Posted in parody, poetry, tagged Benny Thomas, poetry, Songs of Innocence, William Blake on May 17, 2013 | Leave a Comment »
“To see a mug in the hand of a lush,
And a barmaid across the counter
Hold palaver with the bums who cut your view,
An hour is better spent elsewhere.”
Original quote is as below”
William Blake – “To see a World in a Grain of Sand And a Heaven in a Wild Flower, Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand And Eternity in an hour.”
benny
Posted in poetry, tagged assistant, Benny Thomas, comic poetry, Dvorak, itinerant street players, Rubenesque on February 23, 2013 | Leave a Comment »
She is Rubenesque and collect change while I play Dvorak,-
Had you heard me at the fair playing Humoresque
You might think there is something fine about my help:
She is the woman with beard and from the county Cork.
Despite her girth she is nothing more than Rubenesque.
benny
Posted in poetry, tagged bad debts, Benny Thomas, comic poetry, in the red, millions on February 23, 2013 | Leave a Comment »
The other day I traipsed my way to the bank and said
‘I made my first million with you ,Why am I then in the red?’
‘Oh sir, dear sir,’ cried the banker red in the face, ’The villain
Isn’t the color but long over dues, Oh sir, you owe us billion’.
Posted in poetry, tagged Benny Thomas, comic poetry, filling, King, sausage, subjects on February 23, 2013 | Leave a Comment »
If I were the king of sausages Id’ certainly balk
At such sawdust and lard that add to their bulk;
No, I shalln’t do a thing but sing to this refrain :
My subjects go the whole hog for honor but in vain.
Posted in 20th century literature, poetry, tagged Benny Thomas, early period, food for the soul, poetry, poetry for the solitary hour, romanticism, W B Yeats on September 26, 2012 | Leave a Comment »
The Stolen Child
Where dips the rocky highland
Of Sleuth Wood in the lake,
There lies a leafy island
Where flapping herons wake
The drowsy water rats;
There we’ve had our faery vats,
Full of berries,
And the reddest stolen cherries.
Come away,O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery,hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can ever understand.
Where the wave of moonlight glosses
The dim gray sands with light,
Far off by furthest Rosses
We foot it all the night,
Weaving olden dances,
Mingling hands and mingling glances
Till the moon has taken flight;
To and fro we leap
And chase the frothy bubbles,
While the world is full of troubles
And is anxious in its sleep.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
Where the wandering water gushes
From the hills above Glen-Car,
In pools among the rushes
That scarce could bathe a star,
We seek for slumbering trout
And whispering in their ears
Give them unquiet dreams;
Leaning softly out
From ferns that drop their tears
Over the young streams.
Come away, O human child!
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand,
For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.
Away with us he’s going,
The solemn-eyed -
He’ll hear no more the lowing
Of the calves on the warm hillside
Or the kettle on the hob
Sing peace into his breast,
Or see the brown mice bob
Round and round the oatmeal chest
For he comes the human child
To the waters and the wild
With a faery, hand in hand
From a world more full of weeping than he can understand
The poem was first published in the Irish Monthly in December 1886. The poem was then published in a compilation of work by several Irish poets Poems and Ballads of Young Ireland in 1888 with several critics praising the poem.
W.B Yeats
Posted in poetry, tagged art, death, Edward Fitzgerald, falsehood, free translation, gulf of separation, Omar Khayyam, poetry, Prophets, quatrains, The Rubaiyat, Truth on July 26, 2012 | Leave a Comment »
Some tales with much moral add’d to lend weight
Prophets have told us: such is their bless’d state
We took it gospel truth: They are all dead.
None returns after he has pass’d the gate.
Posted in poetry, tagged Benny Thomas, Edward Fitzgerald, free translation, inner eye, mysticism, Omar Khayyam, quatrains, soul's vision, The Rubaiyat on June 24, 2012 | Leave a Comment »
Divine Will- the Inner Eye
Life of the senses has spread the feast sure
Each takes his fill and thinks the world as fair:
But in death earth has her treasures laid out
True heirs we are, bereft of senses there.
benny
“Under God’s benign eye we may see His rich treasures through His eyes. What makes any one think his eyes are better than that of his maker?” b
Posted in poetry, tagged Benny Thomas, fashion plate, giggle poetry, poem, street art on May 28, 2012 | 1 Comment »
The street was my beat:
In my rags neat I had the street
My catwalk!
Each neon lit corner I just shimmied
Till the crowd came helter-skelter
‘Oohs and ahs!’ how the rowdy froth at the mouth
To have an eyeful of threads!-
They love fashion obviously,
But can’t see heart beating within
The united colors of Benetton.
benny
Posted in poetry, tagged art, Benny Thomas, cruelty, graphite, human condition, illustration, poetry, poor on April 15, 2012 | Leave a Comment »
A Cruel Joke
Nothing cheers up folks as Old Ichabod
Who has no fixed abode.
He doesn’t live here or there
But everywhere folks watch out
For a sight of Old Ichabod.
We have care and tear of living
On the edge without satisfaction;
Make us laugh, no matter what.
Sight of you is an unction.
Nothing cheers up folks as Old Ichabod
Who is set in ways very odd;
He is gaunt and in much want.
So much was plain, and death came
Without notice to Old Ichabod.
Old folks and infants passing
The pauper’s last resting place
Took that as a cruel joke:
‘There was none to take his place.’
12-25-06
Posted in illustrations, poetry, tagged art, Benny Thomas, brush, good friday, illustration, pastel for accent, pen and ink, poetry on April 6, 2012 | Leave a Comment »
No Firstborn Ever Spoke Thus
1.
Where, where have you been, son?
Your supper lay untouched for all to see;
The sitting down to sup was fit
For feast unto the dead.
Do you not think we care?
‘Mother, you are easily moved to care
But stronger than hunger you made me.’
No firstborn ever spoke thus.
2.
Where, where have you been, son?
Your brethren stopped short their play
In ill conceal’d annoyance, I think-
And joy was thoroughly spoilt
Are they not good for you?
‘Mother, they still have you to hold
But out of love’s narrow fold you set me.’
No firstborn ever spoke thus.
3.
Where where you have been, son?
Your hands are bloody; so is your crown
What hands could make you suffer so
With nails as sharp as these.
Do you not think we care?
‘Mother you are easily moved to care
But stronger than death you made me.’
No firstborn ever spoke thus.
12-24-2006
