Enigma

Come riddle-me-ree, come riddle-me-ree,
And tell me, what my name may be.
I am nearly one hundred and thirty years old,
And therefore no chicken, as you may suppose; --
Though a dwarf in my youth (as my nurses have told),
I have, ev'ry year since, been outgrowing my clothes;
Till, at last, such a corpulent giant I stand,
That if folks were to furnish me now with a suit,
It would take ev'ry morsel of scrip in the land
But to measure my bulk from the head to the foot.
Hence, they who maintain me, grown sick of my stature,
To cover me nothing but rags will supply;
And the doctors declare that, in due course of nature,
About the year 30 in rags I shall die.
Meanwhile I stalk hungry and bloated around,
An object of int'rest, most painful, to all;
In the warehouse, the cottage, the palace I'm found,
Holding citizen, peasant, and king in my thrall.
Then riddle-me-ree, oh riddle-me-ree,
Come, tell me what my name may be.

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poem by Thomas Moore
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The Journey Home

I arrive back at Gare Du Nord
Only to discover that I'm already off to a bad start.
Due to the heavy snowfall in the UK,
It's hours till my train will finally depart.

I join the already snaking queue,
And I can feel the panic rise inside,
But there's nothing I can do about it,
So my time, I just have to bide.

I listen to the bi-lingual announcements
Telling us there's at least a four hour delay.
I stand there feeling tense and tearful,
And in my head, I'm worrying away.

During my stay in Paris,
I didn't come across many Brits,
But now, stood here in this queue,
I realise many people here are my fellow citz.

[...] Read more

poem by Angela Wybrow
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L’Envoi: Brussels, Hotel Du Midi

IT'S copied out at last: very poor stuff
Writ in the cold, with pauses of the cramp.
Direct, dear William, to the Poste Restante
At Ghent—here written Gand—Gong, Hunticè.
We go to Antwerp first, but shall not stay;
After, to Ghent and Bruges; and after that
To Ostend, and thence home. To Waterloo
Was yesterday. Thither, and there, and back,
I managed to scrawl something,—most of it
Bad, and the sonnet at the close mere slosh.
'Twas only made because I was knocked up,
And it helped yawning. Take it, and the rest.

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Sunset Hill

(DickKellyMosleyRotheryTrewavas)
[The music for this song later became "The King Of Sunset Town"]
Everything to decide
It's time I came up with some answers before I can carry on
It's time I made my mind up before we can go along
And I thought it was so simple
And I knew that it could be so fine
I know that the places that everything comes
Rose beds scattered across the lawn
Like the squares at Waterloo
With the bayonets of thorns repelling
Small children in search of lost tennis balls
Seeing everything and giving their all
I used to be scared of heights
I used to get dizzy
I never felt safe with my feet on the ground
They said that up there the air would be clearer
They said more space and more room to breathe
Everything to the side
I knew that something would happen

[...] Read more

song performed by Marillion
Added by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet: Life’s Ambitions

If Life's a ship at sea with rafts and sail;
Our ambitions, the crew who steer it through;
And chance comes as a Wind or mighty gale,
That gives us success or our waterloo.

How must our Captain, Mind order his crew?
'The ship could sink, So, jump aboard, some men',
Keep ready the life-boats for saving few;
The rest can pray to God for quick haven.

Control, we must our desires, in life,
Our ambitions, need not be successful;
Life's safety first is what we choose in strife,
On Doomsday, soul must not be still sinful.

We aim to do the best we can on earth,
But ultimately, we aim for God's Mirth.

poem by John Celes
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Hildebrand

Who was frightened by a Passing Motor, and was brought to Reason

"Oh murder! What was that, Papa!"
"My child, It was a Motor-Car,
A most Ingenious Toy!
Designed to Captivate and Charm
Much rather than to rouse Alarm
In any English Boy.

"What would your Great Grandfather who
Was Aide-de-Camp to General Brue,
And lost a leg at Waterloo,
And Quatre-Bras and Ligny too!
And died at Trafalgar!-
What would he have remarked to hear
His Young Descendant shriek with fear,
Because he happened to be near
A Harmless Motor-Car!
But do not fret about it! Come!
We'll off to Town

[...] Read more

poem by Hilaire Belloc
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Sonnet- The World Today(1)

Oh, to what has this world come to, these days?
Nations expanding nuclear arsenals!
Terrorists and drug-lords active always!
Bomb culture fast spreading its tentacles!

Global security has been threatened;
Poor nations are suppressed by the rich ones!
The abyss of world trade has been deepened;
They dig the earth to find the soil’s true sons!

Computers have turned one’s life fast-forward!
Robots do much more things, men used to do;
Human beings have become too wayward;
One nation plans the other’s Waterloo!

Money-power rules all facets of life!
With mind’s peace lost, man is in utter strife.

poem by John Celes
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Sonnet: On After-life

That there's a life after our life on earth
Called After-life - none can deny at all!
Yet, most just care about life after birth,
Life here on earth - after Adam, Eve's fall!

As life on earth is unequal, unfair,
All are accountable to God some day,
When mankind also, 'special earth-ware',
Must get reward/ punishment anyway!

Though After-life is something science can't prove,
Nor can disprove its non-existence too,
Nevertheless, souls from their bodies move,
For answering their success/ Waterloo!

As man is given soul without a slant,
The unseen life is much more important.

Copyright by Dr John Celes 14-07-12

poem by John Celes
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A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet IX

These were in truth brave days. From our high perch,
The box--seat of our travelling chariot, then
We children spied the world 'twas ours to search,
And mocked like birds at manners and at men.
What wonders we beheld, Havre, Rouen, Caen,
The Norman caps, the Breton crowds in church,
The loyal Loire, the valorous Vendéen,
And all the Revolution left in lurch
That very year--things old as Waterloo.
But when we neared the mountains crowned with snows,
And heard the torrents roar, our wonder grew
Over our wit, and a new pleasure rose
Wild in our hearts, and stopped our tongues with dread,
The sense of death and beauty overhead.

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Sonnet: Corruption

If hand is greased, no art can be kept clean;
The ‘canvas’ if greased, none can paint on it;
A corrupt society doesn’t want a ‘saint, ’
Men who receive bribes can’t have a straight Dean.

There is no compromise on health matters;
The learned quack can’t make connect diagnosis;
Imagine his treatment and prognosis;
In live’s test-drive, there can’t be defaulters;

Why must you blame the cook for the poor broth?
Blame thyself for the bad ingredients;
A candle-light will attract any moth;
Don’t blame the clouds for being light or dense.

There is a limit for corruption too;
Realize and avoid your Waterloo!

poem by John Celes
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Sonnet: On Loving Your Foe

To love your foe is not an easy task;
A lot of patience is the factor main;
He sees your face of truth as one of mask,
And gestures kind, as ones with which you feign!

Your words of love from heart appear not so;
He always is wary of all you do;
He doubts your moves and invitations true;
He often dreams of his own waterloo!

Although you forgive him his trespasses,
He continues to be a fox so vile!
To bring your downfall, he sets up masses,
And pours out vulgar words akin to bile!

To love your foe is tougher than most things;
A lot of ugly situations, it brings!

‘Jesus wants us to love our enemies! '
Copyright by Dr John Celes 1-10-12

poem by John Celes
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On The Field Of Waterloo

So then, the name which travels side by side
With English life from childhood—Waterloo—
Means this. The sun is setting. “Their strife grew
Till the sunset, and ended,” says our guide.
It lacked the “chord” by stage-use sanctified,
Yet I believe one should have thrilled. For me,
I grinned not, and 'twas something;—certainly
These held their point, and did not turn but died:
So much is very well. “Under each span
Of these ploughed fields” ('tis the guide still) “there rot
Three nations' slain, a thousand-thousandfold.”
Am I to weep? Good sirs, the earth is old:
Of the whole earth there is no single spot
But hath among its dust the dust of man.

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Bag For Life

And so I blew it

And I some how I knew it, that

I would throw out the screwed up ends

The tighly coiled gut load of sentences

That discharged themselves randomly

In the supermarket

They gave me a 'bag for life! '

Somewhere on the journey I left it behind

At the point of exchange

Where there were no bins

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poem by Yvette Smith
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Waterborne love with Neptune’s Daughter

I’m goin’ wash you
right outa my hair
I’m goin ‘to wash you right outa’
this torrid affair,
I’m goin’ wash my hands
of you untrue
Once made my mouth water,
the likes of you,
You held my love like water
on a ducks back
You conniving water nymph
dressed in black,
Plying your waterborne love,
in you I did trust
Lying on your waterbed
goading my lust,
My God I knew this would
not hold water
Are you really the delinquent
Neptune’s daughter,

[...] Read more

poem by Ken e Hall
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Voices In The Dark

Voices in the subway,
Looking for the overnight.
Echo in the darkness,
Lonely cries within a sound.
A voice that has no face,
Is lost in time and inner space.
Chasing dreams that got lost in the dark.
Reaching out, always searching,
Lonely voices in the dark.
[this is surbiton, surbiton. the train at platform two is for wimblelton and
Waterloo only.]
Lonely voices in the dark.
Lonely voices in the dark.
A voice that has no face,
Is lost in time and inner space.
Chasing dreams that got lost in the dark.
Reaching out, always searching,
Lonely voices in the dark.
Lonely voices in the dark.
Lonely voices in the dark.

song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
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Carry Me On My Way

I forget what to ask for
There isnt anything I havent been given
How could I wish for anything more
As I am here living in heaven
This moment in the sun
To feel the wheel turning on
Carry me on my way
Carry me on my way
Carry me on my way
Carry me on my way
I worry about my actions
I think about the damage I do
Ive seen the coming attractions
Armageddon and waterloo
I tried to change my mind
I wasted precious time
(chorus)
Who knows where the time goes
Only everything is everything
Feels like Im wearing my fathers clothes

[...] Read more

song performed by James Taylor
Added by Lucian Velea
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Voices In The Dark (remix)

Voices in the subway,
Looking for the overnight.
Echo in the darkness,
Lonely cries within a sound.
A voice that has no face,
Is lost in time and inner space.
Chasing dreams that got lost in the dark.
Reaching out, always searching,
Lonely voices in the dark.
[This is Surbiton, Surbiton. The train at Platform Two is for Wimblelton and
Waterloo only.]
Lonely voices in the dark.
Lonely voices in the dark.
A voice that has no face,
Is lost in time and inner space.
Chasing dreams that got lost in the dark.
Reaching out, always searching,
Lonely voices in the dark.
Lonely voices in the dark.
Lonely voices in the dark.

song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
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Bully’s Waterloo

Some day you will meet your Waterloo
Who's someone sick just like you,
Another with an inferior complex
Preying on the weak satisfying your vex,
Coercing your will with fear
Planning your ploy on someone’s son so dear,
The centre of your gang with babbling brains
Just to satisfy your twisted complex gains,
You start young always at any school
In life’s hindsight you are the cunning fool.
Just for all too fully understand you fully
You are the dumb cluck school bully,
What you don’t understand some time in life
In years ahead you may be in a life threatening strife,
Laid on an operating table under the surgeons skill
Who is the very schoolboy you made unhappy and ill,
We all need someone’s help in our life and expect
Thru our life servility freedom and respect,
The bully’s days are numbered now
U tube has shown us how.

poem by Ken e Hall
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Everything Is Different In Africa

Everything is different in Africa.
Strange stars by night look down,
And threepence is called a tickey
And a florin’s like half-a-crown.

Everything is different in Africa;
Hardly a thing’s the same,
And any that are are mostly
Called by a different name.

“Everything is different in Africa,”
I thought - till my gaze did roam
By chance to some words familiar
That seemed like a voice from Home.

And still as the train rolled onward
They sang through my brain all night,
While the dust of the Kalahari
Sat on me, fine and white.

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poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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Kinsey Keene

Your attention, Thomas Rhodes, president of the bank;
Coolbaugh Wedon, editor of the Argus;
Rev. Peet, pastor of the leading church;
A.D. Blood, several times Mayor of Spoon River;
And finally all of you, members of the Social Purity Club--
Your attention to Cambronne's dying words,
Standing with heroic remnant
Of Napoleon's guard on Mount Saint Jean
At the battle field of Waterloo,
When Maitland, the Englishman, called to them:
"Surrender, brave Frenchmen!"--
There at close of day with the battle hopelessly lost,
And hordes of men no longer the army
Of the great Napoleon
Streamed from the field like ragged strips
Of thunder clouds in the storm.
Well, that Cambronne said to Maitland
Ere the English fire made smooth the brow of the hill
Against the sinking light of day
Say I to you, and all of you,

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poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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