Quotes about yard, page 4
Eternities Yard
Into eternities yard, some wont go
in my path, all will tread
fear not today,
I'm always at a beckons call,
fear not tomorrow,
i will be waiting,
fear not yesterday,
i never look back,
fear not the end,
i am the end,
fear not the beginning,
i may not let it pass
into my yard, all will go
bordered by tears, a river of blood flows,
in my path they are no cries,
in my yard,
no angel lies
poem by Tinashe Severa
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The Man with the Thousand Yard Stare
He sits with a stoic's resistance,
his son in the casket lies there.
No line of a tear mars his visage-
the man with the Thousand yard stare.
He sits in the front row of mourners,
His dear sobbing wife by his side
in silence he keeps his sad vigil
and stares up at Christ crucified.
The mourners pass by him in silence,
touch his hand or say meaningless words,
for his part he stares straight on through them
as if nothings felt, nothings heard.
The Parson commands us to silence
and struggles to lead us in prayer-
but half of the room has forgotten the words
[...] Read more
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Bury Me In A Scrap Yard
I’ve been a truck driver all my life,
and when it’s my time to go,
bury me in a scrap yard,
where all the old trucks go.
I am used to the diesel smoke
and burning rubber,
just bury me with the old wrecks
and no one will notice me there.
I’ve spent a lifetime on the road
with squealing brakes, burning rubber
and diesel smoke choking my throat.
I’ve driven my old truck
a thousand miles or more
and then back home again.
Therefore, when it’s my time to go,
bury me in a scrap yard,
where all the old trucks go
and if you want to give me a marker
put a detour sign over my head.
I’ve seen loads of them
[...] Read more
poem by David Harris
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Violets...Dandelions and Drought
My Front Yard…in Las Vegas Nevada
A hostile environment
A parched arid place
A Mars-like landscape
A few hardy weeds embrace
Dandelions struggle
For meager existence
Gripping dry, parched earth
With desperate persistence
undauntedly turning
Golden faces to the sun
Asking no quarter…
And Nature gives none
Almost unnoticed
In the early Spring breeze
Small timid blue blossoms
[...] Read more
poem by David Whalen
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The Bachelor
The wind went cold as the day went old,
And I went very sad,
Till I saw something by the road
That brought me round and glad.
The keen wind nipped me northerly
And bent me back almost,
And I was the worst discouraged man
Abroad on any boast,
The road was rocks and wilderness
And never a sign of a town,
It tapered up a wicked hill,
I tried to curse it down,
But like an undefeated man
I mounted, slow and hard:
[...] Read more
poem by John Crowe Ransom
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So What Has Become Of The Yard Bird?
The wind and the rain gather you.
Like petals on a rain storm
So what has become of the yard bird?
That stirred the captive rainbows
To your and my finger tips
What has become of the rose?
That danced off her dew wet shadows
And sang adjacent the jasmine stars
Sweetly scented at the first cut of hay
That lay in sobrieties corn circles
That lay in bed on this coarse way
A filly jumping over any such hurdles
Whatever happened to us…?
When did you slip through my fingers?
Like a broken rainbow
Like a rose long cut
No fresh water can ever save anymore…
[...] Read more
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Everything between us is black
A black sleep near to death
surrounds me and everything between you and me,
while police patrol cars
with flashing lights and sirens
are parking outside the yard
and you are at your lover’s house.
They are here to lock handcuffs around my wrists,
send by the lies that you trumpet forth
and when I only allow one policeman
to come into the yard
while your white policeman lover with the others
have to wait outside the yard
the lot of them are raging mad
as I threaten
to take legal action against them
and that one black policeman
finds your drugged out child
where he is sleeping,
[...] Read more
poem by Gert Strydom
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From Fame to Fowls
Mr Blenkinsop and I
Are much concerned to learn
That, somewhere in the further sky,
A frightful heat-belt lurks on high,
Where torrid ethers burn.
And I and Mr Blenkinsop
We take it rather hard,
Because all work will have to stop
Henceforth within the small work-shop
In Blenkinsop's back-yard.
For many years we labored there,
In Blenkinsop's back-yard.
And, in our town, plain folk would stare
And mutter: 'That's the learned pair
Who'll win the world's regard.'
We planned a gadget in that shop
To journey to the moon;
And deferential friends would stop
To speak to me and Blenkinsop
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Cells
I've a head like a concertina: I've a tongue like a button-stick:
I've a mouth like an old potato, and I'm more than a little sick,
But I've had my fun o' the Corp'ral's Guard: I've made the cinders fly,
And I'm here in the Clink for a thundering drink
and blacking the Corporal's eye.
With a second-hand overcoat under my head,
And a beautiful view of the yard,
O it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B.
For "drunk and resisting the Guard!"
Mad drunk and resisting the Guard --
'Strewth, but I socked it them hard!
So it's pack-drill for me and a fortnight's C.B.
For "drunk and resisting the Guard."
I started o' canteen porter, I finished o' canteen beer,
But a dose o' gin that a mate slipped in, it was that that brought me here.
'Twas that and an extry double Guard that rubbed my nose in the dirt;
But I fell away with the Corp'ral's stock
and the best of the Corp'ral's shirt.
[...] Read more
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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The Horrible History of Jones
Jones had a dog; it had a chain;
Not often worn, not causing pain;
But, as the I.K.L. had passed
Their 'Unleashed Cousins Act' at last,
Inspectors took the chain away;
Whereat the canine barked 'Hooray!'
At which, of course, the S.P.U.
(Whose Nervous Motorists' Bill was through)
Were forced to give the dog in charge
For being Audibly at Large.
None, you will say, were now annoyed,
Save, haply, Jones - the yard was void.
But something being in the lease
About 'alarms to aid the police,'
The U.S.U. annexed the yard
For having no sufficient guard.
Now if there's one condition
The C.C.P. are strong upon
It is that every house one buys
Must have a yard for exercise;
[...] Read more
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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