards the sky.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
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The Shirt

As I walked into the charity store
I saw a second-hand shirt hangin up by the door
The collar was frayed, there was a stain on the cuff
Caused by ketchup or blood or some such stuff
It wasnt made of polyester or nylon
The label said made in the uk so I tried it on
And I looked in the mirror and declared
I like this shirt, I want it
Its not the label on the shirt that you wear
Its the way that you wear it
They say its style and breeding and culture that counts
But you cant change good taste on the expense account
And if design or fashion makes you a hero
You can dress all highbrow but still be an emotional zero
But I declare its not the shirt you wear
Its the way that you wear it
I was looking for danger, I should have taken more care
I was dressed to kill, I felt so debonair
Wild expectations, arrogant air
Then I walked into that bar, she was standing there
I walked over with all my savoir fair
And she said youre a smart looking dude
But your characters ugly, it clashes with my shoes
And i, I cant stand your attitude
I assumed it was leading to a romantic interlude
I thought my conquest was made
But I was stunned by the magnitude
Of her ingratitude
I spent a good thirty bucks on this babe
Like the shirt I was wearing
This romantic affair was not destined to last
The harder I tried, the louder she laughed
I was reduced to despair, my emotions laid bare
She knew I was hurt, made me feel like a jerk
I was humbled, humiliated, castrated
My masculinity dragged through the dirt
Then thrown in the air to be devoured by the lions
The vultures, the jackals and all the scavengers of love
I was strutting around with my chest stuck out
Like a peacock preparing to get laid
Thought I looked cool but she put me down
She said you look like a clown on a circus parade
Still the shirt has class, it looks well made
She was a babe of the first degree
She was totally fantabulous
Like a goddess from greece and yet
The epitome of the 20th century femininity
She was in her own league
She was meant for me, it was destiny
Like adam and eve, synchronisity

[...] Read more

song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Shirt (Demo Recording)

As I walked into the charity store
I saw a second-hand shirt hangin' up by the door
The collar was frayed, there was a stain on the cuff
Caused by ketchup or blood or some such stuff
It wasn't made of polyester or nylon
The label said "Made in the UK" so I tried it on
And I looked in the mirror and declared
"I like this shirt, I want it"
It's not the label on the shirt that you wear
It's the way that you wear it
They say it's style and breeding and culture that counts
But you can't change good taste on the expense account
And if design or fashion makes you a hero
You can dress all highbrow but still be an emotional zero
But I declare "It's not the shirt you wear
It's the way that you wear it"
I was looking for danger, I should have taken more care
I was dressed to kill, I felt so debonair
Wild expectations, arrogant air
Then I walked into that bar, she was standing there
I walked over with all my savoir fair
And she said "You're a smart looking dude
But your character's ugly, it clashes with my shoes
And I, I can't stand your attitude"
I assumed it was leading to a romantic interlude
I thought my conquest was made
But I was stunned by the magnitude
Of her ingratitude
I spent a good thirty bucks on this babe
Like the shirt I was wearing
This romantic affair was not destined to last
The harder I tried, the louder she laughed
I was reduced to despair, my emotions laid bare
She knew I was hurt, made me feel like a jerk
I was humbled, humiliated, castrated
My masculinity dragged through the dirt
Then thrown in the air to be devoured by the lions
The vultures, the jackals and all the scavengers of love
I was strutting around with my chest stuck out
like a peacock preparing to get laid
Thought I looked cool but she put me down
She said "You look like a clown on a circus parade"
Still the shirt has class, it looks well made
She was a babe of the first degree
She was totally fantabulous
Like a goddess from Greece and yet
The epitome of the 20th century femininity
She was in her own league
She was meant for me, it was destiny
Like Adam and Eve, synchronisity

[...] Read more

song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
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Now That Youre Gone

(bernard edwards/nile rodgers)
My nights grow long
My nights grow long
Now that youre gone
My nights grow long
Now that youre gone
Now that youre gone
My nights grow long
Now that youre gone
Now that youre gone
Im living my life all alone
Or hit by a blow
To my pride
But Im doing ok
I wont let you see
What this has done to me
I guess Ill just take it in stride
Come what may
My nights grow long
My nights grow long
Now that youre gone
My nights grow long
Now that youre gone
Now that youre gone
My nights grow long
Now that youre gone
How can one do what should be done by two
I guess thats a crazy question to ask
I might seem happy
But dont be fooled by my appearance
Make no mistake
Im just wearing a mask
My nights grow long
My nights grow long
Now that youre gone
My nights grow long
Now that youre gone
Now that youre gone
My nights grow long
Now that youre gone
My nights grow long
My nights grow long
Now that youre gone
My nights grow long
Now that youre gone
Now that youre gone
My nights grow long
Now that youre gone
My nights grow long
My nights grow long

[...] Read more

song performed by Diana Ross
Added by Lucian Velea
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Chevy-Chase

The Perse owt off Northombarlonde,
And a vowe to God mayd he
That he wold hunte in the mowntayns
Off Chyviat within days thre,
In the magger of doughte Dogles,
And all that ever with him be.

The fattiste hartes in all Cheviat
He sayd he wold kyll, and cary them away:
'Be my feth,' sayd the doughteti Doglas agayn,
'I wyll let that hontyng yf that I may.

Then the Perse owt off Banborowe cam,
With him a myghtee meany,
With fifteen hondrith archares bold off blood and bone;
The wear chosen owt of shyars thre.

This begane on a Monday at morn,
In Cheviat the hyllys so he;
They chylde may rue that ys un-born,
It wos the mor pitte.

The dryvars thorowe the woodes went,
For to reas the dear;
Bomen byckarte uppone the bent
With ther browd aros cleare.

Then the wyld thorowe the woodes went,
On every syde shear;
Greahondes thorowe the grevis glent,
For to kyll thear dear.

This began in Chyviat the hyls abone,
yerly on a Monnyn-day;
Be that it drewe to the oware off none,
A hondrith fat hartes ded ther lay.

The blewe a mort uppone the bent,
The semblyde on sydis shear;
To the quyrry then the Perse went,
To se the bryttlynge off the deare.

He sayd, 'It was the Doglas promys
This day to met me hear;
But I wyste he wolde faylle, verament;'
A great oth the Perse swear.

At the laste a squyar off Northomberlonde
Lokyde at his hand full ny;
He was war a the doughetie Doglas commynge,

[...] Read more

poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Wear My Hat

She came looking for me with her arms open wide,
Like some long lost friend of mine.
She said excuse me, but do you remember me ?
I said no, I dont believe I do
So she looked me up and down
And undressed me with her eyes,
Then she said youve got everything I need, youve got everything I want
So I said ok,
You can wear my hat,
You can have my coat,
You can take my shirt
cos I dont need it.
You can wear my shoes,
You can take my socks,
Come on take my bag its yours
If you love it,
You can have it if you love it,
Aint no problem if you love it,
Come on take it if you love it.
So her friend came up to me
With a pen and paper in her hand,
Expressing some interest in the number of my room,
She said excuse me, but do you remember me?
I said no, she said can I appeal to you?
So I looked her up and down
And realising her insinuations I blushed
She said listen babe you dont know me,
No you dont know me but you owe me,
And I love you,
Yes I love you,
Put your arms around me cos I love you,
I got all your records and I love you
So I suggested
You can wear my hat,
You can have my coat,
You can take my shirt
cos I dont need it.
You can wear my shoes,
You can take my socks,
Come on take my bag its yours
If you love it,
You can have it if you love it,
Aint no problem if you love it,
Come on take it if you love it.
Well later on that day this guy came to me
With a scrap of paper in his hand
He said hey buddy can you sign your name for me?
I said why, do I owe you money? he said no
I said listen pal do I know you? have we ever met?
Why do you want my name on this little piece of paper?

[...] Read more

song performed by Phil Collins
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Odyssey: Book 14

Ulysses now left the haven, and took the rough track up through
the wooded country and over the crest of the mountain till he
reached the place where Minerva had said that he would find the
swineherd, who was the most thrifty servant he had. He found him
sitting in front of his hut, which was by the yards that he had
built on a site which could be seen from far. He had made them
spacious and fair to see, with a free ran for the pigs all round them;
he had built them during his master's absence, of stones which he
had gathered out of the ground, without saying anything to Penelope or
Laertes, and he had fenced them on top with thorn bushes. Outside
the yard he had run a strong fence of oaken posts, split, and set
pretty close together, while inside lie had built twelve sties near
one another for the sows to lie in. There were fifty pigs wallowing in
each sty, all of them breeding sows; but the boars slept outside and
were much fewer in number, for the suitors kept on eating them, and
die swineherd had to send them the best he had continually. There were
three hundred and sixty boar pigs, and the herdsman's four hounds,
which were as fierce as wolves, slept always with them. The
swineherd was at that moment cutting out a pair of sandals from a good
stout ox hide. Three of his men were out herding the pigs in one place
or another, and he had sent the fourth to town with a boar that he had
been forced to send the suitors that they might sacrifice it and
have their fill of meat.
When the hounds saw Ulysses they set up a furious barking and flew
at him, but Ulysses was cunning enough to sit down and loose his
hold of the stick that he had in his hand: still, he would have been
torn by them in his own homestead had not the swineherd dropped his ox
hide, rushed full speed through the gate of the yard and driven the
dogs off by shouting and throwing stones at them. Then he said to
Ulysses, "Old man, the dogs were likely to have made short work of
you, and then you would have got me into trouble. The gods have
given me quite enough worries without that, for I have lost the best
of masters, and am in continual grief on his account. I have to attend
swine for other people to eat, while he, if he yet lives to see the
light of day, is starving in some distant land. But come inside, and
when you have had your fill of bread and wine, tell me where you
come from, and all about your misfortunes."
On this the swineherd led the way into the hut and bade him sit
down. He strewed a good thick bed of rushes upon the floor, and on the
top of this he threw the shaggy chamois skin- a great thick one- on
which he used to sleep by night. Ulysses was pleased at being made
thus welcome, and said "May Jove, sir, and the rest of the gods
grant you your heart's desire in return for the kind way in which
you have received me."
To this you answered, O swineherd Eumaeus, "Stranger, though a still
poorer man should come here, it would not be right for me to insult
him, for all strangers and beggars are from Jove. You must take what
you can get and be thankful, for servants live in fear when they
have young lords for their masters; and this is my misfortune now, for
heaven has hindered the return of him who would have been always

[...] Read more

poem by Homer, translated by Samuel Butler
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XI. Guido

You are the Cardinal Acciaiuoli, and you,
Abate Panciatichi—two good Tuscan names:
Acciaiuoli—ah, your ancestor it was
Built the huge battlemented convent-block
Over the little forky flashing Greve
That takes the quick turn at the foot o' the hill
Just as one first sees Florence: oh those days!
'T is Ema, though, the other rivulet,
The one-arched brown brick bridge yawns over,—yes,
Gallop and go five minutes, and you gain
The Roman Gate from where the Ema's bridged:
Kingfishers fly there: how I see the bend
O'erturreted by Certosa which he built,
That Senescal (we styled him) of your House!
I do adjure you, help me, Sirs! My blood
Comes from as far a source: ought it to end
This way, by leakage through their scaffold-planks
Into Rome's sink where her red refuse runs?
Sirs, I beseech you by blood-sympathy,
If there be any vile experiment
In the air,—if this your visit simply prove,
When all's done, just a well-intentioned trick,
That tries for truth truer than truth itself,
By startling up a man, ere break of day,
To tell him he must die at sunset,—pshaw!
That man's a Franceschini; feel his pulse,
Laugh at your folly, and let's all go sleep!
You have my last word,—innocent am I
As Innocent my Pope and murderer,
Innocent as a babe, as Mary's own,
As Mary's self,—I said, say and repeat,—
And why, then, should I die twelve hours hence? I—
Whom, not twelve hours ago, the gaoler bade
Turn to my straw-truss, settle and sleep sound
That I might wake the sooner, promptlier pay
His due of meat-and-drink-indulgence, cross
His palm with fee of the good-hand, beside,
As gallants use who go at large again!
For why? All honest Rome approved my part;
Whoever owned wife, sister, daughter,—nay,
Mistress,—had any shadow of any right
That looks like right, and, all the more resolved,
Held it with tooth and nail,—these manly men
Approved! I being for Rome, Rome was for me.
Then, there's the point reserved, the subterfuge
My lawyers held by, kept for last resource,
Firm should all else,—the impossible fancy!—fail,
And sneaking burgess-spirit win the day.
The knaves! One plea at least would hold,—they laughed,—
One grappling-iron scratch the bottom-rock

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Tuck Your Shirt In

My name is Holly
And I like

I'm so glad that you asked me out tonight
Our conversation over dinner was really nice
But don't forget you still owe me dessert
It's 12 we missed the late show
So let's head over to this joint that I know
Everytime I take someone it's always such a ride

But there's a dress code
You've got to follow
There's no exceptions
And once you're in

If you want TMA
You better need to be
Oh baby
But before you enter
Tuck your shirt in
No way you'll get rid of
Other clothes
If you don't follow this
One moment
Tuck your shirt in

La la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la la

We're probably gonna need to call a cab
Ten minute walk over there and back
But I think it's best we
Save our energy
Tonight I'm really on the grind
Otherwise I'd normally wait a while
Before I'd ask
Somebody to my party

But there's a dress code
You've got to follow
There's no exceptions
And once you're in

If you want TMA
You better need to be
Oh baby
But before you enter
Tuck your shirt in
No way you'll get rid of
Other clothes
If you don't follow this

[...] Read more

song performed by Holly Valance from Footprints
Added by Lucian Velea
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As Ireland Wore the Green

BY RIGHT of birth in southern land I send my warning forth.
I see my country ruined by the wrongs that damned the North.
And shall I stand with fireless eyes and still and silent mouth
While Mammon builds his Londons on the fair fields of the South?

CHORUS:
O must we hide our colour
In fear of Mammon’s spleen?
Or shall we wear the bonnie blue
As Ireland wore the green?
As Ireland wore the green, my friends!
As Ireland wore the green!
Aye, we will wear our colour still,
As Ireland wore the green!

I see the shade of poverty fall on each sunny scene.
And slums and alley-ways extend where fields were evergreen.
There is a law that stamps the flower of freedom as it springs;
And this upon a soil that’s trod by prouder feet than kings’.

And must I hide my colour
In fear of Mammon’s spleen?
Or shall I wear the bonnie blue
As Ireland wore the green?
As Ireland wore the green, my friends!
As Ireland swore the green!
Aye, I will wear my colour yet,
As Ireland wore the green!

Out there beyond the lonely range our fathers toiled for years
’Neath all the hardships that beset true-hearted pioneers;
And our brave mothers journeyed there to do the work of men
On those great awful plains that were unfit for women then.

Then must we hide our colour
In fear of Mammon’s spleen?
Or shall we wear the bonnie blue
As Ireland swore the green?
As Ireland wore the green, my friends!
As Ireland wore the green!
Aye, we shall wear our colour still,
As Ireland wore the green!

O shall the fields our fathers won be yielded to the few
Who never touched the axe or spade, and hardships never knew?
Shall lordly robbers rule the land and build their mansions high,
And ladies flaunt their jewelled plumes where our brave mothers lie?

O must we hide our colour
In fear of Mammnon’s spleen?

[...] Read more

poem by Henry Lawson
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Who’ll Wear the Beaten Colours?

Who’ll wear the beaten colours—and cheer the beaten men?
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, till our time comes again?
Where sullen crowds are densest, and fickle as the sea,
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, and wear them home with me?

We closed the bars and gambling dens and voted straight and clean,
Our women walked while motor cars were whirling round the scene,
The Potts Point Vote was one for Greed and Ease and Luxury
With all to hold, and coward gold, and beaten folk are we.

Who’ll wear the beaten colours, with hands and pockets clean?
(I wore the beaten colours since I was seventeen)
I wore them up, and wore them down, Outback and across the sea—
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, and wear them home with me?

We wore them back from Ladysmith to where the peace was signed,
And wore them through the London streets where Jingoes howled behind.
We wore them to the Queen’s Hall, while England yelled “Pro-Boers!”
And sat them over victory while London banged the doors.1

We wore them from Port Arthur round till all sunk in the sea—
(Who’ll wear the white man’s colours, and wear them home with me?)
I’ve worn them through with gentlemen, with work-slaves and alone—
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, boys, and wear them on his own?

There’s one would look with startled eyes and shrink while I caressed,
Came I not with the colours of the conquered on my breast.
And twenty thousand Bushmen would stand with hands behind
And scorn in all their faces for the coward of his kind.

Who’ll wear the beaten colours and raise the voice they drowned—
It may be when we march again, they’ll bear some other sound—
Who’ll pin the beaten colours on and drive the beaten pen—
It may be other steel and ink when we march out again.

poem by Henry Lawson
Added by Poetry Lover
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In Love With The 80's

so it was jeremy in 1983
in his ocean pacific t
who got a bloody knee
on his skateboard
in the half pipe
in the backyard
that tuesday night
and i'm only gonna pierce my left ear
and i've been working on this mustache all summer long
and my favorite band will always be tears for fears
and i'm gonna wear a pink tux to the prom
cutting class through the first floor window
he's driving fast cause he never did a thing slow
and i look up to my big bro
cause in the 80's all the ladies grabbed his hand and couldn't let go
and i'm only gonna pierce my left ear
and i've been working on this mustache all summer long
and my favorite band will always be tears for fears
and i'm gonna wear a pink tux to the prom (a pink tux to the prom)
doo doo, a doo doo doo
pink tux to the prom
doo doo, a doo doo doo
pink tux to the prom
i am gonna wear a pink tux to the prom
live without a care...what could possibly go wrong?
when you're president of the breakfast club
and you're not hesitant to fall in love (to fall in love)
to throw it away to fall in love with the 80's
i am gonna wear a pink tux to the prom
live without a care...what could possibly go wrong?
i am gonna wear a pink tux to the prom
live without a care...
cause you threw it away to fall in love with the 80's
doo doo, a doo doo
doo doo, a doo doo
doo doo, a doo doo

song performed by Relient K
Added by Lucian Velea
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You Look Good In My Shirt

When you walked up behind me and covered my eyes
And whispered in my ear, guess who
I rattled off names like I really didnt know
But all along I knew it was you
And, the longer we talked, the more we laughed
And wondered why we didnt last
It had been a long time, but later last night
Baby, we caught up real fast
And maybe its a little too early
To know if this is gonna work
All I know is youre sure looking
Good in my shirt
Thats right
You look good in my shirt
Well now Im not saying that we solved overnight
Every way that we went wrong
Oh, but what Im seeing Id sure love seeing
Every morning from now on
And maybe its a little too early
To know if this is gonna work
All I know is youre sure looking
Good in my shirt
Cmon now
Aww thats right
Oh you look so fine
And maybe its a little too early
To know if this is gonna work
All I know is youre sure looking
Good in my shirt
And maybe its a little too early
To know if this is gonna work
All I know is youre sure looking
Good in my shirt
You look good in my shirt
You look good in my shirt

song performed by Keith Urban
Added by Lucian Velea
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Soccer Under 20

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poem by Rwetewrt Erwtwer
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I Grow Old

i grow old, i grow old
i shall wear the bottoms of my trousers rolled
and steal from TS Eliot
thinking no-one knows

i grow old, i grow old
i shall cease to do what i am told
and stay in bed till sunset
when the weather gets too cold

i grow old, i grow old
i shall only wear my crumpled clothes
and look disdainfully at others
when they roll up their nose

i grow old, i grow old
i shall watch events unfold
and take a greater pleasure
in an elder statesman role.

i grow old, i grow old
i shall never play lawn bowls
and never will watch cricket
that's too boring for the soul.

i grow old, i grow old
but i shall never be so bold
as to admonish others
when my views they do not hold.

poem by David Keig
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Vest

Why do you wear a vest?
Do you really need to wear it?
When you come to me…
Don’t you think it prevents me
From accessing you directly?

Come to me only with your
Buttoned up tucked in shirt,
Leave the rest to me…
What to do, how to do,
How long and how well to do.
The whys, hows and wherefores
Of doing things to you…

And when I do those things to you,
You’ll come back to me again
And again and again, and those
Endless times and again…
With that vestless shirt of yours
So that I could do those things
To you, unbuttoning so many ways
Of seeking the pleasures in you.

Don’t tell me where to begin.
I know the beginnings and the endings
The tops, the bottoms and the tips
The line breaks and the paragraphs
The commas, semi colons and full stops
All that punctuates to the last dot.
Not to forget your quest of queries
And my answers of exclamations!

I can do it in pairs or in singles
I know all the mixes and the mingles
I know what jerks and jingles!
I just know what you want
I can see it in your eyes…
I can feel it in your quivering voice
I can hear it in your ecstatic cries.

Let me practise before the final play
Let me trace you in your clothes -
And see what your shirt and trousers
Say! Hmmm…Feels Nice.
Doesn’t it? What? You loved it!
Wao! When? Oh, Yes!
I know that feels Nice.
When I touch you on those
Tips of yours, in the collars
And the pockets, on the left,

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poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Malkan Singh of the Central State in India

We were scrambling up a hill
towards Thathathri Temple in Mount Abu.
We pushed past many
for we were sleepless tourists
capturing a quarter of India in days ten.

A tall man in Safari suit
with a half-foot length
of unpruned mustache
on each side of his face
was trekking up
with gun-toting guards
preceeding and following him.

“ Shoot”, our Tamil teacher quipped
and screwed up his own
quarter-foot mustache
that made him often venerable.
The tall man turned back.
His fierce eyes of a tiger
shook me to say to comfort,
“ They are strong like Hercules
to climb up with their guns”.
They smiled and kept calm.
A queue above the hill
was crawling into a hollow place.
We skipped some people
and got sooner into it.
But the long mustache builder
was not a snob.
He let some to overtake him
and then he crept into the cave,
prayed in calm, scattered some coins
and came out smearing
sacred ash on his forehead.

We were busy taking photographs.
But he sat quiet on a rock
and watched around the valleys.
We evaded the line
rang the bell and came away.
The scaring mustacher
rang the bell thrice,
listening everytime to the echo
and viewing the distant hills.
Then he got away in silence.
“ Who is he, with this much of saintliness? ”,
when our History teacher asked,
his guard replied with a beaming smile:
“ Oh, he is Malkan Singh,

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poem by Rajendran Muthiah
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Got Chocolate?

Snowflakes the size of marshmallows fall to the earth;
Frosty icy winds play havoc with her red curly hair.
She delights in frolicking in snow so deep;

Bundled up in bright green coat and leggings,
pink hat, scarf and gloves
she brightens up the gray day.

Grandpa dons his own snow gear, dark brown coat,
black ear muffs, gloves and red Santa hat;
shovel in hand he begins to clear the path
when 'she' playfully jumps into it re-snowing it
to Grandpa's chagrin as he grins
pretending to be annoyed.
but he re-shovels again with great patience.

The worst of the storm has passed. The white stuff
is the perfect setting this day, this Christmas Eve.

Cold, wet and tired Grandpa and granddaughter
come in to warm up to hot chocolate with marshmallows
and it reminds curly head of the snow fall today.

Grandpa's white mustache is chocolate dyed.

Curly Head's mouth says: 'Got chocolate? '

Bedtime has evolved, Santa's on his way.
Curly head has left him a treat in a cup.
Santa arrived;
he put Curly Head's presents under the tree

Santa's white mustache gave him away;
he looked at himself in the mantle mirror
and laughed a hearty, 'HO, HO, HO'

His white mustache was chocolate dyed
and he cried aloud:

'GOT CHOCOLATE?

'HO, HO, HO! '

© Mel Patterson,11-2011

poem by Mel Patterson
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