Cut quarrels out of literature, and you will have very little history or drama or fiction or epic poetry left.
quote by Robert Lynd
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Related quotes
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the beginning of new life,
Poetry is in the tears of a child,
Poetry is in the warmth of mother's kiss,
Poetry is in the child's bliss,
Poetry is in the hug of a father,
Poetry is in the love of a dear,
Poetry is in the happiness of affection,
Poetry is in the pain of separation,
Poetry is in someone's loss,
Poetry is in missing someone very close.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is in the first rain,
Poetry is in the cultivation of first grain,
Poetry is in the first light of dawn,
Poetry is in the drops of dew o the grass of lawn,
Poetry is in the blowing of cool wind,
Poetry is in the beauty of green,
Poetry is in the twinkling star,
Poetry is in the aroma of a flower,
Poetry is in thunder and lightning,
Poetry is in the heat scorching.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poetry is something more sweeter than sweet,
Poetry is something more closer to heart beat,
Poetry is something more than the most beautiful creation,
Poetry is something more than the depth of an ocean,
Poetry is something more higher than the blue,
Poetry is something more true,
Poetry is something more enjoyable than wine,
Poetry is something more shiner than sunshine,
Poetry is something more pure than air,
Poetry is something which is present everywhere.
Poetry...Poetry...
Poet ry is not just rhyme,
Poetry is but the voice Divine,
Poetry is not just Poetry,
Poetry frames History,
After so many lines,
Poetry still remains undefined.
Poetry...Poetry...
poem by Akash Agrawal
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- quotes about missing
- quotes about childhood
- quotes about beauty
- quotes about height
- quotes about beginning
- quotes about writers
- quotes about divine
- quotes about wine
An act of poetry
Ruin is what we need –
Despair is what we feed
Upon in poetry
A shock resets the nerves –
Helps remould the curves
Of written art
Catharsis helps portray –
Acting out a play
On expurgation
Tears or hidden fears
Release the bottled years
To ink a page:
The pen be our salvation.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
[...] Read more
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Go Cut Creator Go
[LL Cool J]
1, 2, 3 'o' clock 4 'o' clock ROCK
5, 6, 7 'o' clock 8 'o' clock ROCK
9, 10, 11 'o' clock 12 'o' clock ROCK
Gonna ROCK (What?) ROCK, ROCK around the clock
Three years ago in St. Albans, Queens
I was rockin at a park called one eighteen
Little kids stood and watched as I rocked the spot
Didn't know that years later I'll be standin on top
Livin near Farmers Boulevard I was born and base-shaw
Stopped the rich and shaked hands with the poor
And this is a story about a brother I know
Cut Creator on the fader no watch him go
[Chorus]
Go, go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go, go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
[LL Cool J]
When back in the days before I clocked some dough
I used to go to the show and sit in the front row
Hopin and prayin one day I'll get on the road
So I had a feeler and a summer and I meet when I'm stoned
Not fearin a thought, got stung like a horse
Don't make fun of my posse, cause each man is a boss
When his only damn way to pull a jam out the crate
One time for your mind
Check out the guitar break
[Chorus]
Go, go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go, go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
Go Cut Creator Go
[LL Cool J]
This jam just wasn't enough for Jimmy Hendrix to see
He could do lessons of mixin take you under his wing
Straight from the heart cause it ain't the money that we came here for
Ain't no thoughts in the room ain't breakin no roles
And in the Rock 'n' Roll land, a big strivin plan
Just my posse learn the vocals what little they had
It's all about us three: Eve, Phil & Jay
He heard Cut Creator cut now check it out to play
[...] Read more
song performed by LL Cool J
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Canto the First
I
I want a hero: an uncommon want,
When every year and month sends forth a new one,
Till, after cloying the gazettes with cant,
The age discovers he is not the true one;
Of such as these I should not care to vaunt,
I'll therefore take our ancient friend Don Juan—
We all have seen him, in the pantomime,
Sent to the devil somewhat ere his time.
II
Vernon, the butcher Cumberland, Wolfe, Hawke,
Prince Ferdinand, Granby, Burgoyne, Keppel, Howe,
Evil and good, have had their tithe of talk,
And fill'd their sign posts then, like Wellesley now;
Each in their turn like Banquo's monarchs stalk,
Followers of fame, "nine farrow" of that sow:
France, too, had Buonaparté and Dumourier
Recorded in the Moniteur and Courier.
III
Barnave, Brissot, Condorcet, Mirabeau,
Petion, Clootz, Danton, Marat, La Fayette,
Were French, and famous people, as we know:
And there were others, scarce forgotten yet,
Joubert, Hoche, Marceau, Lannes, Desaix, Moreau,
With many of the military set,
Exceedingly remarkable at times,
But not at all adapted to my rhymes.
IV
Nelson was once Britannia's god of war,
And still should be so, but the tide is turn'd;
There's no more to be said of Trafalgar,
'T is with our hero quietly inurn'd;
Because the army's grown more popular,
At which the naval people are concern'd;
Besides, the prince is all for the land-service,
Forgetting Duncan, Nelson, Howe, and Jervis.
V
Brave men were living before Agamemnon
And since, exceeding valorous and sage,
A good deal like him too, though quite the same none;
But then they shone not on the poet's page,
And so have been forgotten:—I condemn none,
But can't find any in the present age
Fit for my poem (that is, for my new one);
So, as I said, I'll take my friend Don Juan.
[...] Read more
poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
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- quotes about newspapers
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- quotes about perfection
- quotes about fables
Cut You Down To Size
Dont you know theyre gonna cut you down to size
(they cut you down yeah theyll cut you down)
Youre gonna find out when you see it right in their eyes
(they cut you down yeah theyll cut you down)
How does it feel when you see through your disguise
(they cut you down yeah theyll cut you down)
And they cut you down, yeah they cut you down
They cut you down to size
How does it feel
Whatd you do with this fire inside
Where do you turn now that you realize
Where you go when you run out of alibis
Tell me
Dont you know theyre gonna cut you down to size
(they cut you down yeah theyll cut you down)
Youre gonna find out when you see it right in their eyes
(they cut you down yeah theyll cut you down)
How does it feel when you see through your disguise
(they cut you down yeah theyll cut you down)
And they cut you down to, they cut you down to
They cut you down to size
How does it feel
How does it feel
Youve been living with your own suspicion
Now youve got to believe
I know youve heard it said that only the strong survive
Dont you know theyre gonna cut you down to size
(they cut you down yeah theyll cut you down)
Youre gonna find out when you see it right in their eyes
(they cut you down yeah theyll cut you down)
How does it feel when you see through your disguise
(they cut you down yeah theyll cut you down)
And they cut you down to size
Dont you know theyre gonna
How does it feel when you see through your disguise
And they cut you down to, cut you down to
Cut you down to size
Get up stand up, come back for another round
And they cut you down to size
Cut you down to size
song performed by Starship
Added by Lucian Velea
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Poetry On The Chin
You gouged my mind's eye,
Tantalised all inner thought,
Shocked from unknown angles;
Sold me, told me cold,
Unfolded, moulded;
Shouldered any harbouring
Of empty morals.
You spun me round; undressed -
Pestered me with background riddle -
Piffle came to gleaning meaning.
And you stripped out prejudice - for none
Must exist in poetry,
Lest you close up an open mind
And f**k up as reader;
Lest your heart is not a bleeder -
It has to be - let it flush out
Upon your sleeve.
You lay apart my thinking brain
And let in the literary pickings of a
Great poetic phallus.
Yes, poetry can be callous.
Copyright © Mark Raymond Slaughter 2010
[...] Read more
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Poetry: What Is Poetry?
Poetry pleases my ears
that words sound in harmony,
but not to a foreign tongue.
Poetry draws a picture
to invite my eyes,
but still puzzles my mind.
Poetry blows with wind,
in water He flows,
shouts in thunders,
and bounces as rock in roll.
Poetry preserves His truth,
in secret codes, simple words,
only reveals to the worthy.
Poetry sings in my ears,
dances in front my eyes,
kisses my lips,
brings fragrance,
that fills my mind
and imprints my soul.
Poetry does not like as I like
as whenever I use as like wrongly,
and it is unfair He uses
correctly all times He does,
but I make Him to like
as I do like anyway.
Poetry tells stories
to company my journey,
writes jokes
to convert my tragedy
into a comedy,
and builds a rainbow bridge
where my dream
and reality meet.
Poetry blinded Homer
with Helen and war,
afflicted Catullus
with his love and hate,
taught Beowulf
how to fight!
Poetry made Li Bai drunk
in magical words,
brought sorrows to Du Fu,
[...] Read more
poem by Laijon Liu
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2 Pieces Of Drama
2 pieces of drama
The hammer's bout' to fall
2 pieces of drama
there's gunplay in the hall
2 pieces of drama
Make peace with your momma, the consequence is dire
2 pieces of drama
Boy you know not to play with fire
He rocks a big ??? caber
A ping pong table for a ring
He's mentally unstable
To him murder it ain't no thing
He'll do you dirty style
He's holding dirty bile
He's out pumping on the corner
Trying to stay warm
And keep it cool like Miles
He keeps it fundamental
He's got the jeans and the bubblegoose on
There's murder on his mental
He's got the deuce deuce in his palm
And y'all know the fable
How cain did able
Ever since the beginning
The world keeps pinning just like a turntable
2 pieces of drama
The hammer's bout' to fall
2 pieces of drama
there's gunplay in the hall
2 pieces of drama
Make peace with your momma, the consequence is dire
2 pieces of drama
Boy you know not to play with fire
La la la la la la la la (B Real Hand on the Pump sample)
When it's selling out back
Likes to pump crack
To the fiends that be getting high
He keeps his hand on the pump
He's ready to dump
On any chump that would even try
He got a finger on the trigger
He ain't scared to pull it
Head full of liquor
Boy you might catch a bullet
They're holes in stable
Drugs on the table
Everybody's sitting round
Watching cops on the cable
Dressed like a slob
Keeps his hair braided
[...] Read more
song performed by Everlast
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Canto the Eighth
I
Oh blood and thunder! and oh blood and wounds!
These are but vulgar oaths, as you may deem,
Too gentle reader! and most shocking sounds:
And so they are; yet thus is Glory's dream
Unriddled, and as my true Muse expounds
At present such things, since they are her theme,
So be they her inspirers! Call them Mars,
Bellona, what you will -- they mean but wars.
II
All was prepared -- the fire, the sword, the men
To wield them in their terrible array.
The army, like a lion from his den,
March'd forth with nerve and sinews bent to slay, --
A human Hydra, issuing from its fen
To breathe destruction on its winding way,
Whose heads were heroes, which cut off in vain
Immediately in others grew again.
III
History can only take things in the gross;
But could we know them in detail, perchance
In balancing the profit and the loss,
War's merit it by no means might enhance,
To waste so much gold for a little dross,
As hath been done, mere conquest to advance.
The drying up a single tear has more
Of honest fame, than shedding seas of gore.
IV
And why? -- because it brings self-approbation;
Whereas the other, after all its glare,
Shouts, bridges, arches, pensions from a nation,
Which (it may be) has not much left to spare,
A higher title, or a loftier station,
Though they may make Corruption gape or stare,
Yet, in the end, except in Freedom's battles,
Are nothing but a child of Murder's rattles.
V
And such they are -- and such they will be found:
Not so Leonidas and Washington,
Whose every battle-field is holy ground,
Which breathes of nations saved, not worlds undone.
How sweetly on the ear such echoes sound!
While the mere victor's may appal or stun
The servile and the vain, such names will be
A watchword till the future shall be free.
[...] Read more
poem by Byron from Don Juan (1824)
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Something that pours from the heart
Poetry is something as mystical as the mountains;
shimmering majestically on the rivers in diffused
beams of brilliant sunshine,
Poetry is something as astonishing as the glittering
gold biscuits entrenched deep beneath earth; emanating
a profound glow that blended poignantly with the
atmosphere,
Poetry is something as ingratiating as the hissing
serpent; deluging the morbid ambience around with
overwhelming exhilaration,
Poetry is something as ravishing as the blossoming
petals of rubicund rose; wafting its essence
ubiquitously through all continents of this colossal
Universe,
Poetry is something as grandiloquent as the
incredulously embellished castle; offering an abode to
anyone afflicted by inexplicable distress,
Poetry is something as vivacious as the magnificently
swirling ocean; with each of its tangy waves
fulminating into a blanket of pungent froth,
Poetry is something as magnanimous as the clouds;
which bless the parched soil and ground with
torrential showers of mesmerizing rain,
Poetry is something as resplendent as the fathomless
rainbow; dissipating into vibrant shades of
magnificently animated color,
Poetry is something as exuberant as the cheekily
dancing peacock; incarcerating millions in its
stupendously enamoring swirl,
Poetry is something as innocuous as the new born
infant; touching the hearts of even the most
diabolical with irrefutable ardor,
Poetry is something as soft as voluptuously woven pure
silk; exquisitely binding every religion prevalent on
this planet,
Poetry is something as ingenious as the bubbling buds
of mushroom; evolving into celestial sprouts of
wonderful white,
[...] Read more
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Poetry is the reason I live
Poetry is the air that I breathe in every minute;
granting me the tenacity to propel exuberantly
forward; each mundane instant of monotonous life,
Poetry is the rhapsodic wind I trespass through on my
way; engendering me to fantasize to infinite
kilometers beyond the sky,
Poetry is the most proudest possession I have ever
acquired; making me feel more privileged than the
gloriously majestic kings,
Poetry is the smile that perennially encapsulated my
lips; granting me the magical prowess of evolving a
mystical paradise; out of sheer nothingness and
bizarre wilderness,
Poetry is my reason to contentedly sleep; blissfully
conceiving the entire beauty of this fathomless planet
in each of my dreams,
Poetry is the royally grandiloquent dwelling which I
inhabit; harboring me like a divinely angel against
the most acrimonious of storm,
Poetry is the perpetual conglomerate of roses which
blossomed in my garden; blending my aboriginal
rudiments more emphatically with the soil; as their
spell binding fragrance tickled my nose,
Poetry is the tantalizing rain that fell with untamed
charisma on my naked skin; igniting the most
obliviously dormant infernos in my body; the highest
point in the sky,
Poetry is the stupendously silken fabric which I wear
to envelop my body; acting as my compassionately
amicable mate for times immemorial,
Poetry is every song I uttered from my throat;
inundating my drearily diminishing soul; with
unsurpassable happiness,
Poetry is the benevolent seed in my mind; which
proliferated at astounding speeds into the tree
called; friendship and solidarity,
Poetry is the blazing volcano of my innermost senses;
which makes me indefatigably feel that I was
euphorically bouncing and always alive,
Poetry is the enigmatic cloud that incessantly hovered
in my eyes; reinstating in me a romantic lovebird;
even as I galloped my last footstep towards my grave,
Poetry is the blood that turbulently drifted through
my labyrinth of intricate veins; instilling in me a
new found ardor as each minute unfurled,
Poetry is the pea***** which always perched on my
window at the crack of vespered dawn; culminating its
vivacious festoon of feathers full bloom; to cast its
impregnable spell upon the languid atmosphere,
Poetry is all the wealth that I could ever assimilate;
[...] Read more
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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When I wasn't breathing
When I wasn’t blissfully snoring; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
cistern of stupendously rhapsodic and gloriously majestic Immortal Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t unsurpassably fantasizing; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
garden of ingeniously magical and miraculously mitigating Immortal Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t superbly adventuring; I was still inexhaustibly writing
an
ocean of bountifully resplendent and timelessly undefeated Immortal
Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t scrumptiously relishing; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
playground of optimistically enlightening and unbelievably royal
Immortal
Love Poetry,
When I wasn’t limitlessly triumphing; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
cascade of beautifully panoramic and effulgently liberating Immortal
Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t pricelessly smiling; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
lantern of unendingly vibrant and inscrutably tantalizing Immortal Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t gloriously partying; I was still inexhaustibly writing a
paradise of eternally vivacious and pristinely redolent Immortal Love
Poetry,
When I wasn’t unassailably inspiring; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
festoon of incredulously ameliorating and perpetually compassionate
Immortal
Love Poetry,
When I wasn’t magnanimously feasting; I was still inexhaustibly writing
a
cocoon of symbiotically philanthropic and ubiquitously coalescing
Immortal
Love Poetry,
When I wasn’t ebulliently fornicating; I was still inexhaustibly
writing a
mist of wonderfully reinvigorating and blessedly burgeoning Immortal
[...] Read more
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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I Dont Write Poetry!
i dont write poetry...
i sweat poetry, i drink poetry,
i breathe poetry, i make love to poetry,
i fight poetry, i eat poetry,
i bleed poetry, i crap poetry...
too often i betray poetry,
sometimes i dropp poetry.
once i tripped over poetry,
got angry and kicked poetry.
i rocked poetry on a sleepless night,
i buried poetry on the hill...
i lived poetry, for i am poetry...
no, i dont write poetry,
but poetry writes me!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Dis poetry
Dis poetry is like a riddim dat drops
De tongue fires a riddim dat shoots like shots
Dis poetry is designed fe rantin
Dance hall style, big mouth chanting,
Dis poetry nar put yu to sleep
Preaching follow me
Like yu is blind sheep,
Dis poetry is not Party Political
Not designed fe dose who are critical.
Dis poetry is wid me when I gu to me bed
It gets into me dreadlocks
It lingers around me head
Dis poetry goes wid me as I pedal me bike
IÕve tried Shakespeare, respect due dere
But did is de stuff I like.
Dis poetry is not afraid of going ina book
Still dis poetry need ears fe hear an eyes fe hav a look
Dis poetry is Verbal Riddim, no big words involved
An if I hav a problem de riddim gets it solved,
IÕve tried to be more romantic, it does nu good for me
So I tek a Reggae Riddim an build me poetry,
I could try be more personal
But youÕve heard it all before,
Pages of written words not needed
Brain has many words in store,
Yu could call dis poetry Dub Ranting
De tongue plays a beat
De body starts skanking,
Dis poetry is quick an childish
Dis poetry is fe de wise an foolish,
Anybody can do it fe free,
Dis poetry is fe yu an me,
DonÕt stretch yu imagination
Dis poetry is fe de good of de Nation,
Chant,
In de morning
I chant
In de night
I chant
In de darkness
An under de spotlight,
I pass thru University
I pass thru Sociology
An den I got a dread degree
In Dreadfull Ghettology.
Dis poetry stays wid me when I run or walk
An when I am talking to meself in poetry I talk,
Dis poetry is wid me,
[...] Read more
poem by Benjamin Zephaniah
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Drunk On Poetry
Poetry surges steadily
Through my veins
I grant it to stream through them
Day in and day out
Sleep and awake
I believe it's a healthy obsession
I get drunk on it
The more I inject in me
My mind thrives on poetry
My soul thrives on poetry
I become addicted
Sometimes I absorb too much poetry
Reading, writing and listening
I become drunk sometimes
Poetry spills from my pen
Inking a piece of paper
And unto another and another
Constantly on every thought
Humorous, emotionally, romantic, tragic
Experiencing in life
Opinionated, factual, abstract
Political, any subject that's on my thoughts
Sometimes I become drunk
The more i inject into me
Poetry I live for
Eat, drink, sleep
Racing through my spirit
Poetry, poetry, poetry
I loose myself sometimes
When I digest too much
Poems that I write
I write for me
I share them with the world
I can't resist this urge
Poetry is what I crave
It happens to be my mistress
I become drunk
The more I inject
My mind thrives on poetry
My soul thrives on poetry
I become so addicted
Breathing in too much poetry
Reading, writing, listening
I'm drunk sometimes
Poetry I write
[...] Read more
poem by R.K. Cowles
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Life-An immortal Love poetry
Life is unconquerably; resplendent poetry of the most
highest degree; incredibly pacifying every
infinitesimal urge of the miserably unfinished soul,
Life is perpetually; majestic poetry of the most
highest degree; royally gifting countless impoverished
souls; with insatiably unending fantasy,
Life is ubiquitously; vibrant poetry of the most
highest degree; triumphantly metamorphosing each
ethereal trace of misery; into a fireball of
ingratiatingly untamed happiness,
Life is marvelously; bountiful poetry of the most
highest degree; beautifully placating every
hedonistically traumatized agony; with the exuberance
of untainted breath,
Life is indomitably; enchanting poetry of the most
highest degree; harmoniously coalescing every organism
irrespective of caste; creed; color or tribe; into the
religion of Omnipresent oneness,
Life is unceasingly; triumphant poetry of the most
highest degree; wholesomely massacring every speck of
the horrifically parasitic devil; with the scepter of
unshakable righteousness,
Life is tirelessly; fantastic poetry of the most
highest degree; iridescently glimmering like the
stream of ultimate unity; even in the heart of
insidiously macabre midnight,
Life is blessedly; exotic poetry of the most highest
degree; inevitably triggering an unprecedented
maelstrom of eclectic fantasy; in every brain on this
planet; enigmatically alike,
Life is irrefutably; sensuous poetry of the most
highest degree; miraculously rekindling every shade of
claustrophobically dwindling expression; with a wave
of undauntedly perennial heavenliness,
Life is astoundingly; impeccable poetry of the most
highest degree; forever erasing the wounds of
dastardly salaciousness; with its eternal mantra of
everlasting mankind,
Life is unrestrictedly; divinely poetry of the most
highest degree; spell bindingly mollifying every
[...] Read more
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Life-An Immortal Poetry
Life is unconquerably; resplendent poetry of the most
highest degree; incredibly pacifying every
infinitesimal urge of the miserably unfinished soul,
Life is perpetually; majestic poetry of the most
highest degree; royally gifting countless impoverished
souls; with insatiably unending fantasy,
Life is ubiquitously; vibrant poetry of the most
highest degree; triumphantly metamorphosing each
ethereal trace of misery; into a fireball of
ingratiatingly untamed happiness,
Life is marvelously; bountiful poetry of the most
highest degree; beautifully placating every
hedonistically traumatized agony; with the exuberance
of untainted breath,
Life is indomitably; enchanting poetry of the most
highest degree; harmoniously coalescing every organism
irrespective of caste; creed; color or tribe; into the
religion of Omnipresent oneness,
Life is unceasingly; triumphant poetry of the most
highest degree; wholesomely massacring every speck of
the horrifically parasitic devil; with the scepter of
unshakable righteousness,
Life is tirelessly; fantastic poetry of the most
highest degree; iridescently glimmering like the
stream of ultimate unity; even in the heart of
insidiously macabre midnight,
Life is blessedly; exotic poetry of the most highest
degree; inevitably triggering an unprecedented
maelstrom of eclectic fantasy; in every brain on this
planet; enigmatically alike,
Life is irrefutably; sensuous poetry of the most
highest degree; miraculously rekindling every shade of
claustrophobically dwindling expression; with a wave
of undauntedly perennial heavenliness,
Life is astoundingly; impeccable poetry of the most
highest degree; forever erasing the wounds of
dastardly salaciousness; with its eternal mantra of
everlasting mankind,
Life is unrestrictedly; divinely poetry of the most
highest degree; spell bindingly mollifying every
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poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Tom Zart's 52 Best Of The Rest America At War Poems
SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF WORLD WAR III
The White House
Washington
Tom Zart's Poems
March 16,2007
Ms. Lillian Cauldwell
President and Chief Executive Officer
Passionate Internet Voices Radio
Ann Arbor Michigan
Dear Lillian:
Number 41 passed on the CDs from Tom Zart. Thank you for thinking of me. I am thankful for your efforts to honor our brave military personnel and their families. America owes these courageous men and women a debt of gratitude, and I am honored to be the commander in chief of the greatest force for freedom in the history of the world.
Best Wishes.
Sincerely,
George W. Bush
SONS AND DAUGHTERS OF WORLD WAR III
Our sons and daughters serve in harm's way
To defend our way of life.
Some are students, some grandparents
Many a husband or wife.
They face great odds without complaint
Gambling life and limb for little pay.
So far away from all they love
Fight our soldiers for whom we pray.
The plotters and planners of America's doom
Pledge to murder and maim all they can.
From early childhood they are taught
To kill is to become a man.
They exploit their young as weapons of choice
Teaching in heaven, virgins will await.
Destroying lives along with their own
To learn of their falsehoods too late.
The fearful cry we must submit
And find a way to soothe them.
Where defenders worry if we stand down
The future for America is grim.
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poem by Tom Zart
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Retrieved Poetry
Poetry is dead,
Some would say.
But the inspiration that befell the poet,
But the gods that cursed the poet
Would never allow him grow weary.
It keeps pouring out like morning dew
From sundown to cock crow.
Poetry is dead,
Some would say.
Those would get paid
That wishes it out of this world.
Judgement day, the pay day, even today
,
Memories linger of what the gods inspired.
Only poetry has survived a worldwide flood.
Poetry is dead,
Some have said.
But the inspiration keeps coming,
But the memory keeps living.
Poetry lives on even when the world is dead;
It dies only if it is not poetry
And there is only a good few poetry.
Poetry is dead,
Some have said.
Until we start seeing poetry as poetry
And nothing more, until that day,
Until we start thinking he is inspired,
Until we stop thinking for the poet;
He is possessed he is innocent.
Poetry is dead,
So goes the argument.
Even as we cut from the same tree,
Even as we speak same universal language,
You cannot cut deep if your axe's blunt.
We can never speak from same mouth.
You can only say your own thought.
Poetry is dead,
So goes the argument,
If poetry is dead killed by death,
If poetry is dead swallowed by death,
The corpse should be in our front.
We should know how to bury it.
We should dig not cover it with dust.
Poetry is dead,
If poetry is really dead,
There is cause to weep bitterly,
There is cause to think deeply
For the world has been stripped naked.
For poetry is great, ageless, timeless, bottomless
At the burial we must remain emotionless.
poem by Chime Justice Ndubuisi
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Cut It Out
Sitting in darwins theory
And youre down in the 48
Im practicing politics
Your practicing guitar and staying out late
Howd we get so turned around
Why did we make it so hard
Why cant we cut it out tender
Give us something good to remember
Hey my my my my rock star
Saw your feet leave the ground
You said all I wanted to be is loud
I was ushering your friends in
I was I was
I was trying to clear the aisles
Howd you get so turned around
Why did you make it so hard
Why cant you cut it out Im tender
Give me something good to remember
I said
Cut it out
Cut it all out
So its alaska in the summertime
In the wintertime Im free
The days are short cold and wasted
Nowhere is warm enough for me
Baby you tell me what happened
Why did I make it so hard
Cant I cut it our youre tender
Give you something good to remember
Baby you tell me what happened
(why did we make it so hard)
How did I make it so hard
(can you tell me what happened)
I wonder
Oh cut it out Im tender
(why did we make it so hard)
Give me something
Give me something good to remember
(why did we make it so hard)
(why did we make it so hard)
(can you tell me what happened)
(why did we make it so hard)
(can you tell me what happened)
(why did you make it so hard)
(can you tell me what happened)
(why did we make it so hard)
(can you tell me what happened)
I said
Cut it out
Cut it all out
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song performed by Indigo Girls
Added by Lucian Velea
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