The Muddy
Puddle
by Dennis Lee
I am sitting in the middle
Of a rather Muddy Puddle,
With my bottom full of bubbles
And my rubbers full of mud,
While my jacket and my sweater
Go on slowly getting wetter
As I very slowly settle
To the Bottom of the Mud.
And I find that what a person
With a puddle round his middle
Thinks of mostly in the muddle
Is the Muddiness of Mud.
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Bigamy is having one wife too many. Monogamy is the same. -- Oscar
Wilde
Could Have
Been Worse
by Bill Dodds
My friends have not seen London,
They've never been to France,
But yesterday at recess
They saw my underpants.
I kicked a ball, my skirt flew up,
And I know what they saw.
The girls all stared and blushed and laughed,
The boys said, "Oo-la-la!"
I've thought a lot about it.
This conclusion I have drawn:
I'm embarrassed that they saw them,
But I'm glad I had them on.
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The art of flying is to throw yourself at the ground and miss. --
Douglas Adams
To A Lady
by Franklin P. Adams
Many a fairer face than yours,
Many a keener mind,
Many a girl with added lure
Isn't hard to find.
Yours no face to launch a ship,
Yours no lovely tress;
Downy cheek or carmine lip
You do not possess.
Yours is not the charm of youth;
Yours nor grace nor wit.
And I -- since you want the truth --
Don't like you a bit.
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"A synonym is a word you use when you can't spell the word
you first thought
of."
-- Burt Bacharach
Homework!
Oh, Homework!
by Jack Prelutsky
Homework! Oh, Homework!
I hate you! You stink!
I wish I could wash you
away in the sink,
if only a bomb would explode you to bits.
Homework! Oh, Homework!
You're giving me fits.
I'd rather take baths
with a man-eating shark,
or wrestle a lion
alone in the dark,
eat spinach and liver,
pet ten porcupines,
than tackle the homework
my teacher assigns.
Homework! Oh, Homework!
You're last on my list,
I simply can't see
why you even exist,
if you just disappeared
it would tickle me pink.
Homework! Oh, Homework!
I hate you! You stink!
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"Blessed is he who expects nothing, for he
shall never be disappointed."
-- Jonathan
Swift
Waiters
Mary Ann Hoberman
Dining with his oldest daughter
Dad forgot to order water.
Daughter quickly called the waiter.
Waiter said he'd bring it later.
So she waited, did the daughter,
Till the waiter brought her water.
When he poured it for her later,
Which one would you call the waiter?
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"Winter must be cold for those with no warm
memories...
we've already missed the
spring."
Deborah Kerr in An Affair to Remember
Accidentally
by Maxine W. Kumin
Once -- I didn't mean to,
but that was that --
I yawned in the sunshine
and swallowed a gnat.
I'd rather eat mushrooms
and bullfrogs' legs,
I'd rather have pepper
all over my eggs
than open my mouth
on a sleepy day
and close on a gnat
going down that way
It tasted sort of salty.
It didn't hurt a bit.
I accidentally ate a gnat
and that
was
it!
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Sir, if you were my husband, I would poison your drink.
--Lady Astor to Winston Churchill
Madam, if you were my wife, I would drink it.
-- His reply
Honey, I Love
by Eloise Greenfield
I love
I love a lot of things, a whole lot of things
Like
My cousin comes to visit and you know he's from the South
Cause every word he says just kind of slides out of his mouth
I like the way he whistles and I like the way he walks
But honey. let me tell you that I LOVE the way he talks
I love the way my cousin talks
and
The day is hot and icky and the sun sticks to my
skin
Mr. Davis turns the hose on, everybody jumps right in
The water stings my stomach and I feel so nice and cool
Honey, let me tell you that I LOVE a flying pool
I love to feel a flying pool
and
Renee comes out to play and brings her doll
without a dress
l make a dress with paper and that doll sure looks a mess
We laugh so loud and long and hard the doll falls to the ground
Honey, let me let you that I LOVE the laughing sound
I love to make the laughing sound
and
My uncle's car is crowded and there's lots of food
to eat
We're going down the country where the church folks like to meet
I'm looking out the window at the cows and trees outside
Honey. let me tell you that I LOVE to take a ride
I love to take a family ride
and
My mama's on the sofa sewing buttons on my coat
I go and sit beside her. I'm through playing with my boat
I hold her arm and kiss it cause it feels so soft and warm
Honey, let me tell you that I LOVE my mama's arm
I love to kiss my mama's arm
and
It's not so late at night, but still I'm lying in
my bed
I guess I need my rest. at least that's what my mama said
She told me not to cry 'cause she don't want to hear a peep
Honey, let me tell you I DON'T love to go to sleep
I do not love to go to sleep
But I love
I love a lot of things, a whole lot of things
And honey, I love you. too
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Lady
Astor: "Mr. Churchill, you're drunk!"
Winston Churchill: "Yes, and you, Madam, are ugly.
But tomorrow, I shall be sober, and you will still be
ugly."
These
special Wishes
by Linda Sackett-Morrison
When you close your eyes at the end of each day, I
wish you contented and peaceful sleep.
When you are fearful or uncertain, I wish for warmth and light to
surround you.
When you dream, I wish you soaring images and endless
possibilities.
When you wake each morning, I wish you the joy of anticipating a
beautiful day ahead.
When you face problems, I wish you boundless strength and to guide
you.
When you walk along your path, I wish you lasting friendships to
brighten your way.
Most of all, I wish you love... to fill your heart and make your
world complete
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| Inigo Montoya: |
You seem a decent fellow, I hate to kill you. |
| Westley: |
You seem a decent fellow, I hate to die. |
from The Princess Bride
Whisky Frisky
Whisky, frisky,
Hippity-hop
Up he goes
To the treetop!
Whirly, twirly.
Round and round,
Down he scampers
To the ground.
Furly, curly,
What a tail!
Tall as a feather,
Broad as a sail!
Where is his supper?
In the shell.
Snappity, crackity,
Out it fell.
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Am I going mad, or did the word "think"
escape your lips? You were not hired for your brains, you
hippopotamic land mass.
from The Princess Bride
Nightmare
by Judith Viorst
Beautiful beautiful Beverly
Has asked me to a dance.
And I am dressed
In all my best:
My purple shirt,
My buckskin vest,
My cowboy boots,
My -- oops!
Where are my pants?
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| What have I ever done to make
your life miserable, sir? |
| You got up this morning, didn't
you? |
|
from Outbreak
Autobiography
in Five Short Chapters
CHAPTER ONE
I walk down the street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk
I fall in.
I am lost.... I am helpless
It isn't my fault
It takes forever to find a way out
CHAPTER TWO
I walk down the same street
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk
I pretend I don't see it
I fall in again.
I can't believe I am in this same place
But, it isn't my fault
It still takes a long time to get out.
CHAPTER THREE
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I see it is there.
I still fall in... it's a habit... but,
my eyes are open.
I know where I am.
It is my fault.
I get out immediately.
CHAPTER FOUR
I walk down the same street.
There is a deep hole in the sidewalk.
I walk around it.
CHAPTER FIVE
I walk down another street.
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A Thought
by J. K. Stephen
If all the harm that women have done
Were put in a bundle and rolled into one,
Earth would not hold it,
The sky could not enfold it,
It could not be lighted nor warmed by the sun;
Such masses of evil
Would puzzle the devil,
And keep him in fuel while Time's wheels run.
But if all the harm that's been done by men
Were doubled, and doubled, and doubled again,
And melted and fused into vapor, and then
Were squared and raised to the power of ten,
There wouldn't be nearly enough, not near,
To keep a small girl for the tenth of a year.
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When You're
Away
by Samuel Hoffenstein
When you're away, I'm restless, lonely,
Wretched, bored, dejected; only
Here's the rub, my darling dear,
I feel the same when you are near.
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Eletelephony
by Laura E. Richards
Once there was an elephant,
Who tried to use the telephant --
No! no! I mean an elephone
Who tried to use the telephone --
(Dear me! I am not certain quite
That even now I've got it right.)
Howe'er it was, he got his trunk
Entangled in the telephunk;
The more he tried to get it free,
The louder buzzed the telephee --
(I fear I'd better stop the song
Of elephop and telephong!)
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Fuzzy Wuzzy
Fuzzy Wuzzy was a bear;
Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair.
If Fuzzy Wuzzy had no hair,
He wasn't fuzzy, was he?
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Careless Talk
by Mark Hollis
Bill was ill.
In his delirium
He talked about Miriam.
This was an error
As his wife was a terror
Known as Joan.
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If
by Rudyard Kipling
If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,
But make allowance for their doubting too:
If you can wait and not be tired by waiting,
Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies,
Or being hated don't give way to hating,
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise;
If you can dream---and not make dreams your master;
If you can think---and not make thoughts your aim,
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster
And treat those two impostors just the same:.
If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,
And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools;
If you can make one heap of all your winnings
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,
And lose, and start again at your beginnings,
And never breathe a word about your loss:
If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew
To serve your turn long after they are gone,
And so hold on when there is nothing in you
Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!"
If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,
Or walk with Kings---nor lose the common touch,
If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,
If all men count with you, but none too much:
If you can fill the unforgiving minute
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,
And---which is more---you'll be a Man, my son!
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Stopping
By Woods On A Snowy Evening
by Robert Lee Frost
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village, though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it's queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there's some mistake.
The only other sound's the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark, and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
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The Road Not
Taken
by Robert Lee Frost
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that, the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
tow roads diverged in a wood, and I --
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
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| Natalya Siminova: |
Do you destroy every vehicle you get into? |
| James Bond: |
Standard operating procedure. |
from Golden Eye
Lenore
by Edgar Allen Poe
Ah, broken is the golden bowl! the spirit flown forever!
Let the bell toll!- a saintly soul floats on the Stygian river;
And, Guy de Vere, hast thou no tear?- weep now or nevermore!
See! on yon drear and rigid bier low lies thy love, Lenore!
Come! let the burial rite be read- the funeral song be sung!-
An anthem for the queenliest dead that ever died so young-
A dirge for her the doubly dead in that she died so young.
"Wretches! ye loved her for her wealth and hated her for her
pride,
And when she fell in feeble health, ye blessed her- that she died!
How shall the ritual, then, be read?- the requiem how be sung
By you- by yours, the evil eye,- by yours, the slanderous tongue
That did to death the innocence that died, and died so
young?"
Peccavimus; but rave not thus! and let a Sabbath song
Go up to God so solemnly the dead may feel no wrong.
The sweet Lenore hath "gone before," with Hope, that
flew beside,
Leaving thee wild for the dear child that should have been thy
bride.
For her, the fair and debonair, that now so lowly lies,
The life upon her yellow hair but not within her eyes
The life still there, upon her hair- the death upon her eyes.
"Avaunt! avaunt! from fiends below, the indignant ghost is
riven-
From Hell unto a high estate far up within the Heaven-
From grief and groan, to a golden throne, beside the King of
Heaven!
Let no bell toll, then,- lest her soul, amid its hallowed mirth,
Should catch the note as it doth float up from the damned Earth!
And I!- to-night my heart is light!- no dirge will I upraise,
But waft the angel on her flight with a Paean of old days!"
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Do
Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
by Dylan Thomas
Do not go gentle into that good night,
Old age should burn and rave at close of day;
Rage, rage against the dying of the light!
Though wise men at their end know dark is right,
Because their words had forked no lightning they
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright
Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light!
Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight,
And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way,
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight
Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay,
Rage, rage against the dying of the light!
And you, my father, there on the sad height,
Curse me, bless me, now with your fierce tears, I pray.
Do not go gentle into that good night.
Rage, rage against the dying of the light!
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The
New Colossus
by Emma Lazarus
Not like the brazen giant of Greek fame,
With conquering limbs astride from land to land;
Here at our sea-washed, sunset gates shall stand
A mighty woman with a torch, whose flame
Is the imprisoned lightning, and her name
Mother of Exiles. From her beacon-hand
Glows world-wide welcome; her mild eyes command
The air-bridged harbor that twin cities frame.
"Keep, ancient lands, your storied pomp!" cries she
With silent lips. "Give me your tired, your poor,
Your huddled masses yearning to breathe free,
The wretched refuse of your teeming shore.
Send these, the homeless, tempest-tost to me,
I lift my lamp beside the golden door!"
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An Irish Airman
Foresees his Death
by William Yeats
I know that I shall meet my fate
Somewhere among the clouds above;
Those that I fight I do not hate,
Those that I guard I do not love;
My country is Kiltartan Cross,
My countrymen Kiltartan's poor,
No likely end could bring them loss
Or leave them happier than before.
Nor law, nor duty bade me fight,
Nor public men, nor cheering crowds,
A lonely impulse of delight
Drove to this tumult in the clouds;
I balanced all, brought all to mind,
The years to come seemed waste of breath,
A waste of breath the years behind
In balance with this life, this death.
