Quotes about lying., page 8
THE GLOOMY NEWS (After rhe big earthquake in 1930s)
there is a bird in Erzincan province
no silver no silver on her wings
my beloved gone..never came back again
no hope of her returning from now on
oh high mountains..high mountains..oh..high mountains
taking its bloody head in its hands
in the middle of the white wild snow
the province ERZİ NCAN weeps in tears
if it did not weep who would have weeped like that
the snow falls in abundance, in flakes to the ground
some say it is a brizzard which comes and passes
but ı cannot say that too
the dead
lying..shoulder to shoulder..side by side
cannot talk and chat
cannot burn their fires at night
the dawn brightens, the sun rises...the horizon enlightens
but noone to get water goes
with their heads pressed heavily down..the dead
slept in their unawakable sleeps..may be dream
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poem by Metin Sahin
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Lines in Praise of Tommy Atkins
Success to Tommy Atkins, he's a very brave man,
And to deny it there's few people can;
And to face his foreign foes he's never afraid,
Therefore he's not a beggar, as Rudyard Kipling has said.
No, he's paid by our Government, and is worthy of his hire;
And from our shores in time of war he makes our foes retire,
He doesn't need to beg; no, nothing so low;
No, he considers it more honourable to face a foreign foe.
No, he's not a beggar, he's a more useful man,
And, as Shakespeare has said, his life's but a span;
And at the cannon's mouth he seeks for reputation,
He doesn't go from door to door seeking a donation.
Oh, think of Tommy Atkins when from home far away,
Lying on the battlefield, earth's cold clay;
And a stone or his knapsack pillowing his head,
And his comrades lying near by him wounded and dead.
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poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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An Expert In Education Claimed?
An expert in education claimed
children three or four do not lie
“it is impossible for them to lie”
what say you on this parents? ? ?
His wife a teacher claimed? ? ?
originally... children do not lie
husband claimed little children
can only repeat taught phrases?
But this is not what I believe?
I did training in teaching also
a New Zealand postgraduate
course Diploma Of Teaching.
In professional studies “fable
children do not lie” we were not
taught; extensively before first
teaching section we studied child
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poem by Terence George Craddock
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Nemesis
It is night-time when the saddest and the darkest memories haunt,
When outside the printing office the most glaring posters flaunt,
When the love-wrong is accomplished. And I think of things and mark
That the blackest lies are written, told, and printed after dark.
’Tis the time of “late editions”. It is night when, as of old,
Foulest things are done for hatred, for ambition, love and gold.
Racing from the senseless city down the dull suburban streets,
Come again the ragged newsboys yelping with their paltry sheets—
Lying posters meaning nothing, double columns meaning less,
Twisted facts and reckless falsehoods—dodges of the Daily Press.
In the town the roar and rattle of the great machines once more,
Greedy for the extra penny, while the “Public” howls for war.
War because of one poor blunder made in panic far away,
While a thousand men were lying on the battlefield to-day:
Dead heaped on the helpless dying, blinded eyes and brains that swim,
Parched or choked with their own life-blood, battered head and broken limb.
Wounds too ghastly to be pictured. Things to seem like men no more,
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poem by Henry Lawson
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The Death of Magnus Kep
It was ages since I'd seen him,
So I felt quite out of step
With the old Etruscan sculptor
That I knew as Magnus Kep,
He was brooding in an alley
By an old Byzantine store,
Then he saw me, and he beckoned,
And we walked along the shore.
He was hunting there for marble,
For his studio in Graz,
But we stopped in at a wine bar
And we sampled their Shiraz,
And he told me things he'd never said
To anyone before,
About why he searched the Holy Land,
And ruins, by the score.
'I can see their shapes within each block
Of marble, ' he had said,
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Horrors of Majuba
'Twas after the great Majuba fight:
And the next morning, at daylight,
Captain Macbean's men were ordered to headquarters camp,
So immediately Captain Macbean and his men set out on tramp.
And there they were joined by the Blue Jackets and 58th men,
Who, for unflinching courage, no man can them condemn;
And that brave little band was commissioned to bury their dead,
And the little band numbered in all about one hundred.
And they were supplied with a white flag, fit emblem of death,
Then they started off to O'Neill's farm, with bated breath,
Where their comrades had been left the previous night,
And were lying weltering in their gore, oh! what a horrible sight.
And when they arrived at the foot of Majuba Hill,
They were stopped by a Boer party, but they meant no ill,
Who asked them what they wanted without dismay,
And when they said, their dead, there was no further delay.
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poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Only A Boche
We brought him in from between the lines: we'd better have let him lie;
For what's the use of risking one's skin for a tyke that's going to die?
What's the use of tearing him loose under a gruelling fire,
When he's shot in the head, and worse than dead, and all messed up on the wire?
However, I say, we brought him in. Diable! The mud was bad;
The trench was crooked and greasy and high, and oh, what a time we had!
And often we slipped, and often we tripped, but never he made a moan;
And how we were wet with blood and with sweat! but we carried him in like our own.
Now there he lies in the dug-out dim, awaiting the ambulance,
And the doctor shrugs his shoulders at him, and remarks, "He hasn't a chance."
And we squat and smoke at our game of bridge on the glistening, straw-packed floor,
And above our oaths we can hear his breath deep-drawn in a kind of snore.
For the dressing station is long and low, and the candles gutter dim,
And the mean light falls on the cold clay walls and our faces bristly and grim;
And we flap our cards on the lousy straw, and we laugh and jibe as we play,
And you'd never know that the cursed foe was less than a mile away.
As we con our cards in the rancid gloom, oppressed by that snoring breath,
You'd never dream that our broad roof-beam was swept by the broom of death.
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poem by Robert William Service
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The Widow Of Glencoe
Do not lift him from the bracken,
Leave him lying where he fell-
Better bier ye cannot fashion:
None beseems him half so well
As the bare and broken heather,
And the hard and trampled sod,
Whence his angry soul ascended
To the judgment-seat of God!
Winding-sheet we cannot give him-
Seek no mantle for the dead,
Save the cold and spotless covering
Showered from heaven upon his head.
Leave his broadsword, as we found it,
Bent and broken with the blow,
That, before he died, avenged him
On the foremost of the foe.
Leave the blood upon his bosom-
Wash not off that sacred stain:
Let it stiffen on the tartan,
Let his wounds unclosed remain,
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poem by William Edmondstoune Aytoun
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Betrayed
When all the moneys gone
When all the boys move on
No star to wish upon
When every race is run
In the quiet of the morning
Lying in the morning sun
Ruins of another country
Day has just begun
Blown by the desert breeze
No memory of trees
No mercy from the sky
No avenue to try
In the quiet of the morning
Lying in the morning sun
Ruins of another country
Day has just begun
When all the moneys gone
When all the boys move on
No star to wish upon
When every race is run
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song performed by Human League
Added by Lucian Velea
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Its Breaking Me Up
So many long days. in so many ways.
I try to get through to what lies deep inside of you.
Oh, baby. I said, youre breaking me up, woman.
Yeah, youre breaking me down.
Youre lying in little pieces --
Scattered all around.
Youre doing your worst to see me get hurt.
Youre waiting to see the tears running out of me.
But, oh, baby, I said youre breaking me up, woman.
Youre breaking me down.
Youre lying in little pieces --
Scattered all around.
My teares have run dry and you wonder why.
Ive found a new woman who dont do the things you can.
Oh, baby, I said youre breaking me up, woman.
Youre breaking me down.
Youre lying in little pieces --
Scattered all around.
song performed by Jethro Tull
Added by Lucian Velea
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