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Move We Adjourn

When I'm weary of argument wordy
And tired of continuous debate,
When the speaker like some hurdy gurdy,
Which carries on early and late,
Keeps up a monotonous bellow
On lessons I don't want to learn,
'Tis then I give cheers for the fellow
Who rises and moves to adjourn.

There are motions to lay on the table,
There are motions for this and for that,
And I stick just as long as I'm able
And hark to the chatterer’s chat,
I stand for the rising thanks motion
For the one who has done a good turn,
But my friend is the chap with the notion
To get up and move to adjourn.

There are some who like papers and speeches,
And open discussions of things,

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poem by Edgar Albert Guest
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M'Fingal - Canto II

The Sun, who never stops to dine,
Two hours had pass'd the mid-way line,
And driving at his usual rate,
Lash'd on his downward car of state.
And now expired the short vacation,
And dinner o'er in epic fashion,
While all the crew, beneath the trees,
Eat pocket-pies, or bread and cheese,
(Nor shall we, like old Homer, care
To versify their bill of fare)
Each active party, feasted well,
Throng'd in, like sheep, at sound of bell;
With equal spirit took their places,
And meeting oped with three Oh Yesses:
When first, the daring Whigs t' oppose,
Again the great M'Fingal rose,
Stretch'd magisterial arm amain,
And thus resumed th' accusing strain.

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poem by John Trumbull
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Hudibras: Part 2 - Canto I

THE ARGUMENT

The Knight by damnable Magician,
Being cast illegally in prison,
Love brings his Action on the Case.
And lays it upon Hudibras.
How he receives the Lady's Visit,
And cunningly solicits his Suite,
Which she defers; yet on Parole
Redeems him from th' inchanted Hole.

But now, t'observe a romantic method,
Let bloody steel a while be sheathed,
And all those harsh and rugged sounds
Of bastinadoes, cuts, and wounds,
Exchang'd to Love's more gentle stile,
To let our reader breathe a while;
In which, that we may be as brief as
Is possible, by way of preface,
Is't not enough to make one strange,

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poem by Samuel Butler
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Last Instructions to a Painter

After two sittings, now our Lady State
To end her picture does the third time wait.
But ere thou fall'st to work, first, Painter, see
If't ben't too slight grown or too hard for thee.
Canst thou paint without colors? Then 'tis right:
For so we too without a fleet can fight.
Or canst thou daub a signpost, and that ill?
'Twill suit our great debauch and little skill.
Or hast thou marked how antic masters limn
The aly-roof with snuff of candle dim,
Sketching in shady smoke prodigious tools?
'Twill serve this race of drunkards, pimps and fools.
But if to match our crimes thy skill presumes,
As th' Indians, draw our luxury in plumes.
Or if to score out our compendious fame,
With Hooke, then, through the microscope take aim,
Where, like the new Comptroller, all men laugh
To see a tall louse brandish the white staff.
Else shalt thou oft thy guiltless pencil curse,
Stamp on thy palette, not perhaps the worse.

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poem by Andrew Marvell
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A motion to adjourn is always in order.

Robert Heinlein in Lazarus Long: Time Enough For Love
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Agumey

Involvement,
Substantiate,
A panellist;
But to adjourn the case with the help og your friend called Agumey!
And, to expose the errant judge was like the muse of your jokes;
However, help maintain the sanctity of the system in this town.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Marching Troops

Exert distance and take gigantic steps,
With pity the wicked shall make steps:
Who shall win and adjourn?
Who will carry the flag of victory?
A race is won on the steps taken,
And innocence must win again.
Soldiers who do hear the request of their generals,
Will face death when the dying occurs,
No soldier or troop or cavalier is exempt - they grind.
Who shall gain their victory?
You know and you know.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Criminal System

Crime penetrates the system often then,
The system is a work to love and share,
Juice drunk and done is like the one affair
That causes drink to be that drunk again.
To be a felony says much badmen,
They all just cheat and curse the very air,
Like witches with their broomsticks, so beware!
The women aren’t that sick clever huntsmen.

We seize a man by throat and kick him down,
He needed laws to concentrate and learn,
Instead the law is lenient to him.
Or so it seems to him, then button-down
I think to him, so carefully adjourn
The sessions of the court that are all grim.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Torquay

The tide is now far out of reach, of the beach,
And so there are miles of sand, a sight so grand,
A lighthouse takes a stand, long time unmanned,
While seagulls veer and fly inland, up the strand.
Boats are following the tide, and smoothly glide,
And salty winds beat the distant waves, to the caves.

And I sit here on weathered rocks, without my socks,
Looking out across the sea, in a warm Torquay.
Along the curving promenade, the Med's displayed,
With luscious palms of green, which set the scene.
And rising up behind the bay, a strange jumbled array,
Of holiday apartments, most are let, with a kitchenette.

Here with their lists of guarantees, row's of neat, clean B & B's
Are waiting for rooms to be vacated, ready for those awaited,
With no fixed times for meals, for that is what appeals
To the weekly and fortnightly partakers, and early wakers.
And here I am dangling my toes, and writing some prose.
A better life than this, could not exist, it is sheer bliss.

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poem by Ernestine Northover
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The Day's Ration

When I was born,
From all the seas of strength Fate filled a chalice,
Saying, This be thy portion, child; this chalice,
Less than a lily's, thou shalt daily draw
From my great arteries; nor less, nor more.
All substances the cunning chemist Time
Melts down into that liquor of my life,
Friends, foes, joys, fortunes, beauty, and disgust,
And whether I am angry or content,
Indebted or insulted, loved or hurt,
All he distils into sidereal wine,
And brims my little cup; heedless, alas!
Of all he sheds how little it will hold,
How much runs over on the desert sands.
If a new muse draw me with splendid ray,
And I uplift myself into her heaven,
The needs of the first sight absorb my blood,
And all the following hours of the day
Drag a ridiculous age.
To-day, when friends approach, and every hour

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poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson
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