Quotes about vise, page 3
The Dirty Boy (and what befell him) II
'Spitting is dirty and crass', said Mim,
and isn't very nice
and by the statutes of this state
it constitutes a vise.
'So grow up, Jack', said little Mim
'So Jack', said John, 'get big'
But all that Jack would mutter back
was 'better pig than prig'.
'So here's to you, mate', shot back Jack
and here's to you-take that! '
and to the horror of them both
forthwith hauled off and spat!
Such the scope and depth and pitch
and tempo of infraction
that they hired a lawyer, (greedy witch)
and filed a class action.
[...] Read more
poem by Morgan Michaels
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Sugar And Spice And Fourteen Blind Mice
Sugar and Spice and fourteen blind mice
sat in a room way up in the barn.
the name of the cat was Sugar and Spice
fourteen blind mice, they were spinning a yarn.
As you can picture, the odds were unfair,
though none of the mice had been overly wise
a mad starving hunter to sit there and stare
planning the strategy of a surprise.
How can a cat catch so many at once?
Only with claws and a growling old gut
cats do not utilise swords, spears and guns
this one just sat on her soft furry butt.
The night was soon over and all things were the same
all the mice had been snoozing, unaware of the foe
in the cold of the morning now the cat sought to aim
its formidable powers like a young feline pro.
[...] Read more
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Ballade Of Old Plays
LA COUR.
When these Old Plays were new, the King,
Beside the Cardinal's chair,
Applauded, 'mid the courtly ring,
The verses of Moliere;
Point-lace was then the only wear,
Old Corneille came to woo,
And bright Du Parc was young and fair,
When these Old Plays were new!
LA COMEDIE.
How shrill the butcher's cat-calls ring,
How loud the lackeys swear!
Black pipe-bowls on the stage they fling,
At Brecourt, fuming there!
The Porter's stabbed! a Mousquetaire
Breaks in with noisy crew -
'Twas all a commonplace affair
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poem by Andrew Lang
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Après la bataille
Mon père, ce héros au sourire si doux,
Suivi d'un seul housard qu'il aimait entre tous
Pour sa grande bravoure et pour sa haute taille,
Parcourait à cheval, le soir d'une bataille,
Le champ couvert de morts sur qui tombait la nuit.
Il lui sembla dans l'ombre entendre un faible bruit.
C'était un Espagnol de l'armée en déroute
Qui se traînait sanglant sur le bord de la route,
Râlant, brisé, livide, et mort plus qu'à moitié.
Et qui disait: ' A boire! à boire par pitié ! '
Mon père, ému, tendit à son housard fidèle
Une gourde de rhum qui pendait à sa selle,
Et dit: 'Tiens, donne à boire à ce pauvre blessé. '
Tout à coup, au moment où le housard baissé
Se penchait vers lui, l'homme, une espèce de maure,
Saisit un pistolet qu'il étreignait encore,
Et vise au front mon père en criant: 'Caramba! '
Le coup passa si près que le chapeau tomba
Et que le cheval fit un écart en arrière.
' Donne-lui tout de même à boire ', dit mon père.
poem by Victor Hugo
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Henry Tripp
The bank broke and I lost my savings.
I was sick of the tiresome game in Spoon River
And I made up my mind to run away
And leave my place in life and my family;
But just as the midnight train pulled in,
Quick off the steps jumped Cully Green
And Martin Vise, and began to fight
To settle their ancient rivalry,
Striking each other with fists that sounded
Like the blows of knotted clubs.
Now it seemed to me that Cully was winning,
When his bloody face broke into a grin
Of sickly cowardice, leaning on Martin
And whining out "We're good friends, Mart,
You know that I'm your friend."
But a terrible punch from Martin knocked him
Around and around and into a heap.
And then they arrested me as a witness,
And I lost my train and staid in Spoon River
To wage my battle of life to the end.
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poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Eden’s Children
Eden’s Children (chapter II)
Adam and Eve
-the beautiful story of birth and death
what man and god alike has to give
to unfold the beginnings of truth;
Cain and Abel
-the beautiful story of love and hate
between status and power; name and title
to unveil the face that hides from the light
Tower of Babel
-the beautiful story of wisdom and pride
of prince and lord; ruler and citizen; priest and noble
to unlock the bars of the heaven’s side
Joseph and his brothers
-the beautiful story of vision and suspicion
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poem by Jordan Legaspi
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For All Those Who Died
For all those who died-
stripped naked, shaved, shorn.
For all those who screamed
in vain to the Great Goddess
only to have their tongues
ripped out at the root.
For all those who were pricked, racked, broken on the wheel
for the sins of their Inquisitors.
For all those whose beauty
stirred their torturers to fury;
& for all those whose ugliness did the same.
For all those who were neither ugly nor beautiful,
but only women who would not submit.
For all those quick fingers
broken in the vise.
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poem by Erica Jong
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The Jepoardy
My stride was taciturn
like the voice supressed
behind these clenched teeth
until I found your monument
gazing like an astute gargoyle
on a ponderous musing;
I washed my face with shame
and utter a cacophony
You stole my subterfuges
like how the night pilfers
the seething of my eenui;
I surrender everything
upon your austere relvance
most grandiloquently painted
on these perpetual gray mornings
But the road took slurs
and like a stammering promise
it was opressed by veracity;
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poem by Norman Santos
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If the Advertising Man Had Been Gilbert
Never mind the slippery wet street--
The tire with a thousand claws will hold you.
Stop as quickly as you will--
Those thousand claws grip the road like a vise.
Turn as sharply as you will--
Those thousand claws take a steel-prong grip on the road to prevent a side skid.
You're safe--safer than anything else will make you--
Safe as you would be on a perfectly dry street.
And those thousand claws are mileage insurance too.
--From the Lancaster Tire and Rubber Company's advertisement in the Saturday Evening Post
Never mind if you find it wet upon the street and slippery;
Never bother if the street is full of ooze;
Do not fret that you'll upset, that you will spoil your summer frippery,
You may turn about as sharply as you choose.
For those myriad claws will grip the road and keep the car from skidding,
And your steering gear will hold it fast and true;
Every atom of the car will be responsive to your bidding,
AND those thousand claws are mileage insurance too--
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poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Red Lace
I espied a red glint
In between the cracks
On the wooden panels
Of a locked up closet
How many sphinxes
Stood guard with riddles.
Halting curious eyes?
No sentinel more vigilant
I caught glimpse of a
Red lace stuck
Between mahogany doors,
Some past vanity imagined
Standing there unmoving,
Drawn by intrigue, I was
Like a cat sniffing on
A netted pantry window
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poem by Eddie Roa
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