Quotes about hat., page 8
Real Art
Real Art
I woke up a blue neon light, outside my hotel room,
kept lightning up my space, I looked out and saw
a man in a cafe sitting by the counter eating a burger,
he had hat on and looked ca 1948.
Knew I was in an Edward Hopper painting but didn’t
want to be a part of his bleak cityscape of lone men
who live in cheap hotels and drink coffee in a cafe,
which clientele are lost souls like me.
I splashed water in my face adjusted my tie put my
hat on and walked out, a cab drove by looking for
a fare, I opened the cafe’s door, the man with hat had
gone, drank coffee and ate a doughnut.
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Witty’s fight against the wind
It has been spoken that Witty, a boy from the village
it has been waggish, he has grieved everybody, it has seemed,
and everybody has envied him.
birds have only pecked from his palm
because they have become inured to him.
A slow wind has breathed over the village
and Witty has been amazed from it,
when the wind intensifies, the wind has blown out his hat.
he has followed vainly his hat with the look
but the hat has disappeared entirely.
The wind has blown then with force
to take houses and palings
and to destroy almost everything.
All the people have run cowardly
Witty has only coped with the wind because he has been a care-crow.
poem by Valentin Gabriel Cristea
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A New Haircut
all i need today is a new haircut
my thick hair is covering my head
and i do not really like it
like a carabao dung
it is giving me a certain feeling of a hat
a buri hat with lots of protruding fibers
untrimmed
what do i need a hat for?
when there is no rain
when there is no sun
when there is no
heavy debris falling on me
i just wanna be free
i want my brain open
washed by the rain
bleached by the sun
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Hat
In city shop a hat I saw
That to my fancy seemed to strike,
I gave my wage to buy the straw,
And make myself a one the like.
I wore it to the village fair;
Oh proud I was, though poor was I.
The maids looked at me with a stare,
The lads looked at me with a sigh.
I wore it Sunday to the Mass.
The other girls wore handkerchiefs.
I saw them darkly watch and pass,
With sullen smiles, with hidden griefs.
And then with sobbing fear I fled,
But they waylayed me on the street,
And tore the hat from off my head,
And trampled it beneath their feet.
[...] Read more
poem by Robert William Service
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Your mind's ocean
Swimming away
swimming away
swimming away yeah
swimming through the deep blue ocean
nothing but red skies ahead
so put on ya hat and sun screen lotion
operation over cooperation
go swimming in your mind's ocean
The water so still
and the wind in motion
i'll be up and alive
before i'm down and moping
wake up in the water
before you drown
i'll make you want to smile
with my speechless frown
so put on ya hat and sun screen lotion
operation over anticipation
go swimming in your mind's ocean
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poem by Allen Steble
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The Magician's Magic
The magician's magic.
Is the magic for you.
He can pull a rabit, out of his hat.
He can trick you with this.
Or he can trick you with that.
A bag of tricks, from the magician to you.
A bag of tricks, a magician can do.
He can pull a rabit, out of his hat.
He can trick you wth this.
Or he can trick you with that.
The magician's magic.
Is the magic for you.
The magician's magic.
Is his magic show.
He can saw a lady in half.
He can split her in two.
He can trick you with this.
Or he can trick you with that.
These are some things, a magician can do.
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poem by Kim Robin Edwards
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Crystal Tears And Blues
There is such a silence in the Vienna Opera
That you can hear even the quietest of Mozart's notes,
As if the city's elite has found its shepherd.
You can't hear the quietest of voices, just humble silence
And the occasional sigh of awe.
Oh, people, he ended up in an unmarked grave,
And look at them kneeling in front of him as if he was a king,
I think to myself while crystal tears
Slide down a dark face on this winter night.
It must be Mozart crying in anguish.
Yet, I'm not so much worried by his bitterness up there,
As by our empty hat down here,
As if ghosts pass us by,
Ghosts of those who threw Mozart into an unmarked grave,
But me and my black friend aren't thinking
Of putting our trumpets into worn-out leather sheaths,
Because the sad ballad warms the heart of the cold winter.
Someone might say that the two of us
Look like we just walked out of a black and white movie,
Not as much due to the color of our skins,
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poem by Walter William Safar
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Two Travellers in the Place Vendome
Reign of Louis Philippe
A great tall column spearing at the sky
With a little man on top. Goodness! Tell me why?
He looks a silly thing enough to stand up there so high.
What a strange fellow, like a soldier in a play,
Tight-fitting coat with the tails cut away,
High-crowned hat which the brims overlay.
Two-horned hat makes an outline like a bow.
Must have a sword, I can see the light glow
Between a dark line and his leg. Vertigo
I get gazing up at him, a pygmy flashed with sun.
A weathercock or scarecrow or both things in one?
As bright as a jewelled crown hung above a throne.
Say, what is the use of him if he doesn't turn?
Just put up to glitter there, like a torch to burn,
[...] Read more
poem by Amy Lowell
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Legend
The blacksmith's boy went out with a rifle
and a black dog running behind.
Cobwebs snatched at his feet,
rivers hindered him,
thorn branches caught at his eyes to make him blind
and the sky turned into an unlucky opal,
but he didn't mind.
I can break branches, I can swim rivers, I can stare out
any spider I meet,
said he to his dog and his rifle.
The blacksmith's boy went over the paddocks
with his old black hat on his head.
Mountains jumped in his way,
rocks rolled down on him,
and the old crow cried, You'll soon be dead.
And the rain came down like mattocks.
But he only said,
I can climb mountains, I can dodge rocks, I can shoot an old crow any day,
and he went on over the paddocks.
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poem by Judith Wright
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Old Town Types No. 28 - Lah-Di-Dah Lane
In the old town traditions - as greybeards will explain
One epic tale immortalises Lah-di-dah Lane,
Clerk to a local wheat-buyer in the railway yard.
Some deemed him just a 'masher,' but a few said 'knowing card'
With his waxed moustache, his monocle, his grey 'hard-hitter' hat,
His braided coat of black 'Berlin,' his lavender cravat,
His buttoned boots and finger-ring and thin Malacca cane
Oh, a sight on pleasant Sundays was our Lah-di-dah Lane.
His manners were meticulous, his smile so softly sweet
That he soon became the butt of every urchin in our street.
But he took their banter calmly, and his brow wore ne'er a frown
Till the bully, Turk Trevanion, caused a scandal in the town.
A loud-mouthed blusterer was Turk, a crude, sardonic lout
Who made a set at Lah-di-dah, but failed to draw him out
Till he used, in ladies' hearing, words both blasphemous and vain:
Then, 'I'll meet you on the wiver flat,' said Lah-di-dah Lane.
Discreetly on that Sabbath day the word was passed about,
Till half the town came to the flat to see poor Lane pass out;
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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