Quotes about mick, page 4
Mick says, Would you join the band? I say to him, Mick, you know I'd be there in a New York minute.
quote by Ron Wood
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You wake up in the morning and you look at your old spoon, and you say to yourself, 'Mick, it's time to get yourself a new spoon.' And you do.
quote by Mick Jagger
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People often get the wrong impression of Mick. The clever businessman is just one side of Mick. The other side is the same as the rest of us, a true rocker!
quote by Ron Wood
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Vote for Obama!
'Vote Obama! The past is history! Vote Obama! '
Mick applauded as he reached for the drink.
We waited for Mick's acerbic comment on
the heroic figure of our time.
'No, I'm serious. Read some of the opinions
expressed by other poets on this site about
poetry! Gush and emote, let it all hang out!
If you disagree, they ask if Chicago is still in
America? I suppose that means that in our
republic of drivel and pychobabble,
anything and everything goes, right?
That killer in DeKalb on St Valentine's Day
might have been a gentler, milder man
if only he had scribbled his drivel on
reams of paper, like you and me, right? '
Right you are, you Irish dinosauer!
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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No Moss?
A frog he goes to the bank
His name is Kermit Jagger
The teller at the bank
Her name is Miss Patricia Whack
She welcomes him, that’s a fact
Kermit says “I would like a loan
I need a holiday to get away
From all those tadpoles
In the pond back home, that way”.
Kermit says “it should be OK,
my dad Mick he knows the manager
who thinks he rocks, he’s swell.”
The teller says, tell me
Do you have your ID?
Kermit produces from his pocket
A small porcelain figure of
A pink elephant, most charming.
Perfect in its shape and making
Patricia she is most confused
And finds the manager
[...] Read more
poem by David Taylor
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Mick takes it seriously!
'Hell, i read in bed, on the train, or walking
down the hall, don't you? ' Mick said.
We were sitting in his kitchen.
Celia was on the barcalounger
in the den watching a soap on TV -
Days of Our Lives sounded like.
'Books of Tennyson and Keats not my cup
of tea exactly, nor do I fancy them circling
overhead either - bleeding dangerous, that!
Sure, I puzzle over rhyme and meter, simile
and metaphor - shit! I went to college, too!
Can't hardly get that stuff out of my head!
I've bayed at the moon when I drink enough -
the curse of the Irish, right? But no dancing,
please! not in this neighborhood!
Celia is my idea of beauty, though a bit long
in the tooth, like the old Lab sitting with her -
they both shine with the patina of age,
[...] Read more
poem by Michael Pruchnicki
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A Wet Day In July
Such wild and chilly weather with heavy showers of sleety rain
That flood the spouting and the creek and the storm water drain
And the paddocks around the Powlett river seem like an inland sea
And water everywhere about as far as the eyes can see.
The old bloke Mick scratches his head as he looks up at the sky
Saying more rain clouds o'er the ocean 'twill make a wet
July
On either side of the highway from Bass into Wonthaggi there's water everywhere
The paddock by our house is waterlogged 'tis like a quagmire there.
In July in south west Gippsland the weather often wild and cold and wet
But according to Mick from Bass this one the wettest yet
In more than sixty years of life he has known big rainfall
But yesterday is the wettest day he ever can recall.
In the paddocks between Kilcunda and Dalyston water everywhere about
And the Powlett river is overflowing it's banks and it's surplus water is flooding out
Making the land look like an inland sea and cattle on the hill bellow for hay
And in the coastal lands of south west Gippsland another rainy July day.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The Roads' End
Old Ben, the pensioner, is going down to die.
Huddled in the mail-car, he turns a wistful eye
On this familiar forest scene, the wooded mountain wall;
And nought could lure him from it save the last stern call.
He has loved it with a fierce love no reason comprehends;
The great gums, the green ways, the rough bush friends.
But doctor says his tough old heart at last has let him down;
So he's off to be 'patched up a bit' in hospital in town.
'Patched up a bit'. . . He'd heard that talk when they took Badger Jack,
And Charlie Clem, and Lame Mick. But none of these came back.
Was it Mick went first? Or Charlie? (Lordy, Lord! How men forget.)
And now they're taking Ben away; and Ben not eighty yet.
The youngest, he, of six old hulks; and three have gone away;
Till now there's only George Jones left, and old Pete Parraday -
His oldest friend, Pete Parraday, who has his dog to mind.
The cruellest break of all, that was - leaving his dog behind.
Old Ben, the pensioner, sits huddled in the car;
And his filmed eyes seek the skyline where the timbered ranges are -
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Old Stockman's Lament
Wrap me up in me stockwhip and blanket,
And bury me deep down below,
Where this piffle and sham won’t disgust me,
In the land where the coolibahs grow;
For I’ve stayed with some well-to-do people,
And I’ve dined with some middle-class folk;
And I’ve sorrowed by clock-tower and steeple
Till my heart for the Commonwealth’s broke.
They have flown in another direction,
Who used to clack-clack by the hour
Of “this awful Freetrade and Protection,”
Of our dear darling member “in power,”
And the Higher Religion for Dossers,
And the Need of an Object for Drunks—
Now they’re all of them Red or Blue Crossers,
With their tails sticking out of their trunks.
There are citified Martins in dozens—
The Darling Point Martins the pick—
Who used to be horrified cousins
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Lawson
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Digger Smith
'E calls me Digger; that's 'ow 'e begins.
'E sez 'e's only 'arf a man; an' grins.
Judged be 'is nerve, I'd say 'e was worth two
Uv me an' you.
Then 'e digs 'arf a fag out uv 'is vest,
Borrers me matches, an' I gives 'im best.
The first I 'eard about it Poole told me.
'There is a bloke called Smith at Flood's,' sez 'e;
'Come there this mornin', sez 'e's come to stay,
An' won't go 'way.
Sez 'e was sent there be a pal named Flood;
An' talks uv contracts sealed with Flanders mud.
'No matter wot they say, 'e only grins,'
Sez Poole. ''E's rather wobbly on 'is pins.
Seems like a soldier bloke. An' Peter Begg
'E sez one leg
Works be machinery, but I dunno.
I only know 'e's there an' 'e won't go.
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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