Quotes about mick, page 3
The Faltering Knight
It knocks me can in, this ere game uv life,
A bloke gets born, grows up, looks round fer fun,
Dreams dilly dreams, then wakes to find a wife
An' fambly round 'im - all 'is young days done.
An', gazin' back, sees in 'is youth a man
Scarce reckernised. It fair knocks in me can!
Ther's me. I never seemed to mark no change
As I mooched on through life frum year to year;
An' yet, at times it seems to me dead strange
That me, uv old, is me, 'oo's sittin' 'ere.
Per'aps it ain't. 'E was a crook young coot,
While I'm a sturdy farmer, growin' froot.
But, all the same, 'e wouldn't back an' fill,
An' argue with 'imself, an' 'esitate,
Once 'e 'ad seen the way. 'E'd find the will
To go an' do the thing 'e 'ad to, straight.
That's 'ow I was; an' now-Ar, strike a light!
Life gits so mixed I can't git nothin' right.
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Push
Becos a crook done in a prince, an' narked an Emperor,
An' struck a light that set the world aflame;
Becos the bugles East an' West sooled on the dawgs o' war,
A bloke called Ginger Mick 'as found 'is game
Found 'is game an' found 'is brothers, 'oo wus strangers in 'is sight,
Till they shed their silly clobber an' put on the duds fer fight.
Yes, they've shed their silly clobber an' the other stuff they wore
Fer to 'ide the man beneath it in the past;
An' each man is the clean, straight man 'is Maker meant 'im for,
An' each man knows 'is brother man at last.
Shy strangers, till a bugle blast preached 'oly brother'ood;
But mateship they 'ave found at last; an' they 'ave found it good.
So the lumper, an' the lawyer, an' the chap 'oo shifted sand,
They are cobbers wiv the cove 'oo drove a quill;
They knut 'oo swung a cane upon the Block, 'e takes the 'and
Uv the coot 'oo swung a pick on Broken 'Ill;
An' Privit Clord Augustus drills wiv Privit Snarky Jim
They are both Australian soljers, w'ich is good enough fer 'im.
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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No Expectations
(mick jagger)
Take me to the station,
And put me on a train
I've got no expectations,
To pass through here again
(lenny kravitz)
Once i was a rich man,
And now i am so poor
But never in my sweet short life
Have i felt so like this before
(mick jagger)
Your heart is like a diamond,
You throw your pearls at swine
And as i watch you leaving me,
You pack my peace of mind
(lenny kravitz)
Our love was like the water
That splashes on a stone
Our love is like our music,
It's here and then it's gone
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song performed by Lenny Kravitz
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Anchor to Windward
Lakeboat mariners look forward to winter lay-up all summer long. The last voyage north from the steel mills in South Chicago begins before dawn with autumn winds and a cup of hot black coffee from the galley to ward off the chill. Guys congregate on the wind-swept decks, stomping feet and talking of this and that - wives and kids and days spent lounging before the new TV and drinking Budweiser.
'See you next spring, Mick? '
'Not on the Mighty Fitz, you won't! '
His shipmates laugh. They all know Mick's final paycheck is all but spent as soon as he signs off the boat. His wife and three kids live in a four room flat in Canaryville on Chicago's south side. Mick's not ready to swallow the anchor yet. He'll be back with the rest of us eager to sail another season on the Lakes. We keep an anchor to windward.
first day of November
raw winds astern-
lake is dark and deep
life ashore-
rent due
first of the month
morning till night
chores to do-
house in disarray
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poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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The Mouse before Christmas
The Mouse before Christmas
Twas the night before Christmas, when all through the house
Not a person was sleeping, all because of one mouse;
The glue traps were placed by the kitchen and stair
In hopes that St. Mickey soon would be there;
The children were hiding, afraid in their beds,
While nightmares of furry pests danced in their heads;
And mamma in her one piece and I in my wrap,
Had just finished baiting the last of the traps,
When down on my lawn there arose such a clatter,
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poem by John F. McCullagh
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Mickey Mollynoo
A mile-long panto dragon ploddin'
'opeless all the day,
Stuffed out with kits, 'n' spiked with rifles,
steamin' in its sweat,
A-heavin' down the misty road, club-footed
through the clay,
By waggons bogged 'n' buckin' guns,
the wildest welter yet,
Like 'arf creation's tenants shiftin' early
in the wet.
We're marchin' out, we dunno where, to meet
we dunno who;
But here we lights eventual, 'n' sighs 'n'
slips the kit,
'N', 'struth, the first to take us on is Mickie
Mollynoo!
A copper of the Port he was, when 'istory
was writ.
Sez I : “We're sent to face the foe, 'n', selp
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poem by Edward George Dyson
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The Play
Wot's in a name? -- she sez . . . An' then she sighs,
An' clasps 'er little 'ands, an' rolls 'er eyes.
'A rose,' she sez, 'be any other name
Would smell the same.
Oh, w'erefore art you Romeo, young sir?
Chuck yer ole pot, an' change yer moniker!'
Doreen an' me, we bin to see a show --
The swell two-dollar touch. Bong tong, yeh know.
A chair apiece wiv velvit on the seat;
A slap-up treat.
The drarmer's writ be Shakespeare, years ago,
About a barmy goat called Romeo.
'Lady, be yonder moon I swear!' sez 'e.
An' then 'e climbs up on the balkiney;
An' there they smooge a treat, wiv pretty words
Like two love-birds.
I nudge Doreen. She whispers, 'Ain't it grand!'
'Er eyes is shining an' I squeeze 'er 'and.
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Hitched
An'—wilt—yeh—take—this—woman—fer—to—be
Yer—wed ded—wife?— . . . O, strike me! Will I wot?
Take 'er? Doreen? 'E stan's there arstin' me!
As if 'e thort per'aps I'd rather not!
Take 'er? 'E seemed to think 'er kind was got
Like cigarette-cards, fer the arstin'. Still,
I does me stunt in this 'ere hitchin' rot,
An' speaks me piece: 'Righto!' I sez, 'I will.'
'I will,' I sez. An' tho' a joyful shout
Come from me bustin' 'eart—I know it did
Me voice got sorter mangled comin' out,
An' makes me whisper like a frightened kid.
'I will,' I squeaks. An' I'd 'a' give a quid
To 'ad it on the quite, wivout this fuss,
An' orl the starin' crowd that Mar 'ad bid
To see this solim hitchin' up of us.
'Fer—rich-er—er—fer—poorer.' So 'e bleats.
'In—sick-ness—an'—in—'ealth,' . . . An' there I stands,
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Sentimental Bloke
An'-wilt-yeh-take-this-woman-fer-to-be
Yer-wedded-wife? -... O, strike me! Will I wot?
Take 'er? Doreen? 'E stan's there arstin' me!
As if 'e thort per'aps I'd rather not!
Take 'er? 'E seemed to think 'er kind was got
Like cigarette-cards, fer the arstin'. Still,
I does me stunt in this 'ere hitchin' rot,
An' speaks me piece: 'Righto! ' I sez, 'I will.'
'I will,' I sez. An' tho' a joyful shout
Come from me bustin' 'eart-I know it did-
Me voice got sorter mangled comin' out,
An' makes me whisper like a frightened kid.
'I will,' I squeaks. An' I'd 'a' give a quid
To 'ad it on the quite, wivout this fuss,
An' orl the starin' crowd that Mar 'ad bid
To see this solim hitchin' up of us.
'Fer-rich-er-er-fer-poorer.' So 'e bleats.
'In-sick-ness-an'-in-'ealth,'... An' there I stands,
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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If it wasn't for Mick, the group would've fallen apart a long time ago.
quote by Mick Taylor
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