Quotes about girth, page 11
The Man to Follow
Apart from the crowd with its banter and mirth,
Sitting loose on his mare with an eye to the whins,
He has looked to his curb, he has tightened his girth,
He has marked out a place where the big double thins.
Here's a good one to follow,
To follow, to follow-
A good one to follow when business begins.
'Mid the murmur of meeting, the laugh and the joke,
'Mid the trampling of horses, the cheer and the rate,
He has caught the low whimper when Challenger spoke
And has seen the raised hat of the man by the gate.
He's the right one to follow,
To follow, to follow,
The right one to follow and trust with your fate.
When they tumble from covert, each hound giving tongue,
When they carry it, confident, over the plough,
When the hurrying Field down the headland is strung,
Here's the man for your money! You follow him now!
He's the right one to follow,
To follow, to follow,
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poem by William Henry Ogilvie
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Message Ethereal...Part 4
Note: These poem excerpts are my independent works based on the story material of the Sanskrit poetic work ‘Megha Dhootham’(Cloud Messenger) by Poet Great Kaali Daasa- 5th centuary AD
(Please read the previous parts before reading this)
Yaksha’s appeasing words to the cloud continue...
15
O mighty Cloud, northwards as you move
My happiness knows no bounds;
^As you stroll, like a tusker huge
Spreading on earth your shadow’s girth,
Maids who look up to watch the sky,
Might wonder if there a hill that glides...
16
The mountain kings that protect bounds
Thinking another one of seamless bounds,
Might try to stop you as them you cross;
Careful you be not to combat them;
Northwards undaunted please you move;
You would meet her soon,
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poem by Kesav Venkat Easwaran
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The man in chrysanthemum land
There's a brave little berry-brown man
At the opposite side of the earth;
Of the White, and the Black, and the Tan,
He's the smallest in compass and girth.
O! he's little, and lively, and Tan,
And he's showing the world what he's worth.
For his nation is born, and its birth
Is for hardihood, courage, and sand,
So you take off your cap
To the brave little Jap
Who fights for Chrysanthemum Land.
Near the house that the little man keeps,
There's a Bug-a-boo building its lair;
It prowls, and it growls, and it sleeps
At the foot of his tiny back stair.
But the little brown man never sleeps,
For the Brownie will battle the Bear--
He has soldiers and ships to command;
So take off you cap
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poem by Emily Pauline Johnson
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The Progress of Poetry
The Farmer's Goose, who in the Stubble,
Has fed without Restraint, or Trouble;
Grown fat with Corn and Sitting still,
Can scarce get o'er the Barn-Door Sill:
And hardly waddles forth, to cool
Her Belly in the neighb'ring Pool:
Nor loudly cackles at the Door;
For Cackling shews the Goose is poor.
But when she must be turn'd to graze,
And round the barren Common strays,
Hard Exercise, and harder Fare
Soon make my Dame grow lank and spare:
Her Body light, she tries her Wings,
And scorns the Ground, and upward springs,
While all the Parish, as she flies,
Hear Sounds harmonious from the Skies.
Such is the Poet, fresh in Pay,
(The third Night's Profits of his Play;)
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poem by Jonathan Swift
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L. e. l.
'Whose heart was breaking for a little love.'
Downstairs I laugh, I sport and jest with all;
But in my solitary room above
I turn my face in silence to the wall;
My heart is breaking for a little love.
Though winter frosts are done,
And birds pair every one,
And leaves peep out, for springtide is begun.
I feel no spring, while spring is wellnigh blown,
I find no nest, while nests are in the grove:
Woe's me for mine own heart that dwells alone,
My heart that breaketh for a little love.
While golden in the sun
Rivulets rise and run,
While lilies bud, for springtide is begun.
All love, are loved, save only I; their hearts
Beat warm with love and joy, beat full thereof:
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poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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The Over-Fed Fuse
He has made many meals
On the Lib'rals of late,
And the way that he feels
May be judged by his state;
For the fact that he has indigestion
Is needless, almost, to relate.
In the Kingdom of wade
He has eaten with zest;
That is plainly displayed
By the girth of his vest
Now he's hungrily eyeing McGowen
And Dacey and some of the rest.
With repletion he's sighed
In the south cabbage plot,
For he's quite satisfied
With the feed he has got;
For the Libs, they were many and juicy,
And lo, he has gobbled the lot.
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Conducted Tour
Walk up! Walk up to the Bureaucratic Fair!
All the tasters and the testers and the tallymen are there.
All the freaks and other fancies of the mighty tax machine.
A unique conglomeration not believed until it's seen.
Walk up! Walk up to the strangest show on earth!
And learn how the tax-collection costs near all a tax is worth;
Learn all about the latest departmental funny cracks.
Buy your tickets at the window. Two and six - plus tax.
Come and see the biscuit-biter. No performance could be brighter.
Learn how shortbread can affect the human girth.
Come and see the pastry chewer. Green complexioned, but a doer
Holds the cup for the most bilious bloke on earth!
Come and see the lip-stick licker. Quick as lightning - even quicker
Picks the British from the foreign at a lick.
Come and help the politician patch the country's sad condition.
With the latest catch-a-penny parlor trick.
Come and see the cove so pure that he bans the literature
That all Britain may devour, and stays serene.
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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House of Cards
Spade:
A city of metallic urgency
Come, rape the society
Your blaring highways
Your drifting lightshows
I chocked on a shabby musing
Beneath the miasma of your gaiety
Swooning over codes and keys
Your filthy people don't care
Dispensing prisms into drivels
And you seek bereavement just to unravel
What the politics stymied
Oh, dour gloating can stifle
And turn your people to scornful nihilists.
Clover:
A country overweening of poverty
Preyed by ravenous double-standards
I gorge in neon-signs and hazards
Incorporeal desires and volition
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poem by Norman Santos
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Naked Pearl Of Lust (Triple Acrostic)
My kisses miss your sweet kisses; and when I'm lonely, I
yearn for your open arms. Now, my life is an anathema,
hardly worth the mention nor open for debate. No great gem
ever glows without the light. When the moon shines over sea,
a particular thing happens, the moon makes magic while shining down.
Rivers run into the heart. Everything whispers of love; and a
tidal wave of desire rushes through the soul. A blushing cheek
is kissed by silken lips, open in amorous affection and love.
Sweet effluence of the night! Universe of stars! I am embraced
in the arms of eternity, clinging to the pleasures I keep,
never knowing if or when he will suddenly disappear with the
yellow lantern of the moon. My breasts mingle with the sea -
orphic nipples on azure ripples, echoes of ecstasy; and the nebular
universe may stop turning but the heart blossoms like the soil.
Ravenously hungry, it desires more - always deeper than the sea - so
hungry for an undying love, searching calmly and so certain of
a never-ending triumphant bliss. The heart is like a pearl -
naked in length and girth - enjoying the moist and wet milieu.
Discover this pearl of love. Make metaphors move magic within us,
salaciously sliding into my sex, erupting in scarlet lips of lust.
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poem by Linda Marie Van Tassell
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Ballad of the Old Cypress
In front of the temple of Chu-ko Liang there is an old cypress. Its branches
are like green bronze; its roots like rocks; around its great girth of forty
spans its rimy bark withstands the washing of the rain. Its jet-colored top
rises two thousand feet to greet the sky. Prince and statesman have long since
paid their debt to time; but the tree continues to be cherished among men. When
the clouds come, continuous vapors link it with the mists of the long Wu
Gorge; and when the moon appears, the cypress tree shares the chill of the
Snowy Mountains' whiteness.
I remember a year or so ago, where the road wound east round my Brocade
River pavilion, the First Ruler and Chu-ko Liang shared the same shrine. There,
too, were towering cypresses, on the ancient plain outside the city. The paint-
work of the temple's dark interior gleamed dully through derelict doors and
windows. But this cypress here, though it holds its ground well, clinging with
wide-encompassing, snake-like hold, yet, because of its lonely height rising
into the gloom of the sky, meets much of the wind's fierce blast. Nothing but
the power of Divine Providence could have kept it standing for so long; its
straightness must be the work of the Creator himself! If a great hall had
collapsed and beams for it were needed, ten thousand oxen might turn their
heads inquiringly to look at such a mountain of a load. But it is already
marvel enough to astonish the world, without any need to undergo a craftsman's
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