Quotes about girth, page 6
Sonnet: Just Think Awhile, Man
Tho’ Hercules or Samson, one must die!
And leave the world after God-granted time;
But there aren’t many things in which we vie;
Each one must try to make his life sublime.
Our strength will fail us one day while on earth;
Our beauty cannot stay as such for long;
We can’t maintain forev’r a youthful girth;
Some day surely it ends our earthly-song!
Yet, happy is the man with peace of mind,
And happier is he still whose heart is pure;
And happiest is the soul of man unsinned;
A place in Heaven, God will us ensure.
Why waste life-time in things of earthly mould?
Our Shepherd Good wants us back in His fold.
9-24-2002
poem by John Celes
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After Her Death I Dreamed Of My Love (Cavatina Sequence)
(After William Shakespeare)
After her death I dreamed of my love,
with eyes sparkling
somewhat divine like the stars that glitter,
somehow existing
in the dark outer space, with her two hands
reaching, touching,
the circumference of this great earth,
with a sash of vast planets in her girth.
White blazing braking thunder was her breath,
her eyes were blue
as the purest kind of cobalt hued sky
her love was true,
even much greater than it was before,
her retinue
were the elements, some power divine
and still she wanted to be only mine.
[...] Read more
poem by Gert Strydom
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Sonnet: Don’t Feel Sad
Our birthday-suit is same for everyone,
One shouldn’t copy the world in everything;
Each one is meant to live wedded or lone;
Does life to all alike, joys, sorrows bring?
Each one is different ever since one’s birth;
Ev’n twins with time will grow unlike each one;
Every tree that grows has not same girth;
One can’t afford to mimic else someone!
But this is how each one of us gets born,
And life will take us onto different paths;
Why blame the stars when heart of yours gets torn?
Each one should do properly his ‘Life-Maths’.
Nothing was lost, there’s much to do today!
There’s more to gain by hard-working some day!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 7-31-2000
poem by John Celes
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A Perfect Woman Nobly Planned
(The man who wants the perfect wife should marry a
'stock-size.' She comes cheaper.-_London Chronicle_.)
Ah, Myrtilla, woe and dear me!
Lackadaydee and alas!
What is this, I greatly fear me,
That has come to pass?
Craving, as I do, perfection,
Loathing anything like flaws,
I must raise a slight objection
To your building laws.
You are five one-and-a-quarter,
And your girth is thirty-three-
Myrtie, you're a little shorter
Than you ought to be.
It is far from my intentions
Your proportions to describe,
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poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Six Feet Of Sod
This is the end of all my ways,
My wanderings on earth,
My gloomy and my golden days,
My madness and my mirth.
I've bought ten thousand blades of grass
To bed me down below,
And here I wait the days to pass
Until I go.
Until I bid good bye to friend,
To feast and fast goodbye,
And in a stint of soil the end
I seek of sun and sky.
My farings far on land and sea,
My trails of global girth
Sum up to this,--to cover me
Six feet of earth.
My home of homes I hold in fee
For centuries to pass,
[...] Read more
poem by Robert William Service
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The Receptionist
France is the fairest land on earth,
Lovely to heart's desire,
And twice a year I span its girth,
Its beauty to admire.
But when a pub I seek each night,
To my profound vexation
On form they hand me I've to write
My occupation.
So once in a derisive mood
My pen I nibbled;
And though I know I never should:
'Gangster' I scribbled.
But as the clerk with startled face
Looked stark suspicion,
I blurred it out and in its place
Put 'Politician.'
Then suddenly dissolved his frown;
His face fused to a grin,
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poem by Robert William Service
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A Grey Day
Grey drizzling mists the moorlands drape,
Rain whitens the dead sea,
From headland dim to sullen cape
Grey sails creep wearily.
I know not how that merchantman
Has found the heart; but 'tis her plan
Seaward her endless course to shape.
Unreal as insects that appall
A drunkard's peevish brain,
O'er the grey deep the dories crawl,
Four-legged, with rowers twain:
Midgets and minims of the earth,
Across old ocean's vasty girth
Toiling--heroic, comical!
I wonder how that merchant's crew
Have ever found the will!
I wonder what the fishers do
To keep them toiling still!
[...] Read more
poem by William Vaughn Moody
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Earth and Moon
When Hadean Earth was magma sea, an impact cleaved the Moon,
And eons since and eons hence, they dance in close commune.
The Earth has flourished under axis stabilizing boon,
The Moon's white face records a cannonade in craters strewn.
The Moon held tight and flooded night with light upon its birth,
Yet every year it draws away, the smallest finger's worth.
The Sun's and Moon's diameters and distance from the Earth,
Now perfectly in ratio, comparing length to girth.
The Moon appears the equal of the Sun in full eclipse,
The golden spray or ring it wears depending on ellipse.
Yet over time the Moon will fade and dwindle as it slips,
Beyond the weary, failing grip of Earth's fond fingertips.
poem by Diane Hine
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I See Them On The Weekends
Who selected what you wear...
And helped you dress this morning?
'What kind of question is that?
I make those decisions myself! '
Who selected where you shop?
Dine and entertain your whims?
When you have them?
'What are you getting at?
Is there a point to be made here? '
Sooo...
You will agree,
If you are influenced to do anything...
It will be a choice you make?
'Sure...
Everyone does that.'
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Three Foot Rule
When I was bound apprentice, and learned to use my hands,
Folk never talked of measures that came from foreign lands:
Now I'm a British Workman, too old to go to school;
So whether the chisel or file I hold, I'll stick to my three-foot rule.
Some talk of millimetres, and some of kilogrammes,
And some of decilitres, to measure beer and drams;
But I'm a British Workman, too old to go to school,
So by pounds I'll eat, and by quarts I'll drink, and I'll work by my three-foot rule.
A party of astronomers went measuring the earth,
And forty million metres they took to be its girth;
Five hundred million inches, though, go through from pole to pole;
So let's stick to inches, feet and yards, and the good old three-foot rule.
poem by William John Macquorn Rankine
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