Everything Happens To Me

Matt dennis / tom adair
Black cats creep across my path
Until Im almost mad
I must have roused the devils wrath
cause all my luck is bad
I make a date for golf and you can bet your life it rains
I try to give a party and the guy upstairs complains
I guess Ill go thru life kust catchin colds and missin trains
Everything happens to me
I never miss a thing
Ive had the measels and the mumps
And every time I play an ace
My partner always trumps
Guess Im just a fool who never looks before he jumps
Everything happens to me
At first my heart thot you could break this jinx for me
That love would turn the trick to end despair
But know I just cant fool this head that thinks for me
Ive mortgaged all my castlesin the air
Ive telegraphed and phoned

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song performed by Billie Holiday
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The Ebb of Day

The ebb of day has now begun;
The waters to the low west crowd;
But one forgotten wisp of cloud
Glows like a fragment of the sun,
And stranded on the shores of Night,
Where ‘gainst the sky the telegraph
Stretching his dim, audacious path
Defiantly to heaven aspires,
There lies a maiden, drowned and white—
The torn Moon tangled in the wires!

poem by Arthur Henry Adams
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They put Us far apart

474

They put Us far apart—
As separate as Sea
And Her unsown Peninsula—
We signified "These see"—

They took away our Eyes—
They thwarted Us with Guns—
"I see Thee" each responded straight
Through Telegraphic Signs—

With Dungeons—They devised—
But through their thickest skill—
And their opaquest Adamant—
Our Souls saw—just as well—

They summoned Us to die—
With sweet alacrity
We stood upon our stapled feet—

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poem by Emily Dickinson
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Heavy Water

I walked out in the city night,
A burning in my eyes, like it was broad daylight.
And it was hot, down there in the crowd.
The stars went out behind a thunder cloud.
Chatter in the air, like a telegraph line.
Big drops hissing on the neon sign.
Thumping in my heart, and its hurting me to see.
Smokestack blowing, now theyre pouring
Heavy water on me.
She was a southern girl. we stared man to man.
I move like a stranger in this strange land.
She was a round hole, I was a square peg.
I watched the little black specks running down her leg.
Didnt seem to mind that dirty rain coming down ---
Shirt hanging open. she was wet and brown.
Thumping in my heart, and its hurting me to see.
Smokestack blowing, now theyre pouring
Heavy water on me.
What goes up has to fall back down.
Its no night to be out dancing in a party town

[...] Read more

song performed by Jethro Tull
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Changes

we do not pray for changes
they always come
and they disregard
those that do not welcome
their presence

when the texting came one day
the telegraphs and telegrams
have become so funny and
we all laugh about sheets of
paper travelling in air

who would have thought that
iron flies? that faces appear on
cellphones? that making love
can be as easily done
in cyberspace? so safe
and at no expense.

and who would have thought

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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London Dawn

Dawn comes up on London,
And night's undone.
Stars are routed
And street lamps outed.
Sodden great clouds begin sail again
Like all-night anchored galleons to the main
From careful shallows to the far-withdrawn
Wide outer seas of sky,
Sleepers above river change their pain,
Lockhart's shows lively up Blackfriars Lane
Motors dash by
With 'Mirrors', 'Mails', 'Telegraphs' what not?
South shore of Thames on London shows a blot,
And first careful coffee-stall is withdrawn.

Only the poet strolls about at ease,
Wondering what mortal thing his soul may please,
And spitting at the drains, while Paul's as ever
Is mighty and a king of sky and river,
And cares no more, Much-Father, for this one

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poem by Ivor Gurney
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Do You Believe In God?

The Universe unfolds each day, God's map for lost Mankind,
Yet to the sun and moon some pray with faith that's oh so blind.
The Universe holds secrets still, alignments in the stars,
Perhaps one day we'll get a thrill from Jupiter and Mars.

The Universe sends forth its sounds like Morse Code from above,
But even while noise does the rounds, there's not one word of love.
The Universe has stars to spare and yet what are these worth?
So I believe it's best to care about what's here on Earth.

This Sacred Earth is where Christ trod as He preached to and fro
And where He led the lost to God... and bled... His love to show...
This Sacred Earth stores memories of Calvary and more,
Of Israel and God's prophecies fulfilled and yet in store.

This Sacred Earth still spins in space awaiting Christ's return...
For miracles that must take place and lessons Man must learn.
This Sacred Earth obeys God's Laws - it's us God must forgive.
Faith's choice is mine and also yours. Christ died that we might live.

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poem by Denis Martindale
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Sersmith the Dentist

Do you think that odes and sermons,
And the ringing of church bells,
And the blood of old men and young men,
Martyred for the truth they saw
With eyes made bright by faith in God,
Accomplished the world's great reformations?
Do you think that the Battle Hymn of the Republic
Would have been heard if the chattel slave
Had crowned the dominant dollar,
In spite of Whitney's cotton gin,
And steam and rolling mills and iron
And telegraphs and white free labor?
Do you think that Daisy Fraser
Had been put out and driven out
If the canning works had never needed
Her little house and lot?
Or do you think the poker room
Of Johnnie Taylor, and Burchard's bar
Had been closed up if the money lost
And spent for beer had not been turned,

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poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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The Coast: Norfolk

As on the highway's quiet edge
He mows the grass beside the hedge,
The old man has for company
The distant, grey, salt-smelling sea,
A poppied field, a cow and calf,
The finches on the telegraph.
Across his faded back a hone,
He slowly, slowly scythes alone
In silence of the wind-soft air,
With ladies' bedstraw everywhere,
With whitened corn, and tarry poles,
And far-off gulls like risen souls.

poem by Frances Darwin Cornford
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Do I Really Like Being Lonely?

here you are, a vortex,
and i am a point just below the line that runs
like a bridge
trying to connect us both
as though
we are one kind of a
connection: a telegraphic wire
a letter between two lonely people
or a chat
an email that has not been read for five days,
here you are, saying lots of irreconcilable
concepts: loneliness is a friend
a company
and loneliness actually is likable
like it is sort of a friend
who keeps me company

you are telling me that
loneliness is happiness:

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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Writing Evolution: From Mud To Cyberspace

ancient Sumerians Babylonians wrote in cuneiform on clay tablets
pictogram wedges scribe written with a reed stick or stylus
ancient Egyptians wrote in pictures of an object with hieroglyphs
representing a word idea or sound written on papyrus reeds...

ancient Greece wrote with hieroglyphs then sylabic alphabets
originating in Minoan culture Linear A to B on tablets or scrolls
ancient Rome wrote in Greek Latin on schoolboy wax tablets
using pointed metal stylus or literature propaganda on scrolls...

the Middle Ages used the codex books originating with the Romans
described in the 1st-century AD vellum hand written paper sheets
the Holy Roman Empire used printing on existing screw presses
German Johannes Gutenberg inks rapid metal movable-type faces...

newspapers telegraphs type writers fax email internet worldwide webs
hand phones personal computers achieving instant communications
now globally adults children write on hand phones learn computers
tablets to clothes comps then techno implanted communication devices

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Ode to Friendship

This is a special ode to friendship
whispers of urgent telegraphic message
running through the membership
dormant friends given the delet passage
lack the ethos of apt consistency
a few real friends are always contributing
their smiles interest the tendency
not shaky, not silent but always inviting

why do you see my COF and whistle
“Boy! Nice pretty chicks you got smiling there
his only chick slept and on a trestle
I smiled at him, “these are real cool friends here
I trim, water them, always nurture
I must only plant a few flowers I well care for
so that their fresh smells give pleasure
he wept “yours smell sweet, mine like camphor

stop crying Boy! Go back to your garden
trim your flowers, reduce their size take just a few

[...] Read more

poem by Dela Bobobee
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Twilight

Electric moons glow
On long bent stalks
The telegraph wires hum
In gentle unseen hands;

Circular amber clock faces
Brighten like magic above the crowd,
And a cool calm alights
On the parched slabs of pavement.

Beneath the fluttery, beguiling net
The misty park grows quiet,
And with a smile, evening kisses
The eyes of passing courtesans.

With the soft sounds of a clavier -
The faraway day murmurs...
O twilight! Mercy of the world
Dawn once again upon me!

poem by Valery Yaklovich Bryusov
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On the way back [La întoarcere]

The wind flows towards the plains
And the ground will sweep.
Come to life all plants and grains,
Fields are all asleep.

Here and there it bears a load,
Whitish clouds of dust...
Near the narrow even road
Telegraph poles rust

(Back to back, straight lonely staffs,
Smoke rolls, bluish-gray,
Long like necks of wild giraffes)
Strung along the way.

To the steeples of the town
Stare while losing hope...
Scared that night is falling down
And they cannot cope.

poem by George Topîrceanu, translated by Octavian Cocoş
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A World Poetry Day!

Everyday is ever poetry day for poet!
World poetry day is poetry celebration
Especially for world people to honour
Poetry of all writings of the world ever!

Novels, stories and articles are in vogue
But poetry cannot be ever left as vague!
Matter of a book, a few pages of story or
An article of length Poetry says in a line!

Poetry is the essence of matters in nutshell,
A seed that grows into big tree with leaves,
Flowers and fruits to please and guide all
To live life better loving Nature and lives!

Sans the inspiration of religious philosophy
Said in echoing verses of world where is it
One can get solace and wisdom to face woes
Struggling on the ocean of life to swim or sink?

[...] Read more

poem by Ramesh T A
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Moonlight In Vermont

Pennies in a stream
Falling leaves a sycamore
Moonlight in vermont
Gentle finger waves
Ski trails down a mountain side
Snowlight in vermont
Telegraph cables, how they sing down the highway
As they travel each bend in the road
And when people meet, in this romantic setting
Theyre so hypnotized be the lovely...
Evening summer breeze
Sweet warblings of the meadowlark
Moonlight in vermont

song performed by Ella Fitzgerald
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6943

(On seeing Umberto Boccioni's 1911 painting 'States of Mind-The Farewells')

Couples kiss in khaki shadows,
cascading into carriages' cavernous mouths.
A ribbon of fire is laid on the platform
as the train rolls ominously through,
a juggernaut of lamps and numbers,
panting a fog to embrace and envelop
those who thought they were spectators.
Telegraph wires, above it all,
pass the train from section to section,
oblivious to the shadows' final destination,
though the fire, fog and frenzy
hint at the hell to come.

poem by Wild Bill Balding
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Fugue For Tinhorns

I got the horse right here
His name is Paul Revier
And here's a guy who says if the weather's clear
Can do,can do
This guy says the horse can do
Can do ,can do
I'm picking valentine
Cause on the morning line
The guy has got him figured 5 to 9
Has a chance, has a chance
This guy say the horse has a chance
If he says the horse has a chance
Has a chance, has a chance
No way
For Paul Revier I'll bite
I hear his foots alright
Of course it all depends
If it rained last night
I know it's valentine
The morning word the find

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song performed by Barry Manilow
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Uncle Bill

My Uncle Bill! My Uncle Bill!
How doth my heart with anguish thrill!
For he, our chief, our Robin Hood,
Has gone to jail for stealing wood!
With tears and sobs my voice I raise
To celebrate my uncle's praise;
With all my strength, with all my skill,
I'll sing the song of Uncle Bill."
Convivial to the last degree,
An open-hearted sportsman he.
Did midnight howls our slumbers rob,
We said, "It's uncle 'on the job'."
When sounds of fight rang sharply out,
Then Bill was bound to be about,
The foremost figure in "the scrap",
A terror to the local "trap".
To drink, or fight, or maim, or kill,
Came all alike to Uncle Bill.
And when he faced the music's squeak
At Central Court before the beak,

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poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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The Puzzler

The Celt in all his variants from Builth to Ballyhoo,
His mental processes are plain--one knows what he will do,
And can logically predicate his finish by his start;
But the English--ah, the English!--they are quite a race apart.

Their psychology is bovine, their outlook crude and raw.
They abandon vital matters to be tickled with a straw;
But the straw that they were tickled with-the chaff that they were fed with--
They convert into a weaver's beam to break their foeman's head with.

For undemocratic reasons and for motives not of State,
They arrive at their conclusions--largely inarticulate.
Being void of self-expression they confide their views to none;
But sometimes in a smoking-room, one learns why things were done.

Yes, sometimes in a smoking-room, through clouds of "Ers" an "Ums,"
Obliquely and by inference, illumination comes,
On some step that they have taken, or some action they approve
Embellished with the argot of the Upper Fourth Remove.

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poem by Rudyard Kipling
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