Linux Songs Poems
fortune: 551 - 560 of 719 from linux songs poems
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Linux Songs Poems

Fortune: 551 - 560 of 719 from Linux Songs Poems

Linux Songs Poems:  551 of 719

The Thought Police are here.  They've come
To put you under cardiac arrest.
And as they drag you through the door
They tell you that you've failed the test.
                -- Buggles, "Living in the Plastic Age"
 
Linux Songs Poems:  552 of 719

The thrill is here, but it won't last long
You'd better have your fun before it moves along...
 
Linux Songs Poems:  553 of 719

The trouble with a kitten is that
When it grows up, it's always a cat
                -- Ogden Nash.
 
Linux Songs Poems:  554 of 719

The trouble with you
Is the trouble with me.
Got two good eyes
But we still don't see.
                -- Robert Hunter, "Workingman's Dead"
 
Linux Songs Poems:  555 of 719

The truth you speak has no past and no future.
It is, and that's all it needs to be.
 
Linux Songs Poems:  556 of 719

The turtle lives 'twixt plated decks
Which practically conceal its sex.
I think it clever of the turtle
In such a fix to be so fertile.
                -- Ogden Nash
 
Linux Songs Poems:  557 of 719

The weather is here, I wish you were beautiful.
My thoughts aren't too clear, but don't run away.
My girlfriend's a bore; my job is too dutiful.
Hell nobody's perfect, would you like to play?
I feel together today!
                -- Jimmy Buffet, "Coconut Telegraph"
 
Linux Songs Poems:  558 of 719

The wind doth taste so bitter sweet,
        Like Jaspar wine and sugar,
It must have blown through someone's feet,
        Like those of Caspar Weinberger.
                -- P. Opus
 
Linux Songs Poems:  559 of 719

The wombat lives across the seas,
Among the far Antipodes.
He may exist on nuts and berries,
Or then again, on missionaries;
His distant habitat precludes
Conclusive knowledge of his moods.
But I would not engage the wombat
In any form of mortal combat.
                -- "The Wombat"
 
Linux Songs Poems:  560 of 719

The Worst American Poet
        Julia Moore, "the Sweet Singer of Michigan" (1847-1920) was so bad that
Mark Twain said her first book gave him joy for 20 years.
        Her verse was mainly concerned with violent death -- the great fire
of Chicago and the yellow fever epidemic proved natural subjects for her pen.
        Whether death was by drowning, by fits or by runaway sleigh, the
formula was the same:
                Have you heard of the dreadful fate
                Of Mr. P.P. Bliss and wife?
                Of their death I will relate,
                And also others lost their life
                (in the) Ashbula Bridge disaster,
                Where so many people died.
        Even if you started out reasonably healthy in one of Julia's poems,
the chances are that after a few stanzas you would be at the bottom of a
river or struck by lightning.  A critic of the day said she was "worse than
a Gatling gun" and in one slim volume counted 21 killed and 9 wounded.
        Incredibly, some newspapers were critical of her work, even
suggesting that the sweet singer was "semi-literate".  Her reply was
forthright: "The Editors that has spoken in this scandalous manner have went
beyond reason."  She added that "literary work is very difficult to do".
                -- Stephen Pile, "The Book of Heroic Failures"
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