Latest quotes | Random quotes | Vote! | Latest comments | Add quote

I just love the sheer mess of New York.

quote by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Related quotes

I Love The Ocean

A magic potion
Stirred up by God.
The restless waves above
The best he saves for love
In blue moonbeams.
Below, Aladdins caves.
Great ships
Sleeping in their graves.
While unknown colours
Strangely gleam
Like in a mariners wildest dream.
The smell of the spray
On lonely shore.
Where, together we lay
Locked in the aftermath
To adore
A heaven in rhythm
With our sweet motion.
And as we kiss in the surf
Oh, I just love
The ocean.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Love The Way

Oh, her eyes, her eyes make the stars look
like they're not shinin'
Her hair, her hair falls perfectly without her
tryin'
She's so beautiful
And I tell her everyday
Yeah, I know, I know when I compliment
her, she won't believe me
And it's so, it's so sad to think that she
don't see what I see
But every time she asks me do I look okay?
I say
When I see your face
There's not a thing that I would change
'Cause you're amazing
Just the way you are
And when you smile
The whole world stops and stares for
awhile
'Cause girl, you're amazing
Just love the way you are
She's so beautiful
And I tell her everyday
Oh, you know, you know, you know I'd
never ask you to change
If perfect's what you're searching for, then
just stay the same
So don't even bother asking if you look
okay
You know I'll say
When I see your face
There's not a thing that I would change
'Cause you're amazing
Just the way you are
And when you smile
The whole world stops and stares for
awhile
'Cause girl, you're amazing
Just the way you are
The way you are
The way you are
Girl, you're amazing
Just the way you are
When I see your face
There's not a thing that I would change
'Cause you're amazing girl
love the way you are

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

New York City

I can't remember what I planned tomorrow
I can't remember when it's time to go
When I look in the mirror
Tracing lines with a pencil
I remember what came before
I wanted to think there was endless love
Until I saw the light dim in your eyes
In the dead of the night I found out
Sometimes there's love that won't survive
New York City
Such a beautiful disease
New York City
Such a beautiful,
Such a beautiful disease
Laura kept all her disappointments
Locked up in a box behind her closet door
She pulled the blinds and listened to the thunder
With no way out from the family store
We all told her things could get better
When you just say goodbye
I'll lay awake one more night
Caught in a vision I want to deny
And did I mention the note that I found
Taped to my locked front door
It talked about no regrets
As it slipped from my hand to the scuffed tile floor
I rode the train for hours on end
And watched the people pass me by
It could be that it has no end
Just an action junkie's lullaby
New York City
We were full of the stuff that every dream rested
As if floating on a lumpy pillow sky
Caught up in the whole illusion
That dreams never pass us by
Came to a tattooed conclusion
That the big one was knocking on the door
What started as a mass delusion
Would take me far from the place I adore
New York City

song performed by Norah JonesReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Talkin' New York

Rambling out of the wild west
Leaving the towns I love best
Thought I'd seen some ups and down
'Till I come into New York town
People going down to the ground
Building going up to the sky.
Wintertime in New York town
The wind blowing snow around
Walk around with nowhere to go
Somebody could freeze right to the bone
I froze right to the bone
New York Times said it was the coldest winter in seventeen years
I didn't feel so cold then.
I swung on to my old guitar
Grabbed hold of a subway car
And after a rocking, reeling, rolling ride
I landed up on the downtown side:
Greenwich Village.
I walked down there and ended up
In one of them coffee-houses on the block
Got on the stage to sing and play
Man there said, Come back some other day
You sound like a hillbilly
We want folksingers here.
Well, I got a harmonica job begun to play
Blowing my lungs out for a dollar a day
I blowed inside out and upside down
The man there said he loved my sound
He was raving about he loved my sound
Dollar a day's worth.
After weeks and weeks of hanging around
I finally got a job in New York town
In a bigger place, bigger money too
Even joined the Union and paid my dues.
Now, a very great man once said
That some people rob you with a fountain pen
It don't take too long to find out
Just what he was talking about
A lot of people don't have much food on their table
But they got a lot of forks and knives
And they gotta cut something.
So one morning when the sun was warm
I rambled out of New York town
Pulled my cap down over my eyes
And heated out for the western skies
So long New York
Howdy, East Orange.

song performed by Bob DylanReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Talking New York

Ramblin outa the wild west,
Leavin the towns I love the best.
Thought Id seen some ups and down,
Til I come into new york town.
People goin down to the ground,
Buildings goin up to the sky.
Wintertime in new york town,
The wind blowin snow around.
Walk around with nowhere to go,
Somebody could freeze right to the bone.
I froze right to the bone.
New york times said it was the coldest winter in seventeen years;
I didnt feel so cold then.
I swung on to my old guitar,
Grabbed hold of a subway car,
And after a rocking, reeling, rolling ride,
I landed up on the downtown side;
Greenwich village.
I walked down there and ended up
In one of them coffee-houses on the block.
Got on the stage to sing and play,
Man there said, come back some other day,
You sound like a hillbilly;
We want folk singer here.
Well, I got a harmonica job, begun to play,
Blowin my lungs out for a dollar a day.
I blowed inside out and upside down.
The man there said he loved m sound,
He was ravin about how he loved m sound;
Dollar a days worth.
And after weeks and weeks of hangin around,
I finally got a job in new york town,
In a bigger place, bigger money too,
Even joined the union and paid m dues.
Now, a very great man once said
That some people rob you with a fountain pen.
It didnt take too long to find out
Just what he was talkin about.
A lot of people dont have much food on their table,
But they got a lot of forks n knives,
And they gotta cut somethin.
So one mornin when the sun was warm,
I rambled out of new york town.
Pulled my cap down over my eyes
And headed out for the western skies.
So long, new york.
Howdy, east orange.

song performed by Bob DylanReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

New York Times

New york poor new york
New york poor new york
Cars choking your child to death
But you dont wanna see
Cause you only think about yourself
How blind can you be
New york poor new york
Sniper on the rooftop new york
New york poor new york
Not fit for a dog in new york
Everybody bites on the big apple
Leave the hungry in tears
But no one gives a damn no one really cares
How they feel theyre just paper people not real
You need a gun to walk into new york
Now youre broke and youre out on a ledge
Who can help you this time
Now youre down to your very last cent
Still youre askin me who was your friend
I was your friend
New york poor new york
Who turned the lights out in new york
New york poor new york
Just another blackout in new york
Girl dead on the 26th floor
But no one knew her name
Found her body behind the door
Too young for the game
New york poor new york
Devils in the subway new york
New york poor new york
New york poor new york
Talkin talkin talkin - watch out
Harlem touching midtown new york
New york poor new york
Talkin bout new york new york
Moneys getting tighter new york
Theyre burning the bridges to new york

song performed by Cat StevensReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

New York

Harry got up
Dressed all in black
Went down to the station
And he never came back
They found his clothing
Scattered somewhere down the track
And he won't be down on Wall Street
in the morning

He had a home
The love of a girl
But men get lost sometimes
As years unfurl
One day he crossed some line
And he was too much in this world
But I guess it doesn't matter anymore

In a New York minute
Everything can change
In a New York minute
Things can get pretty strange
In a New York minute
Everything can change
In a New York minute

Lying here in the darkness
I hear the sirens wail
Somebody going to emergency
Somebody's going to jail
If you find somebody to love in this world
You better hang on tooth and nail
The wolf is always at the door

In a New York minute
Everything can change
In a New York minute
Things can get a little strange
In a New York minute
Everything can change
In a New York minute

And in these days
When darkness falls early
And people rush home
To the ones they love
You better take a fool's advice
And take care of your own
One day they're here;
Next day they're gone

I pulled my coat around my shoulders
And took a walk down through the park
The leaves were falling around me
The groaning city in the gathering dark
On some solitary rock
A desperate lover left his mark

song performed by EaglesReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

New York City

You called me last night on the telephone
And I was glad to hear from you cause I was all alone
You said, its snowing, its snowing! god, I hate this weather.
Now I walk through blizzards just to get us back together
We met in the springtime at a rock-and-roll show
It was on the bowery when it was time to go
We kissed on the subway in the middle of the night
I held your hand, you held mine, it was the best night of my life.
cause everyones your friend in new york city
And everything looks beautiful when youre young and pretty
The streets are paved with diamonds and theres just so much to see
But the best thing about new york city is you and me
Statue of liberty, staten island ferry, co-op city, katzs and tiffanys*
Central park, brooklyn bridge, the empire state where dylan lived**
Coney island and times square, rockefeller center
Wish I was there
You wrote me a letter just the other day
Said, springtime is coming soon so why dont you come to stay.
I packed my stuff, got on the bus, I cant believe its true
Im three days from new york city and Im three days from you
cause everyones my friend in new york city
And everything looks beautiful when youre young and pretty
The streets are paved with diamonds and theres just so much to see
But the best thing about new york city is you and me
cause everyones my friend in new york city
And everything looks beautiful when youre young and pretty
The streets are paved with diamonds and theres just so much to see
But the best thing about new york city is you and me.

song performed by They Might Be GiantsReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

New York Minute

Harry got up
Dressed all in black
Went down to the station
And he never came back
They found his clothing
Scattered somewhere down the track
And he wont be down on wall street
In the morning
He had a home
The love of a girl
But men get lost sometimes
As years unfold
One day he crossed some line
And he was too much in this world
But I guess it doesnt matter anymore
In a new york minute
Everything can change
In a new york minute
Things can get pretty strange
In a new york minute
Everything can change
In a new york minute
Lying here in the darkness
I hear the sirens wail
Somebody going to emergency
Somebodys going to jail
If you find somebody to love in this world
You better hand on tooth and nail
The wolf is always at the door
In a new york minute
Everything can change
In a new york minute
Things can get a little strange
In a new york minute
Everything can change
In a new york minute
And in these days
When darkness falls early
And people rush home
To the ones they love
You better take a fools advice
And tak care of your own
One day theyre here;
Next day theyre gone
I pulled my coat around my shoulders
And took a walk down through the park
The leaves were falling around me
The groaning city in the gathering dark
On some solitary rock
A desperate lover left his mark,
baby, Ive changed. please come back.
What the head makes cloudy
The heart makes very clear
The days were so much brighter
In the time when she was here
But I know theres somebody somewhere
Make these dark clouds disappear
Until that day, I have to believe
I believe, I believe
In a new york minute
Everything can change
In a new york minute
You can get out of the rain
In a new york minute
Everything can change
In a new york minute

song performed by EaglesReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

New York Minute

Harry got up
Dressed all in black
Went down to the station
And he never came back
They found his clothing
Scattered somewhere down the track
And he wont be down on wall street
In the morning
He had a home
The love of a girl
But men get lost sometimes
As years unfurl
One day he crossed some line
And he was too much in this world
But I guess it doesnt matter anymore
In a new york minute
Everything can change
In a new york minute
Things can get pretty strange
In a new york minute
Everything can change
In a new york minute
Lying here in the darkness
I hear the sirens wail
Somebody going to emergency
Somebodys going to jail
If you find somebody to love in this world
You better hang on tooth and nail
The wolf is always at the door
In a new york minute
Everything can change
In a new york minute
Things can get a little strange
In a new york minute
Everything can change
In a new york minute
And in these days
When darkness falls early
And people rush home
To the ones they love
You better take a fools advice
And take care of your own
One day theyre here;
Next day theyre gone
I pulled my coat around my shoulders
And took a walk down through the park
The leaves were falling around me
The groaning city in the gathering dark
On some solitary rock
A desperate lover left his mark,
Baby, Ive changed. please come back.
What the head makes cloudy
The heart makes very clear
The days were so much brighter
In the time when she was here
But I know theres somebody somewhere
Make these dark clouds disappear
Until that day, I have to believe
I believe, I believe
In a new york minute
Everything can change
In a new york minute
You can get out of the rain
In a new york minute
Everything can change
In a new york minute

song performed by Don HenleyReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

New York City

Standing on the corner, just me and yoko ono,
We was waiting for jerry to land.
Up come a man with a guitar in his hand,
Singing, have a marijuana, if you can.
His name was david peel and we found that he was real,
He sang, the pope smokes dope evryday.
Up come a policeman, shoved us of the street,
Singing, power to the people today.
New york city!
New york city!
New york city!
Que pasa, new york?
Que pasa, new york?
Hey! hey!
Well, down to maxs, kansas city, got down the nitty gritty
With the elephants memory band.
Laid something down as the news spread around
About the plastic ono elephants memory band.
Well, we played some funky boogie, and laid some tutti fritti,
Singing, long tall sallys a man.
Up come a preacher man, tryin to be a teacher,
Singing, gods a red herring in drag!
New york city!
New york city!
New york city!
Que pasa, new york?
Que pasa, new york?
Ha! ha!
Hey! hey! hey! hey!
Hey!
Oh yeah!
Hey! new york city!
Alright, new york city!
New york city!
Que pasa, new york?
Que pasa, new york?
Hey! hey!
Well, we did the staten island ferry, making movies for the telly,
Played the fillmore and apollo for freedom.
Tried to shake our image, just a-cycling through the village,
But we found that we had left it back in london.
Well, nobody came to bug us, hustle us or shove us,
We decided to make it our home.
If the man wants to shove us out, we gonna jump and shout,
The statue of liberty said, come!
New york city!
New york city!
New york city!
Que pasa, new york?
Que pasa, new york?
Hey! hey!
Oh, new york!
Uh, uh, uh.
Well, new york, yeh,
Alright!
Oh, new york city!
Back in new york city!
Yeah, new york city!
Que pasa, new york?
Que pasa, new york?
Ass city!
Down in the village,
Yeah, what a city!
Que pasa, new york?
Que pasa, new york?
Yeah, rock on!
Ow! uh!
Yeah!
Que pasa, new york?
Que pasa, new york?
Hey! what a bad, bad city!
Bad-ass city!
Bad-ass city!
Que pasa, new york?
Que pasa, new york?
Hey, city! city!
Another version
--------------------------------
Recorded live at the madison square garden, new york, n.y. 30 august 1972
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Two, three, four!
Standing on the corner, just me and yoko ono,
We was waiting for her hour to land,
Up come a man with a guitar in his hand,
Have marijuana if you can.
Well, his name was david peel
And we found that he was real,
The pope smokes dope evry day.
Up come the police, shoved us off the street,
Singing, power to the people today!
New york city!
Madison square garden!
Hey!
Whats happenin, man?
Went back to kansas city, laid down the nitty gritty
With the elephants memory band.
Laid something down as the news spread around
About the plastic ono elephants memory band.
Played some tutti frutti and played some funky boogie,
Long tall sallys a man!
Up come the preacherman, tryin to be a teacher,
Singing, gods a red herring in drag!
New york city!
New york city!
New york city!
Que pasa, new york?
Que pasa, new york?
Hey!
Ow!
Ooh!
Well, new york city, babe!
New york!
New york city!
Yeah, new york city!
Down in the village!
New york city!
Come on, hit it!
Ah, what a bad ass city!
Yeah!
Roll over!

song performed by Yoko OnoReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

New York City

Standing on the corner, just me and yoko ono,
We was waiting for jerry to land.
Up come a man with a guitar in his hand,
Singing, have a marijuana, if you can.
His name was david peel and we found that he was real,
He sang, the pope smokes dope evryday.
Up come a policeman, shoved us of the street,
Singing, power to the people today.
New york city!
New york city!
New york city!
Que pasa, new york?
Que pasa, new york?
Hey! hey!
Well, down to maxs, kansas city, got down the nitty gritty
With the elephants memory band.
Laid something down as the news spread around
About the plastic ono elephants memory band.
Well, we played some funky boogie, and laid some tutti fritti,
Singing, long tall sallys a man.
Up come a preacher man, tryin to be a teacher,
Singing, gods a red herring in drag!
New york city!
New york city!
New york city!
Que pasa, new york?
Que pasa, new york?
Ha! ha!
Hey! hey! hey! hey!
Hey!
Oh yeah!
Hey! new york city!
Alright, new york city!
New york city!
Que pasa, new york?
Que pasa, new york?
Hey! hey!
Well, we did the staten island ferry, making movies for the telly,
Played the fillmore and apollo for freedom.
Tried to shake our image, just a-cycling through the village,
But we found that we had left it back in london.
Well, nobody came to bug us, hustle us or shove us,
We decided to make it our home.
If the man wants to shove us out, we gonna jump and shout,
The statue of liberty said, come!
New york city!
New york city!
New york city!
Que pasa, new york?
Que pasa, new york?
Hey! hey!
Oh, new york!
Uh, uh, uh.
Well, new york, yeh,
Alright!
Oh, new york city!
Back in new york city!
Yeah, new york city!
Que pasa, new york?
Que pasa, new york?
Ass city!
Down in the village,
Yeah, what a city!
Que pasa, new york?
Que pasa, new york?
Yeah, rock on!
Ow! uh!
Yeah!
Que pasa, new york?
Que pasa, new york?
Hey! what a bad, bad city!
Bad-ass city!
Bad-ass city!
Que pasa, new york?
Que pasa, new york?
Hey, city! city!
Another version
--------------------------------
Recorded live at the madison square garden, new york, n.y. 30 august 1972
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Power to the people!
Two, three, four!
Standing on the corner, just me and yoko ono,
We was waiting for her hour to land,
Up come a man with a guitar in his hand,
Have marijuana if you can.
Well, his name was david peel
And we found that he was real,
The pope smokes dope evry day.
Up come the police, shoved us off the street,
Singing, power to the people today!
New york city!
Madison square garden!
Hey!
Whats happenin, man?
Went back to kansas city, laid down the nitty gritty
With the elephants memory band.
Laid something down as the news spread around
About the plastic ono elephants memory band.
Played some tutti frutti and played some funky boogie,
Long tall sallys a man!
Up come the preacherman, tryin to be a teacher,
Singing, gods a red herring in drag!
New york city!
New york city!
New york city!
Que pasa, new york?
Que pasa, new york?
Hey!
Ow!
Ooh!
Well, new york city, babe!
New york!
New york city!
Yeah, new york city!
Down in the village!
New york city!
Come on, hit it!
Ah, what a bad ass city!
Yeah!
Roll over!

song performed by Yoko OnoReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Dawn in New York

The Dawn! The Dawn! The crimson-tinted, comes
Out of the low still skies, over the hills,
Manhattan's roofs and spires and cheerless domes!
The Dawn! My spirit to its spirit thrills.
Almost the mighty city is asleep,
No pushing crowd, no tramping, tramping feet.
But here and there a few cars groaning creep
Along, above, and underneath the street,
Bearing their strangely-ghostly burdens by,
The women and the men of garish nights,
Their eyes wine-weakened and their clothes awry,
Grotesques beneath the strong electric lights.
The shadows wane. The Dawn comes to New York.
And I go darkly-rebel to my work.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Son Of A New York Gun

Jack my friend, hes a busy man
Trying to hustle an easy buck instead of a good mans dollar
Oh jack my buddy hes so goddamn full of money
Workin for a funny company for his father
He got a black satin shirt best you could buy
And a big fat straw hat to match his white tie
And a shiny thirty-eight thatll look you straight in your eye
Jack miraculous he was a sure spectaculous
The son of a new york gun
Look out jack ...
He got a black satin shirt best you could buy
And a big fat straw hat to match his white tie
And a big twenty-two thatll make you do what he want
Jack miraculous he was a sure spectaculous
The son of a new york gun
Look out jack ... jack miraculous
The son of a new york gun
Look out jack

song performed by Gino VanelliReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Just Beyond The Heartaches

Just beyond the heartaches,
there is a new beginning somewhere.
As one door closes
another opens elsewhere.
As love passed through my life,
will another love come into it
and will that love stay?
It was a question that often plagued me
as love slipped from my grasp.
I know the answer
now the tears have passed.
With every exit,
there is an entrance
and the process of falling in love
begins all over again.
Just beyond the heartaches,
a new beginning begins
to take us on loves journey
through the highs and lows once more.


25 October 2009

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

The Chronicles of A New Day part 10 The End

Cold.... so cold...
so far I've just been getting old
more years.. thats all more years
more tears...
so cold... frozen.. over.. its over.. no more...
I haver become what i write... something to abhor
no longer a new day not now
no one can know how
how did it get this far?
i ve lost more then 7 and a star
its the end there is no new day
no where to run away
not today
no where to go ive become a fey
person what is there to inveigh
about when ive lost almost all, this is my fault i am to blame
i carry the shame
this is the end of a new day
i missed my chance it has flown away
today...
the new day is gone and the sun has set
now the stage is set
for the night
of pain this ISNT RIGHT NO! dont go away new day i love her.... NO

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

All The Critics Love U In New York

U can dance if U want 2
All the critics love U in New York
U don't have 2 keep the beat
They'll still think it's neat in New York

U can wear what U want 2
It doesn't matter in New York
U could cut off all your hair
I don't think they'd care in New York

All the critics love U in New York

Why U can play what U want 2
All the critics love U in New York
They won't say that U're naive
If U play what U believe in New York

Purple love-amour is all U're in it 4
But don't show it
The reason that U're cool
Is cuz U're from the old school and they know it

All the critics love U in New York

U can dance if U want 2
All the critics love U in New York
U can dance if U want 2
All the critics love U in New York

All the critics love U

song performed by Prince from 1999Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share
Patrick White

I Love The World The Way A Mother Loves A Dead Child

I love the world the way a mother loves a dead child
and sees its ghost everywhere.
I look at the stars and more and more
I see the disappointment in their eyes.
We waste each other like clear cut forests.
In the sacred groves where the priests
are the birds of death, you're either
a chainsaw or a nail protesting a passion play.
Ever since the last lyric died an agonizing death
poems have become gadgets
in the hands of inventors without fingerprints.
No growth rings in the heartwood of a dead tree.
Tone-deaf door-knockers who write poetry
as a kind of white noise to drown out
the shrieking of the innocent in their crawl spaces.

Chronic renewal of one-eyed overviews.
Most people's lives are just big enough lies
they've told themselves often enough
to believe there may be something to it.
Wounded earth, I weep for you like a slayer
weeps for the slain. You were not my mother.
You were my child. Nemetic humanity
raises its own assassin in paranoid despair.

Measure of the mighty in the power of a dam,
how easy it is to forget the omnipotence
of a dropp of rain. It's still possible to open
cosmic gates of the aviaries and let
all the winged horses fly free and riderless
like the silk paratroopers of the milk weed pods
or the albino umbrellas of smouldering dandelions.
But for the most part
beauty and truth lost heart long ago
and were turned out like fashionistas
on the celebrity catwalks of surrealistic irreverence
and now the peony is wearing the thorns of the rose.

I still go out at night far from town by myself
to amuse the stars with my humanity,
the dents in my shining, the legends of light
I turned into black farces of self-righteous fallibility
as if I had acquired the power to reverse
a diamond back into coal. The mourning dove
studies the occult magic of the crow
and the sacred clowns look for enlightenment
in their shame, in the irrelevant antics
of the painted tears that fall from their eyes
whenever they address themselves
like mirrors in a green room putting their make-up on.

Been in the tide of this night sea of awareness
so long now, I've developed a tendency
to round the sharp corners of the crucials
out into more spherically embrasive wavelengths,
kinder pieces of sand-blasted glass
to insulate myself exponentially from the details
as if a full moon were some kind of antidote
to its own fangs and the harvest wasn't toxic.
But I know I'm only trying to divine my way
by white lightning on the moon illuminating a road
as wide as everywhere. And my childhood rage
is stilling tearing down gates and fences
around open fields where the wildflowers bloom
without starmaps, and the bounty of the earth
isn't a menu that determines your place in the foodchain.

Poetry's been the longest good night I've ever experienced
and life the deepest, most gracious bow
to all the people, events, and things I've ever cherished.
Not too hard to see the lowest common denominator
of all values has become a quantum mechanical lottery
and physics is just a screening myth
for what gets murdered along the way to the promised land.
Enculturated to our own pollution like fish,
though we swim out as far as the spring equinox in Pisces
to pour the universe out of the universe,
worlds waterclocking into worlds, still
after washing ourselves off in stars like water and sand
seeping into our graves like the mirage of an oil spill,
we're still recognized immediately among the worlds
by the indelibility of our filth, having yet to learn
not to track our identity in after us into the house of life.

The ululation of the loons wailing like Arab widows
reverberating across the lake sounds more
like an angry plea, than a call to prayer,
but who could lament the immensity
of that kind of tragic absence in a single lifetime
without emptying their spirits out like dry wells in a desert
that navigates like a madman by the full moon?
When I was young, I opened up a night school
to explain what a human was to the stars,
but now my soul's a lot more illiterate than it was
and it's me that's asking them to teach me to read.


Even if you look at it like a leather boot
that's walked down one too many roads
not to feel the pebble of the world bruise its heel,
even though we've made a great mess of it,
it's still a great mystery, yes? Give your assent
without hesitation, or the moon will know you're lying.
The mysterium tremendum et fascinans of the Romans.
The bright vacancy in the dark abundance
of the ore of our unknowing. Even the hardest heart
bleeds like iron out of the sacred rock
transformed in the forges of the fireflies of mystic insight
into a sword of moonlight worthy of being
laid down upon the waters of life in tribute.
Even if you had to fall upon it more than once
to get the point before you returned it in gratitude.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share
Patrick White

As Much As I Love The Stars

As much as I love the stars, I know
the spirit must seek its lost radiance
in the midst of the filth of this world,
even when its third eye is trying
to wash it off in tears it really means.
Under the half-closed eyelid
of the pine cone pagoda in oceanic meditation
is a fire-seed waiting for immolation
like an overdue urn about to give birth.
And do you see how the moon
feathers the waves with silver,
and the breathing waters so much
like the flesh of a woman undulating
under the caress of an unaccustomed hand
shines back like fish swimming through a starmap?

As above so below. Same with inside and outside.
Astrophysics is psychology. Noumena, phenomena.
Are you looking for a unified, field theory of your mind?
Study that small sacred syllable of a black ant
with the torn wing of a butterfly
under full sail in its mandible
it's taking back to the heap
of a thriving passage tomb burial
like a high card it's going to lay on the table
without intending to call anyone's bluff.

The moon on the lake isn't timed.
Death's not too late. Life's not too early.
Not all the flowers bloom at once
in a wave of mass hysteria at a sports stadium.
Time is as generous to the dandelion
as it is to the hyacinth or the rose.

When a total eclipse of the soul
can be as illuminating to a firefly
as the enlightenment of the full moon
can be to the mad at harvest time
and the night bird sings on the same branch
out of the same longing
as the mourning dove does
on the burgeoning bough,
how far must a wave look for the grail
before it realizes it's swimming in it
and by virtue of it having never been lost or found,
like the universe you're surrounded by
dipping its other wing in the cup you drink from
like blood from your own prophetic skull
or an elixir of love from the goblet of a black tulip,
as an antidote to falling into a cult of trances,
trying to teach rattlesnakes to ghost dance for rain
when everywhere you look as far as the eye can see,
nothing but the bleached bones of their vertebrae
crumbling like aqueducts across a sea of sand
looking for the holy hourglass to green it again?

When things are like this, why send
a caravan of mirages like thought-trains
on a pilgrimage for water on the moon?
Is a course correction more innocent
than its original direction or is it
just another change of heart on the part
of a weathervane that thinks linearly
it's got its hand on the rudder of the wind?

Best thing to do in a storm
is let go of the wheel of birth and death
and either go down with the ship like a constellation,
or trust in a bubble-shaped universe you still might float
like a turbulent waterlily above the turmoil of it all,
anchored to the bottom like a key on a kite
to lure the lightning to your spinal cord
the way copulating snakes make their own caduceus,
twin wavelengths from the same inner matrix
ascending like helical thermals under a dove's wings,
so that dragons are born of cosmic eggs
that know how to heal fire with fire
that can consume itself like life
without ever getting burnt out
even when autumn's coming on
and you can begin to smell
the smoke and ashes on its breath.

Enlightenment the inspiration of the search,
the spirit returns to the candle in your hand,
to dance with the flame of life within you
on your own threshold, in your own doorway as you realize
like someone waking up from a dream
in their own bed, their head on a softer pillow
than they imagined a moonrock could be
at one sixth the gravity of earth, what
was there to aspire to that could possibly be
higher and wiser than a cloud circling a mountain
or down in the valley where the stars slum
once they get off the night shift, more compassionate
than a honey bee in the eye of a stargazer lily
smothering it in a rusty ochre dust storm of pollen
the way we prepared our dead when we lived in caves
to bloom like a hive when its spirit returns to matter
in its next incarnation as a gust of wildflowers on Mars.
Hawkweed and Indian paintbrush I would think.
And the unusual fruits and flowers that can sprout
from a windfall of intensely radiant meteor showers
flung out of the darkness by the hands of generous sowers
that were ploughing the moon for themselves
long before the ox of the mind showed up
like the blessing of a delusional dependency
that makes you think, gone to seed, you need it.
When the truth has always been mindful
and mindlessly green as the thorns and the leaves
of the locust trees in spring coming into blossom
as easily as the mindstream follows its own lead everywhere
with nothing but its own flowing for a navigator.

No gate, no lock, no pivot, no hinge, no waterclock
trying to put the fire of life out in a bucket brigade
of community-oriented arsonists, departure
never any further off the beaten path from home
than its arrival can be lead astray
by the shadow of the return journey
it casts behind it like the widening wake
of a waterbird's wings unravelling
the flying carpet of the water that wove it
like wavelengths of the hidden harmonies
that are on your side like your eyes are
when you step out of the blazing house of life
once in a while, into the expansive solitude
of your own inimitably creative darkness,
without a candle, a firefly, a lightning strike
for a guide, and look up, just look up
in any direction you wish, and don't pick any one
of the six thousand stars you can see
with the naked eye in the country,
no matter you don't know their names
or myths of origin, or much about shepherd moons,
or what an antikythera is, then run around
looking for an underground circumpolar sage
to show you on a starmap where your shining is at
like the light of the star, though you cry
in bliss and sorrow, delusion and insight,
you can't wash out of your own eye
anymore than you can Venus in the dawn
when you're sitting on a mountain under a Bodhi tree
trying to attain the unattainable empty-handed
in the same breath that's been giving it all away
for light years, inexhaustibly, like a flower-mouth
of enlightenment in everything you say or do,
the world in the creative wake of whatever medium
that's shapeshifting into you like water into fish,
darkness into star, sky into a bird on the wing
in a homesick sunset, or the shining of the source
like the lantern in your hand you needlessly labour
at keeping lit to go look for it without realizing
it's your own blazing that blinds you to the gift
of what the darkness arrays before you like candles and stars
and nocturnal waterlilies opening like a new moonrise
amazed by the occult mystery of the fire that burns
in the subliminal watersheds of your fathomless eyes.

In this boundless space, why should you be surprised
behind all the masks of God, her best disguise
when the hidden secret wished to be known
and she revealed herself, was your own face,
your eyes, your mouth, your ears, your voice alone
pouring the universe like the light of picture-music
into your own ears like the spirit of a word
that can't be enlightened until it's been heard by you.

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Poem Read At The Dinner Given To The Author By The Medical Profession Of The City Of New York, April 12, 1883

HAVE I deserved your kindness? Nay, my friends,
While the fair banquet its illusion lends
Let me believe it, though the blood may rush
And to my cheek recall the maiden blush
That o'er it flamed with momentary blaze
When first I heard the honeyed words of praise;
Let me believe it while the roses wear
Their bloom unwithering in the heated air;
Too soon, too soon, their glowing leaves must fall,
The laughing echoes leave the silent hall,
Joy drop his garland, turn his empty cup,
And weary Labor take his burden up,
How weighs that burden they can tell alone
Whose dial marks no moment as their own.

Am I your creditor? Too well I know
How Friendship pays the debt it does not owe,
Shapes a poor semblance fondly to its mind,
Adds all the virtues that it fails to find,
Adorns with graces to its heart's content,
Borrows from love what nature never lent,
Till what with halo, jewels, gilding, paint,
The veriest sinner deems himself a saint.
Thus while you pay these honors as my due
I owe my value's larger part to you,
And in the tribute of the hour I see
Not what I am, but what I ought to be.

Friends of the Muse, to you of right belong
The first staid footsteps of my square-toed song;
Full well I know the strong heroic line
Has lost its fashion since I made it mine;
But there are tricks old singers will not learn,
And this grave measure still must serve my turn.
So the old bird resumes the selfsame note
His first young summer wakened in his throat;
The selfsame tune the old canary sings,
And all unchanged the bobolink's carol rings;
When the tired songsters of the day are still
The thrush repeats his long-remembered trill;
Age alters not the crow's persistent caw,
The Yankee's ' Haow,' the stammering Briton's 'Haw;'
And so the hand that takes the lyre for you
Plays the old tune on strings that once were new.

Nor let the rhymester of the hour deride
The straight - backed measure with its stately stride;
It gave the mighty voice of Dryden scope;
It sheathed the steel-bright epigrams of Pope;
In Goldsmith's verse it learned a sweeter strain;
Byron and Campbell wore its clanking chain;
I smile to listen while the critic's scorn
Flouts the proud purple kings have nobly worn;
Bid each new rhymer try his dainty skill
And mould his frozen phrases as he will;
We thank the artist for his neat device;
The shape is pleasing, though the stuff is ice

Fashions will change the new costume allures,
Unfading still the better type endures;
While the slashed doublet of the cavalier
Gave the old knight the pomp of chanticleer,
Our last-hatched dandy with his glass and stick
Recalls the semblance of a new -horn chick;
(To match the model he is aiming at
He ought to wear an eggshell for a hat
Which of these objects would a painter choose,
And which Velasquez or Van Dyck refuse?

When your kind summons reached my calm retreat,
Who are the friends, I questioned, I shall meet?
Some in young manhood, shivering with desire
To feel the genial warmth of fortune's fire,--
Each with his bellows ready in his hand
To puff the flame just waiting to be fanned;
Some heads half-silvered, some with snowwhite
hair, A crown ungarnished glistening here and there,
The mimic moonlight gleaming on the scalps
As evening's empress lights the shining Alps;
But count the crowds that throng your festal scenes,
How few that knew the century in its teens!

Save for the lingering handful fate befriends,
Life's busy day the Sabbath decade ends;
When that is over, how with what remains
Of nature's outfit, muscle, nerve, and brains?
Were this a pulpit I should doubtless preach,
Were this a platform I should gravely teach,
But to no solemn duties I pretend
In my vocation at the table's end;
So as my answer let me tell instead
What Landlord Porter rest his soul!
once said.

A feast it was that none might scorn to share;
Cambridge and Concord's demigods were there,
'And who were they?' You know as well as I
The stars long glittering in our Eastern sky
. . .
The names that blazon our provincial scroll
Ring round the world with Britain's drumbeat roll!

Good was the dinner, better was the talk;
Some whispered, devious was the homeward walk;
The story came from some reporting spy,
They lie, those fellows, oh, how they do lie!
Not ours those foot-tracks in the new-fallen snow,
Poets and sages never zigzagged so!

Now Landlord Porter, grave, concise, severe,
Master, nay, monarch in his proper sphere,
Though to belles-lettres he pretended not,
Lived close to Harvard, so knew what was what;
And having bards, philosophers, and such,
To eat his dinner, put the finest touch
His art could teach, those learned mouths to fill
With the best proofs of gustatory skill;
And finding wisdom plenty at his board,
Wit, science, learning, all his guests had stored,
By way of contrast, ventured to produce,
To please their palates, an inviting goose.
Better it were the company should starve
Than hands unskilled that goose attempt to carve;
None but the master-artist shall assail
The bird that turns the mightiest surgeon pale.

One voice arises from the banquet-hall.
The landlord answers to the pleading call;
Of stature tall, sublime of port he stands,
His blade and bident gleaming in his hands;
Beneath his glance the strong-knit joints relax
As the weak knees before the headsman's axe

And Landlord Porter lifts his glittering knife
As some stout warrior armed for bloody strife;
All eyes are on him; some in whispers ask,
What man is he who dares this dangerous task?
When lo! the triumph of consummate art,
With scarce a touch the creature drops apart!
As when the baby in his nurse's lap
Spills on the carpet a dissected map.

Then the calm sage, the monarch of the lyre,
Critics and men of science all admire,
And one whose wisdom I will not impeach,
Lively, not churlish, somewhat free of speech,
Speaks thus: 'Say, master, what of worth is left
In birds like this, of breast and legs bereft?
'And Landlord Porter, with uplifted eyes,
Smiles on the simple querist, and replies: 'When from a goose you've taken legs and breast,
Wipe lips, thank God, and leave the poor the rest!'

Kind friends, sweet friends, I hold it hardly fair
With that same bird your minstrel to compare,
Yet in a certain likeness we agree,
No wrong to him and no offence to me;
I take him for the moral he has lent,
My partner, to a limited extent.

When the stern Landlord whom we all obey
Has carved from life its seventh great slice away,
Is the poor fragment left in blank collapse
A pauper remnant of unvalued scraps?

I care not much what Solomon has said,
Before his time to nobler pleasures dead;
Poor man! he needed half a hundred lives
With such a babbling wilderness of wives!
But is there nothing that may well employ
Life's winter months, no sunny hour of joy?

While o'er the fields the howling tempests rage,
The prisoned linnet warbles in its cage;
When chill November through the forest blows,
The greenhouse shelters the untroubled rose;
Round the high trellis creeping tendrils twine,
And the ripe clusters fill with blameless
wine; We make the vine forget the winter's cold,
But how shall age forget its growing old?

Though doing right is better than deceit,
Time is a trickster it is fair to cheat;
The honest watches ticking in your fobs
Tell every minute how the rascal robs.
To clip his forelock and his scythe to hide,
To lay his hour-glass gently on its side,
To slip the cards he marked upon the shelf
And deal him others you have marked yourself,
If not a virtue cannot be a sin,
For the old rogue is sure at last to win.
What does he leave when life is well-nigh spent
To lap its evening in a calm content?
Art, letters, science, these at least befriend
Our day's brief remnant to its peaceful end,
Peaceful for him who shows the setting sun
A record worthy of his Lord's Well done!
When he, the master whom I will not name,
Known to our calling, not unknown to fame,
At life's extremest verge, half conscious lay,
Helpless and sightless, dying day by day,
His brain, so long with varied wisdom fraught,
Filled with the broken enginery of thought,
A flitting vision often would illume
His darkened world, and cheer its deepening gloom,
A sunbeam struggling through the long eclipse,
And smiles of pleasure play around his lips.
He loved the art that shapes the dome and spire;
The Roman's page, the ring of Byron's lyre,
And oft when fitful memory would return
To find some fragment in her broken urn,
Would wake to life some long-forgotten hour,
And lead his thought to Pisa's terraced tower,
Or trace in light before his rayless eye
The dome-crowned Pantheon printed on the sky;
Then while the view his ravished soul absorbs
And lends a glitter to the sightless orbs,
The patient watcher feels the stillness stirred
By the faint murmur of some classic word,
Or the long roll of Harold's lofty rhyme,
'Simple, erect, severe, austere, sublime,'
Such were the dreams that soothed his couch of pain,
The sweet nepenthe of the worn-out brain.
Brothers in art, who live for others' needs
In duty's bondage, mercy's gracious deeds,
Of all who toil beneath the circling sun
Whose evening rest than yours iiwe fairly won?
Though many a cloud your struggling morn obscures,
What sunset brings a brighter sky than yours?

I, who your labors for a while have shared,
New tasks have sought, with new companions fared,
For nature's servant far too often seen
A loiterer by the waves of Hippocrene;
Yet round the earlier friendship twines the new,
My footsteps wander, but my heart is true,
Nor e'er forgets the living or the dead
Who trod with me the paths where science led.

How can I tell you, O my loving friends!
What light, what warmth, your joyous welcome lends
To life's late hour? Alas! my song is sung,
Its fading accents falter on my tongue.
Sweet friends, if, shrinking in the banquet's blaze,
Your blushing guest must face the breath of praise,
Speak not too well of one who scarce will know
Himself transfigured in its roseate glow;
Say kindly of him what is, chiefly, true,
Remembering always he belongs to you;
Deal with him as a truant, if you will,
But claim him, keep him, call him brother still!

poem by Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share
 

Search


Recent searches | Top searches