Quotes about latch
The Water Tower
I sit and stare at this empty page,
The wind howls long at the winter eaves,
The cloud is heavy, and black with rage
As squalls dance in through the myrtle leaves.
While deep inside in the cottage gloom
My love lies weary, cocooned in dreams,
I hear her cry in the darkened room
Call out one name from a nightmare scene.
‘Michelle, ’ she mutters, then groans aloud
I grit my teeth at the open door,
The wind it eddies in dust and leaves
And echoes long at the water tower.
‘Michelle, Michelle, ’ it grumbles and groans,
‘Michelle, ’ it whispers, then skips and howls;
My love rolls over in deepest sleep
While I keep watch through the early hours.
[...] Read more
poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Shepherds Calendar - July
Daughter of pastoral smells and sights
And sultry days and dewy nights
July resumes her yearly place
Wi her milking maiden face
Ruddy and tand yet sweet to view
When everywhere's a vale of dew
And raps it round her looks that smiles
A lovly rest to daily toils
Wi last months closing scenes and dins
Her sultry beaming birth begins
Hay makers still in grounds appear
And some are thinning nearly clear
Save oddly lingering shocks about
Which the tithman counteth out
Sticking their green boughs where they go
The parsons yearly claims to know
Which farmers view wi grudging eye
And grumbling drive their waggons bye
In hedge bound close and meadow plains
[...] Read more
poem by John Clare
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Kids and Dogs and Monkey's
A slippery moustached man slid along the beach
Tiny monkey tethered upon his right shoulder
'want your picture taken lady, with the lovely monkey, only 50p! '
A white boxer dog, skirted at Billy Smarts circus
Ruffled collar, leaping through (flaming) hoops
The moustached ring master flicks his tailcoat, grins and bows
Straw hatted donkeys, sweating by the beach
Small children and large ladies sucking ice-creams
race on their backs as bawdy men smile and pocket small change
Sectioned glass bowls stored head high
As fairground fodder throw hoops to try win one bemused
Golden fish, dragged home in a plastic bag, swung by a small child
But the much loved mongrel, the heinz 57 (dog) he had it best
Latch street dogs with latch street kids
Racing free as a seagull then home just before dusk
For their tea...
poem by Karen Sinclair
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Topsy-Turvy World
IF the butterfly courted the bee,
And the owl the porcupine;
If churches were built in the sea,
And three times one was nine;
If the pony rode his master,
If the buttercups ate the cows,
If the cats had the dire disaster
To be worried, sir, by the mouse;
If mamma, sir, sold the baby
To a gypsy for half a crown;
If a gentleman, sir, was a lady,—
The world would be Upside-down!
If any or all of these wonders
Should ever come about,
I should not consider them blunders,
For I should be Inside-out!
Chorus
Ba-ba, black wool,
[...] Read more
poem by William Brighty Rands
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Do Not, Berate...Yourself!
Be not dismayed about your setbacks.
Or your lack of control when they seem to latch.
Avoid any re-enactments,
That attempt to saddle.
Clean the slate.
Do not, berate...yourself!
Be not dismayed about your setbacks.
Or your lack of control...
When those setbacks take hold,
To ride and latch to attach.
Say no!
Why do this,
Then renew it!
Say no...
Let them go.
Refuse to have any of that.
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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At Last
A dark, tempestuous night; the stars shut in
With shrouds of fog; an inky, jet-black blot
The firmament; and where the moon has been
An hour agone seems like the darkest spot.
The weird wind--furious at its demon game--
Rattles one's fancy like a window-frame.
A care-worn face peers out into the dark,
And childish faces--frightened at the gloom--
Grow awed and vacant as they turn to mark
The father's as he passes through the room:
The gate latch clatters, and wee baby Bess
Whispers, 'The doctor's tummin' now, I dess!'
The father turns; a sharp, swift flash of pain
Flits o'er his face: 'Amanda, child! I said
A moment since--I see I must AGAIN--
Go take your little sisters off to bed!
There, Effie, Rose, and CLARA MUSTN'T CRY!'
'I tan't he'p it--I'm fyaid 'at mama'll die!'
[...] Read more
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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The eyes of the ikon
The door creaks as she opens it
and the fall of the heavy iron latch
echoes through the empty church.
The atmosphere inside, this cold day,
is heavy, as such holy places are,
locked now at night; heavy,
with what? Anticipation? Memory,
of all the human emotions
that have passed through them?
There’s still the clinging promise,
the fragrance of yesterday’s incense;
it could almost be a midnight forest
in its wood-scented mystery.
She lights a candle, drops a coin
slowly, as those do to whom
each coin has a meaning.
She is small, shrunken as the aged are,
[...] Read more
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Ikon
The door creaks, as she opens it
and the fall of the heavy iron latch
echoes through the empty church.
The atmosphere inside, this cold day,
is heavy, as such holy places are,
locked now at night; heavy,
with what? Anticipation? Memory,
of all the human emotions
that have passed through them?
There’s still the clinging promise,
the fragrance of yesterday’s incense;
it could almost be a midnight forest
in its wood-scented mystery.
She lights a candle, drops a coin
slowly, as those do to whom
each coin has a meaning.
She is small, shrunken as the aged are,
[...] Read more
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Morning Lament
OH thou cruel deadly-lovely maiden,
Tell me what great sin have I committed,
That thou keep'st me to the rack thus fasten'd,
That thou hast thy solemn promise broken?
'Twas but yestere'en that thou with fondness
Press'd my hand, and these sweet accents murmured:
"Yes, I'll come, I'll come when morn approacheth,
Come, my friend, full surely to thy chamber."
On the latch I left my doors, unfasten'd,
Having first with care tried all the hinges,
And rejoic'd right well to find they creak'd not.
What a night of expectation pass'd I!
For I watch'd, and ev'ry chime I number'd;
If perchance I slept a few short moments,
Still my heart remain'd awake forever,
And awoke me from my gentle slumbers.
[...] Read more
poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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To Holy Russia
The door creaks, as she opens it
and the fall of the heavy iron latch
echoes through the empty church.
The atmosphere inside, this cold cold day,
is heavy, as such holy places are;
locked now at night; heavy,
with what? Anticipation; presence; memory
of all the human emotions
that have passed through them?
There’s still the clinging promise,
the fragrance of yesterday’s incense;
it could be a midnight cedar forest
in its dark wood-scented mystery.
She lights a candle, drops a coin
slowly, as those do to whom
each coin has a meaning.
[...] Read more
poem by Michael Shepherd
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