Quotes about peg, page 5
Bonie Peg-a-Ramsay
Cauld is the e’enin blast,
O’ Boreas o’er the pool,
An’ dawin’ it is dreary,
When birks are bare at Yule.
Cauld blaws the e’enin blast,
When bitter bites the frost,
And, in the mirk and dreary drift,
The hills and glens are lost:
Ne’er sae murky blew the night
That drifted o’er the hill,
But bonie Peg-a-Ramsay
Gat grist to her mill.
poem by Robert Burns
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Buried...
a half a fifth of brandy
sits quietly on the shelf...
a tired old hat hanging
on a forgotten peg.
the flower garden bare,
the windowpane sighs.
the old rusted spicket,
covered by the spider's web.
empty boxes in the closet,
filled with nothing that remains.
wood stacked against the porch,
even the old dog knows.
letters falling from the mailbox,
the ink wet with rain.
my hand buried by the wellhouse,
my heart buried neath the gravel!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Shackles
an old Esso sign,
broken down,
standing in the corner.
empty block building,
windows broke out,
wind whistles through the dust.
an old set of shackles,
hanging on a peg.
two broken chairs,
and an empty coke bottle.
lost on the road
that no one travels anymore.
an old rotary phone...
a tattered flag on the floor.
an old Chevy up on blocks,
[...] Read more
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Sigh of Relief
I get sad
too sad, when I dont get external support, encouragement and praise
it sucks.
I get sad
too sad, when I think of the direction
or lack thereof,
My life is taking-
no
that I am moving my life in.
I get frustrated,
too frustrated when I wonder
what is wrong with me, and why cant I be
Just like everyone else
And then I realize,
truly realize,
that you cannot fit a square peg
into a circle.
[...] Read more
poem by Noemi Lee
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If I Were
if i were a pair of gloves
i know you want to become a pair of hands
if i were a pair of shoes
i know you want to be a set of bare feet.
that indeed is romantic
something that fits like a dado to a joint
like thread to the eye of the needle
even though
nothing is challenging enough
like a round peg to a round hole
but baby these fittings are more of fantasies
there are more truths and realities
those that don't fit
and yet still exist together
like us.
[...] Read more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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It ceased to hurt me, though so slow
584
It ceased to hurt me, though so slow
I could not feel the Anguish go—
But only knew by looking back—
That something—had benumbed the Track—
Nor when it altered, I could say,
For I had worn it, every day,
As constant as the Childish frock—
I hung upon the Peg, at night.
But not the Grief—that nestled close
As needles—ladies softly press
To Cushions Cheeks—
To keep their place—
Nor what consoled it, I could trace—
Except, whereas 'twas Wilderness—
It's better—almost Peace—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Sonnet: On Crucial Times
They test my patience severely, some souls,
When success lurks around the corner just;
No more am I a square peg in round holes;
No more will my books gather house-dust.
The world looks down upon an artist new,
And discourages talents found galore;
The righteous and the sane persons are few;
But why worry when God opened my door.
Determination is the primal key;
Unlocking truthfully labour's pad-lock;
And sacrifice of precious time's, the fee;
Before an artist dons his glorious frock.
In some more time, the world will accept him,
And life will always shine, never be grim.
poem by John Celes
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The State Of Age
Rub thou thy battered lamp: nor claim nor beg
Honours from aught about thee. Light the young.
Thy frame is as a dusty mantle hung,
O grey one! pendant on a loosened peg.
Thou art for this our life an ancient egg,
Or a tough bird: thou hast a rudderless tongue,
Turning dead trifles, like the cock of dung,
Which runs, Time's contrast to thy halting leg.
Nature, it is most sure, not thee admires.
But hast thou in thy season set her fires
To burn from Self to Spirit through the lash,
Honoured the sons of Earth shall hold thee high:
Yea, to spread light when thy proud letter I
Drops prone and void as any thoughtless dash.
poem by George Meredith
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On A Cape May Warbler Who Flew Against My Window
She's stopped in her southern tracks
Brought haply to this hard knock
When she shoots from the tall spruce
And snaps her neck on the glass.
From the fall grass I gather her
And give her to my silent children
Who give her a decent burial
Under the dogwood in the garden.
They lay their gifs in the grave:
Matches, a clothes-peg, a coin;
Fire paper for her, sprinkle her
With water, fold earth over her.
She is out of her element forever
Who was air's high-spirited daughter;
What guardian wings can I conjure
Over my own young, their migrations?
[...] Read more
poem by Eamon Grennan
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On Thirtydays Of Separated Love
Thirty
Days ago on Shakespeare's birthday
We had our last talk..
Thus,
Days passed the shrouded love
Is ticking with the secs of clock.
My,
Repentance for denying the last call
From you to stay back.......
Now,
Crawling in my teary sight
Chooses to retreat to old track.
Still,
I celebrate lone cocktail
Without a peg of drink...
Addiction,
Chases me back to the talkative tick,
Prancing on my sorrowful brink;
Flash,
Bursts into thousand beams but,
[...] Read more
poem by Nilakshi Das
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