Quotes about tawdry, page 2
Levi Becomes Matthew
You call me out
of my money hole
and tell me to take you
to my home?
How can a rabbi like you,
so well known,
healer and
Anointed One,
come into my
unclean house?
But, please, come along,
at any rate, and
let me show you
my tawdry place!
All my friends see us
on the stony road
and ask to join
my sinner's feast;
but after dinner
you gently teach
[...] Read more
poem by Steven Federle
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Upon Honour. A Fragment.
Honour, I say, or honest Fame,
I mean the substance, not the name;
(Not that light heap of tawdry wares,
Ermin, Coronets, and Stars,
Which often is by merit sought,
By gold and flatt'ry oft'ner bought.
The shade, for which Ambition looks,
In Selden's or in Ashmole's books):
But the true glory which proceeds,
Reflected bright from honest deeds,
Which we in our Own breast perceive,
And Kings can neither take nor give.
poem by Matthew Prior
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When I’m among a Blaze of Lights
When I’m among a blaze of lights,
With tawdry music and cigars
And women dawdling through delights,
And officers in cocktail bars,
Sometimes I think of garden nights
And elm trees nodding at the stars.
I dream of a small firelit room
With yellow candles burning straight,
And glowing pictures in the gloom,
And kindly books that hold me late.
Of things like these I choose to think
When I can never be alone:
Then someone says ‘Another drink?’
And turns my living heart to stone.
poem by Siegfried Sassoon
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Pigalle III - 0071 - Current Version
Life deplore,
futile stripper,
friendless whore,
vile bedsitter.
Scarlet lamp,
tarnished glitter,
dreary, damp,
sterile litter.
Sordid, sore,
sexless sister,
mindless, more,
senseless quitter.
Tawdry tramp,
fading flitter,
foetid framp,
nothing fitter?
[...] Read more
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Triumph of Man
I plod and peer amid mean sounds and shapes,
I hunt for dusty gain and dreary praise,
And slowly pass the dismal grinning days,
Monkeying each other like a line of apes.
What care? There was one hour amid all these
When I had stripped off like a tawdry glove
My starriest hopes and wants, for very love
Of time and desolate eternities.
Yea, for one great hour's triumph, not in me
Nor any hope of mine did I rejoice,
But in a meadow game of girls and boys
Some sunset in the centuries to be.
poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Wild Knight and Other Poems (1900)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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You'll find—it when you try to die
610
You'll find—it when you try to die—
The Easier to let go—
For recollecting such as went—
You could not spare—you know.
And though their places somewhat filled—
As did their Marble names
With Moss—they never grew so full—
You chose the newer names—
And when this World—sets further back—
As Dying—say it does—
The former love—distincter grows—
And supersedes the fresh—
And Thought of them—so fair invites—
It looks too tawdry Grace
To stay behind—with just the Toys
[...] Read more
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Forward Planning.
God rest ye greedy merchants all.
The time has come when you display
the tawdry goods you hope to sell
to foolish folk prepared to pay.
Much more than what your goods are worth.
To give as gifts on Christmas day
Your tills are ringing merrily
in tune with carols which you play
Creating an ambience which
encourages folks to spend.
A great deal more than otherwise
On which your profits will depend.
I have no doubt you’re planning to
make more profits at Easter too.
Saturday,27 November 2010
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Vanity
A wan sky greener than the lawn,
A wan lawn paler than the sky.
She gave a flower into my hand,
And all the hours of eve went by.
Who knows what round the corner waits
To smite? If shipwreck, snare, or slur
Shall leave me with a head to lift,
Worthy of him that spoke with her.
A wan sky greener than the lawn,
A wan lawn paler than the sky.
She gave a flower into my hand,
And all the days of life went by.
Live ill or well, this thing is mine,
From all I guard it, ill or well.
One tawdry, tattered, faded flower
To show the jealous kings in hell.
poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Wild Knight and Other Poems (1900)
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Asexual
Everything is a carbon copy
Squeezing-out of the original
Take that brunet, transsexual,
Nonchalantly-surveying, but genial
All fur coat and no knickers so trashy.
Longing to be a female
Might as well of been born an Airedale
Such legs as hers were meant to be female.
Such analytical tales of a tawdry life:
Could only come from; a misused, housewife.
If ever she were to become a genuine angel.
Wouldn't she then wish to be a male?
Every spore in every cell with less regale
Of cause we were all once asexual:
So to be without sin; truly is to be original.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Role-Reversal
Crammed in between a caravan estate,
a tawdry factory, suburban rail,
the cemetry sprawls beyond the pale,
no standing room for those who, anxious, wait
in no mad rush to be entitled ‘late’,
who’d give the lie to those with plots for sale,
to lie, not stand on ceremony’s nail.
Who’d jump the queue, their cue anticipate?
Apt conclusion to vain love and hate,
theescore ten squandered, - then no hope of bail -
when wicked wicket’s stumped proceed to jail.
Man, hunter role-reversed, turns maggot bait.
We, whisper on time’s breeze, no echo leave,
who resurrection wait themselves deceive.
(9 June 2007)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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