A drawing is always dragged down to the level of its caption.
quote by James Thurber
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
All Lost.
Type photo caption, save, no show, all lost, anger!
Type photo caption, save, no show, all lost, anger!
Type photo caption, save, no show, all lost, anger!
Type photo caption, save, no show, all lost, anger!
Type photo caption, save, no show, all lost, anger!
Type photo caption, save, no show, all lost, anger!
Type photo caption, save, no show, all lost, anger!
Type photo caption, save, no show, all lost, anger!
Type photo caption, save, no show, all lost, anger!
Type photo caption, save, no show, all lost, anger!
Type photo caption, save, no show, all lost, anger!
Type photo caption, save, no show, all lost, anger!
Stress!
PB
(C) Yorkshire, Sunday 11th October at 21.58.
poem by Paul Butters
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Pictures In The Sand
And Im gonna spend my time,
Drawing pictures in the sand for you.
And Im gonna ride the tide[? ],
And Im gonna make a rendezvous.
Sitting by the sea,
Sipping at my tea,
Drawing pictures in the sand,
And writing message to you.
Pictures in the sand (drawing pictures in the sand)
There is nothing I would rather do (there is nothing I would rather do)
Than just sit here in the sand (drawing pictures in the sand)
And think of thinks Id like to say to you (I love you true)
Every single day (every single day)
I waste my time away,
Drawing pictures in the sand,
And writing messages to you.
(all together)
Pictures in the sand. (drawing pictures in the sand)
Pictures in the sand.
If I didnt have a dime,
Would you still be loving me?
While I spend my whole life through,
Drawing pictures just for you.
But I could never draw my love,
Its so very hard to do.
Every single day,
I waste my time away,
Drawing pictures in the sand,
And writing messages to you.
Pictures in the sand. (drawing pictures in the sand)
Pictures in the sand. (do-bum, do-bum...)
Pictures in the sand. (drawing pictures in the sand)
song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Over The Hills And Far Away
A LITTLE bird flew my window by,
'Twixt the level street and the level sky,
The level rows of houses tall,
The long low sun on the level wall;
And all that the little bird did say
Was, 'Over the hills and far away.'
A little bird sang behind my chair,
From the level line of corn-fields fair,
The smooth green hedgerow's level bound
Not a furlong off--the horizon's bound,
And the level lawn where the sun all day
Burns:--'Over the hills and far away.'
A little bird sings above my bed,
And I know if I could but lift my head
I would see the sun set, round and grand,
Upon level sea and level sand,
While beyond the misty distance gray
Is 'Over the hills and far away.'
I think that a little bird will sing
Over a grassy mound, next spring,
Where something that once was me, ye'll leave
In the level sunshine, morn and eve:
But I shall be gone, past night, past day,
Over the hills and far away.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
where did I park my car?
1
where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before
had a coffee at the center
caught up with some friends
watched a movie
and bought some stuff for home
and now I can’t find my car
though I’ve searched past 10 minutes
where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before
no, that’s not mine
that’s a Mercedes;
that one’s too shiny;
and maybe it’s this one
- no, mate,
we won’t go any nearer
this car is too clean
mine will look like
it’s not been washed since Noah
where did I park my car?
I’m sure I left it here
on this level
just hours before
2
well, yes, help me look out...
it’s an old Nissan
blue faded into white;
no, nobody ‘ll steal that
and the only people
who’d give it a second look
will be the traffic police
who’d wave as if to say:
Pull over, Sir;
[...] Read more
poem by Raj Arumugam
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Martyred Democrat
In Lady Lusher's drawing-room, where float the strains of Brahms,
While cultured caterpillars chew the leaves of potted palms
In Lady Lusher's drawing-room, upon a summer's day,
The democrats of Toorak met to pass an hour away.
They hearkened to a long address by Grabbit, M.L.C.,
While Senator O'Sweatem passed around the cakes and tea;
And all the brains and beauty of the suburb gathered there,
In Lady Lusher's drawing-room - Miss Fibwell in the chair.
(With increasing interest):
Ay, all the fair and brave were there - the fair in fetching hats;
The brave in pale mauve pantaloons and shiny boots, with spats.
But pride of all that gathering, a giant 'mid the rest,
Was Mr Percy Puttipate, in fancy socks and vest.
Despite his bout of brain-fag, plainly showing in his eyes,
Contracted while inventing something new in nobby ties,
He braved the ills and draughts and chills, damp tablecloths and mats,
Of Lady Lusher's drawing-room: this prince of Democrats.
(Resume the breeze):
Upon a silken ottoman sat Willie Dawdlerich,
Who spoke of democratic things to Mabel Bandersnitch.
And likewise there, on couch and chair, with keen, attentive ears,
Sat many sons and daughters of our sturdy pioneers;
Seed of our noble squatter-lords, those democrats of old,
Who held of this fair land of ours as much as each can hold;
Whose motto is, and ever was, despite the traitor's gab:
'Australia for Australians - as much as each can grab.'
(In cultured tones):
'Deah friends,' began Miss Fibwell, 'you - haw - understand ouah league
Is formed to stand against that band of schemers who intrigue -
That horrid band of Socialists who seek to wrest ouah raights,
And, with class legislation, straive to plague ouah days and naights.
They claim to be the workers of the land; but Ai maintain
That, tho' they stand for horny hands, we represent the bwain.
Are not bwain-workers toilers too, who labah without feah?'
(The fashioner of fancy ties: 'Heah, heah! Quaite raight! Heah, heah!')
'They arrogate unto themselves the sacred name of Work.
But still, Ai ask, where is the task that we've been known to shirk?
We're toilahs, ev'ry one of us, altho' they claim we're not.'
(The toiler on the ottoman: 'Bai jove, I've heard thet rot!')
'Moahovah, friends, to serve theah ends, they're straiving, maight and main,
To drag down to theah level folk who work with mind and bwain.
They claim we do not earn ouah share, but, Ai maintain we do!'
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Roan Stallion
The dog barked; then the woman stood in the doorway, and hearing
iron strike stone down the steep road
Covered her head with a black shawl and entered the light rain;
she stood at the turn of the road.
A nobly formed woman; erect and strong as a new tower; the
features stolid and dark
But sculptured into a strong grace; straight nose with a high bridge,
firm and wide eyes, full chin,
Red lips; she was only a fourth part Indian; a Scottish sailor had
planted her in young native earth,
Spanish and Indian, twenty-one years before. He had named her
California when she was born;
That was her name; and had gone north.
She heard the hooves and
wheels come nearer, up the steep road.
The buckskin mare, leaning against the breastpiece, plodded into
sight round the wet bank.
The pale face of the driver followed; the burnt-out eyes; they had
fortune in them. He sat twisted
On the seat of the old buggy, leading a second horse by a long
halter, a roan, a big one,
That stepped daintily; by the swell of the neck, a stallion. 'What
have you got, Johnny?' 'Maskerel's stallion.
Mine now. I won him last night, I had very good luck.' He was
quite drunk, 'They bring their mares up here now.
I keep this fellow. I got money besides, but I'll not show you.'
'Did you buy something, Johnny,
For our Christine? Christmas comes in two days, Johnny.' 'By
God, forgot,' he answered laughing.
'Don't tell Christine it's Christmas; after while I get her something,
maybe.' But California:
'I shared your luck when you lost: you lost me once, Johnny, remember?
Tom Dell had me two nights
Here in the house: other times we've gone hungry: now that
you've won, Christine will have her Christmas.
We share your luck, Johnny. You give me money, I go down to
Monterey to-morrow,
Buy presents for Christine, come back in the evening. Next day
Christmas.' 'You have wet ride,' he answered
Giggling. 'Here money. Five dollar; ten; twelve dollar. You
buy two bottles of rye whiskey for Johnny.'
A11 right. I go to-morrow.'
He was an outcast Hollander; not
old, but shriveled with bad living.
The child Christine inherited from his race blue eyes, from his
life a wizened forehead; she watched
From the house-door her father lurch out of the buggy and lead
with due respect the stallion
To the new corral, the strong one; leaving the wearily breathing
buckskin mare to his wife to unharness.
[...] Read more
poem by Robinson Jeffers
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Fifth Book
AURORA LEIGH, be humble. Shall I hope
To speak my poems in mysterious tune
With man and nature,–with the lava-lymph
That trickles from successive galaxies
Still drop by drop adown the finger of God,
In still new worlds?–with summer-days in this,
That scarce dare breathe, they are so beautiful?–
With spring's delicious trouble in the ground
Tormented by the quickened blood of roots.
And softly pricked by golden crocus-sheaves
In token of the harvest-time of flowers?–
With winters and with autumns,–and beyond,
With the human heart's large seasons,–when it hopes
And fears, joys, grieves, and loves?–with all that strain
Of sexual passion, which devours the flesh
In a sacrament of souls? with mother's breasts,
Which, round the new made creatures hanging there,
Throb luminous and harmonious like pure spheres?–
With multitudinous life, and finally
With the great out-goings of ecstatic souls,
Who, in a rush of too long prisoned flame,
Their radiant faces upward, burn away
This dark of the body, issuing on a world
Beyond our mortal?–can I speak my verse
So plainly in tune to these things and the rest,
That men shall feel it catch them on the quick,
As having the same warrant over them
To hold and move them, if they will or no,
Alike imperious as the primal rhythm
Of that theurgic nature? I must fail,
Who fail at the beginning to hold and move
One man,–and he my cousin, and he my friend,
And he born tender, made intelligent,
Inclined to ponder the precipitous sides
Of difficult questions; yet, obtuse to me,–
Of me, incurious! likes me very well,
And wishes me a paradise of good,
Good looks, good means, and good digestion!–ay,
But otherwise evades me, puts me off
With kindness, with a tolerant gentleness,–
Too light a book for a grave man's reading! Go,
Aurora Leigh: be humble.
There it is;
We women are too apt to look to one,
Which proves a certain impotence in art.
We strain our natures at doing something great,
Far less because it's something great to do,
Than, haply, that we, so, commend ourselves
As being not small, and more appreciable
To some one friend. We must have mediators
[...] Read more
poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Dancer (Mine Muse Mime)
she is circumambulating
circumscribe spiral scribing
she is drawing me, drawing me in
calling, drawing it out from me
this poor lusting linguist with
limber arches alabaster
pillar
pleading pouting panting
teasing pleasing pirouettes
She is arousing me; unveiling inviting
awaiting my reaction
from dancer's distance
rite reciprocating
She is possessing, unveiling inviting
acrostic acrobatic adolescent arabesques
...awaiting my reaction
for her want of waiting
floor fashion marble
tiles tripping tessellate
gliding charming guiding
fantastic goads geometric
Templar template tessellate tesseracts
She, she, she...
She is swallowing me
sybaritic staccato swaying
mantric tantric magnetic
movements
...mmm... mandalaic
She, she, she...
magnetic majestic marvelous
magnificent as magic
She is leading for revealing
concealing captive
choreography
Oh, that I might spill more
spill more, spill more the so
in writing....
fluid frame flush flowing
squaring circle
she mine living miracle
[...] Read more
poem by Randy Resh
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Slum Kids
Were just slum kids, and we know it,
And we never stood a chance.
We were dragged up from the gutter,
From the wrong side of the tracks.
So how dare you criticize,
When you dont know what its like
To be dragged up from the gutter,
From the wrong side of the tracks.
Why do rich kids get all the breaks,
While the poor slum kids have to work, sweat, struggle and slave?
Why, lord, theres so much injustice in this world?
Slum kids never stand a chance.
Look at all the slum kids all around you,
Oh, they never stood a chance.
We were dragged up from the gutter,
From the wrong side of the tracks.
Why do rich kids get all the breaks,
While the poor slum kids have to work, sweat, struggle and slave?
Why, lord, theres so much injustice in this world?
Slum kids never stand a chance.
Look at all the slum kids all around you,
Oh, they never stood a chance.
We were dragged up from the gutter,
From the wrong side of the tracks.
So how dare you criticize,
When you dont know what its like
To be dragged up from the gutter,
From the wrong side of the tracks.
song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Slum Kids (take 1)
Were just slum kids, and we know it,
And we never stood a chance.
We were dragged up from the gutter,
From the wrong side of the tracks.
So how dare you criticize,
When you dont know what its like
To be dragged up from the gutter,
From the wrong side of the tracks.
Why do rich kids get all the breaks,
While the poor slum kids have to work, sweat, struggle and slave?
Why, lord, theres so much injustice in this world?
Slum kids never stand a chance.
Look at all the slum kids all around you,
Oh, they never stood a chance.
We were dragged up from the gutter,
From the wrong side of the tracks.
Why do rich kids get all the breaks,
While the poor slum kids have to work, sweat, struggle and slave?
Why, lord, theres so much injustice in this world?
Slum kids never stand a chance.
Look at all the slum kids all around you,
Oh, they never stood a chance.
We were dragged up from the gutter,
From the wrong side of the tracks.
So how dare you criticize,
When you dont know what its like
To be dragged up from the gutter,
From the wrong side of the tracks.
song performed by Kinks
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Dial 8
On a sea of nails in self doubt
I push this feeling further into this sound.
In all this failing i could never hide
The truth of pain that left me broken on the inside.
We are the future, We are the lie
Trapped in holy innocence we only wish to thrive
We are the nightmare buried deep in your mind
We are the travesty sweetened with your pain.
Alive, Alive, but Barely Alive.
Alive, Alive, but Barely Alive.
Shepherds spreading death
Dragged outside shot in the head.
Holy maimed again.
Dragged outside shot in the head.
A million faces in a bloody shroud
I hear their voices calling me to put you down.
Covered in blood, drowning in my hate
I covered my eyes, I covered your eyes
I covered my eyes.
We are the cancer eating at your mind.
We are the ministries for all of your crimes.
Shepherds spreading deaht.
Dragged outside shot in the head
Holy maimed again.
Dragged outside shot in the head
Dragged outside shot in the head
Holy maimed, holy maimed again.
song performed by Velvet Acid Christ
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Drawing Crazy Patterns
Its like sleeping now
He got married in the rush
Abels only son was gone
He finds hard to adjust
Hes feeling younger now
Younger than he was before
He wishes he had changed his mind
Yeah old mistakes they seem so small
And if he had to be you
Then hed get out and do the things hes always wanted
Standing outside
Like a joker on a hill
Hes drawing crazy patterns
With his shoes
Some people push by
And everyone is cursing them
But he doesnt raise his hand
He broke his dreams and lost his friends
Hes asking questions now
Got caught in his confusion
He shakes his head and looks at me
Then he shouts out loud
If you had to be me
Would you get out and do the things you always wanted
Standing outside
Like a joker on a hill
Hes drawing crazy patterns
With his shoes
Standing outside
Like a joker on a hill
Hes drawing crazy patterns
With his shoes
Its like sleeping now
When youre gazing at the floor
And on this late night
Its getting harder now harder now
Standing outside
Like a joker on a hill
Hes drawing crazy patterns
With his shoes
Hes drawing crazy patterns
With his shoes
Hes drawing crazy patterns
With his shoes
song performed by Texas
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Drawing Crazy Patterns
Its like sleeping now
He got married in the rush
Abels only son was gone
He finds hard to adjust
Hes feeling younger now
Younger than he was before
He wishes he had changed his mind
Yeah old mistakes they seem so small
And if he had to be you
Then hed get out and do the things hes always wanted
Standing outside
Like a joker on a hill
Hes drawing crazy patterns
With his shoes
Some people push by
And everyone is cursing them
But he doesnt raise his hand
He broke his dreams and lost his friends
Hes asking questions now
Got caught in his confusion
He shakes his head and looks at me
Then he shouts out loud
If you had to be me
Would you get out and do the things you always wanted
Standing outside
Like a joker on a hill
Hes drawing crazy patterns
With his shoes
Standing outside
Like a joker on a hill
Hes drawing crazy patterns
With his shoes
Its like sleeping now
When youre gazing at the floor
And on this late night
Its getting harder now harder now
Standing outside
Like a joker on a hill
Hes drawing crazy patterns
With his shoes
Hes drawing crazy patterns
With his shoes
Hes drawing crazy patterns
With his shoes
song performed by Texas
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
A Boy And His Drawing
A boy once came across a penny.
Puzzled, he went to his sister Jenny.
He asked her What could he do?
She said we''ll buy something for you.
He went to the shop, to be fascinated by everything.
And at last decided that a Crayon Box he had to bring.
Thinking hard as to which colour to use.
He drew nature outside his window, that would amuse.
He drew his beautiful, first drawing.
To show his teacher, he went enjoying.
Teacher said smiling 'Great job Child! !
You drew the trees, the river, and the wind blowing mild.
The teacher added that without the drawing he should go.
Cause to many in school tomorrow, his drawing she'd show.
He went to bed smiling, and proud of what he had drawn.
His dream had come true, so he didn't dream till dawn.
Next day he went to School, to see his drawing there.
Many big people were there strangely, he wondered from where?
Many children had drawn pictures, at their best.
But he knew his drawing was better than rest.
He searched from the window, but his drawing was nowhere.
He didn't step forward, as he was scared of the crowd there.
He couldn't utter a word cause he didn't knew the word 'Betrayed'.
It wasn't from anyone else, but his teacher instead.
He couldn't do anything, but shed tears.
They were accompanied by rain of the year's.
The tears were more than the heavy rain.
They kept coming until the rain made him draw again.
poem by Vighnesh Birodkar
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Orlando Furioso Canto 11
ARGUMENT
Assisted by the magic ring she wears,
Angelica evanishes from view.
Next in a damsel, whom a giant bears
Beneath his arm, his bride Rogero true
Beholds. Orlando to the shore repairs,
Where the fell orc so many damsels slew;
Olympia frees, and spoils the beast of life:
Her afterwards Oberto takes to wife.
I
Although a feeble rein, in mid career,
Will oft suffice to stop courageous horse;
'Tis seldom Reason's bit will serve to steer
Desire, or turn him from his furious course,
When pleasure is in reach: like headstrong bear,
Whom from the honeyed meal 'tis ill to force,
If once he scent the tempting mess, or sup
A drop, which hangs upon the luscious cup.
II
What reason then Rogero shall withhold
From taking with Angelica delight, -
That gentle maid, there naked in his hold,
In the lone forest, and secure from sight?
Of Bradamant he thinks not, who controlled
His bosom erst: and foolish were the knight,
If thinking of that damsel as before,
By this he had not set an equal store;
III
Warmed by whose youthful beauties, the severe
Xenocrates would not have been more chaste.
The impatient Child had dropt both shield and spear,
And hurrying now his other arms uncased;
When, casting down her eyes in shame and fear,
The virtuous ring upon her finger placed,
Angelica descried, and which of yore
From her Brunello in Albracca bore.
IV
This is the ring she carried into France,
When thither first the damsel took her way;
With her the brother, bearer of the lance,
After, the paladin, Astolpho's prey.
With this she Malagigi's spells and trance
Made vain by Merlin's stair; and on a day
Orlando freed, with many knights and good,
From Dragontina's cruel servitude:
[...] Read more
poem by Ludovico Ariosto
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
A Picture without caption
A picture without caption;
Standing lonely on the display
Wishing a warm greet of the passer-by
The time is the only loyal enemy
When a pair of eyes tracing an empty pattern
Which embrace the content of the round frames
Not with recognition or affection
Though the splash of its color define a story
The chance to dwell in grace had fly
Still the dream perform in full bliss
Many tempted to reminiscence the reckless mind
As a former curse diminish – unfathomed
The journey continue one more night
As the sun pinned each promise alone
The sweet rays draw clear and vivid hope
To read the mind of the picture without caption
poem by Niken Kusuma Wardani
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Courtship of Miles Standish, The
I
MILES STANDISH
In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels."
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.
Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the war-like weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once save my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses."
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!"
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
The Courtship of Miles Standish
I
MILES STANDISH
In the Old Colony days, in Plymouth the land of the Pilgrims
To and fro in a room of his simple and primitive dwelling,
Clad in doublet and hose, and boots of Cordovan leather,
Strode, with a martial air, Miles Standish the Puritan Captain.
Buried in thought he seemed, with his hands behind him, and pausing
Ever and anon to behold his glittering weapons of warfare,
Hanging in shining array along the walls of the chamber, --
Cutlass and corselet of steel, and his trusty sword of Damascus,
Curved at the point and inscribed with its mystical Arabic sentence,
While underneath, in a corner, were fowling-piece, musket, and matchlock.
Short of stature he was, but strongly built and athletic,
Broad in the shoulders, deep-chested, with muscles and sinews of iron;
Brown as a nut was his face, but his russet beard was already
Flaked with patches of snow, as hedges sometimes in November.
Near him was seated John Alden, his friend and household companion,
Writing with diligent speed at a table of pine by the window:
Fair-haired, azure-eyed, with delicate Saxon complexion,
Having the dew of his youth, and the beauty thereof, as the captives
Whom Saint Gregory saw, and exclaimed, "Not Angles, but Angels."
Youngest of all was he of the men who came in the Mayflower.
Suddenly breaking the silence, the diligent scribe interrupting,
Spake, in the pride of his heart, Miles Standish the Captain of Plymouth.
"Look at these arms," he said, "the war-like weapons that hang here
Burnished and bright and clean, as if for parade or inspection!
This is the sword of Damascus I fought with in Flanders; this breastplate,
Well I remember the day! once save my life in a skirmish;
Here in front you can see the very dint of the bullet
Fired point-blank at my heart by a Spanish arcabucero.
Had it not been of sheer steel, the forgotten bones of Miles Standish
Would at this moment be mould, in their grave in the Flemish morasses."
Thereupon answered John Alden, but looked not up from his writing:
"Truly the breath of the Lord hath slackened the speed of the bullet;
He in his mercy preserved you, to be our shield and our weapon!"
Still the Captain continued, unheeding the words of the stripling:
"See, how bright they are burnished, as if in an arsenal hanging;
That is because I have done it myself, and not left it to others.
Serve yourself, would you be well served, is an excellent adage;
So I take care of my arms, as you of your pens and your inkhorn.
Then, too, there are my soldiers, my great, invincible army,
Twelve men, all equipped, having each his rest and his matchlock,
Eighteen shillings a month, together with diet and pillage,
And, like Caesar, I know the name of each of my soldiers!"
This he said with a smile, that danced in his eyes, as the sunbeams
Dance on the waves of the sea, and vanish again in a moment.
Alden laughed as he wrote, and still the Captain continued:
"Look! you can see from this window my brazen howitzer planted
[...] Read more
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
A Wreath Of Sonnets To A Sweetheart
I
Tonight for the first time I caught your gaze
where you smelt roses in a garden,
with auburn curly hair hanging down your shoulders,
at morning glories trumpeting in strings over the wall
the window reflected you, caught in bright glass
and from the street I saw how lovely you are
feelings dancing in your sea-green eyes
aware of a unknown secret bond
but in the morning light you did disappear like mist
and when I rose
your were just a thought
you were already gone
like a pretty withered flower;
our friendship came suddenly.
II
Our friendship came suddenly.
like lightning falling from the blue sky
where two people in the great universe
are astounded by each other momentarily,
maybe we knew intrinsically that troubled days were coming,
perhaps had a intuition that moments decay with time
and for the time that was given to us, we were madly in love
like everyone in mankind at times
as if you came into my life unstoppable,
the winter rain of months changed
with a unknown adaptability
and although you are at times far off and distant
you still remain the only one;
like two jewels your eyes are shining.
III
Like two jewels your eyes are shining
pierced by a bright light,
they are oval like olives
with the glittering of rainbows
still they have got the ability
to with a own secret language
draw my thoughts to you
[...] Read more
poem by Gert Strydom
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Been Down So Long
* spirit version (1998) *
Sun sets cross the ocean
Im a thousand miles from anywhere
My pocketbook and my heart both just got stolen
And the sun act like she dont even care
The wind blows cold when you reach the top
It feels like someones face is stuck to the bottom of my shoe
I got a plastic jesus, a cordless telephone for every corner of my room
Got everybody but you telling me what to do
But Ive been down so long
Ooh, it cant be longer still
Ive been down for so long
That the end must be drawing near
I look to everybody but me to answer my prayers
til I saw an angel in the bathroom who said she saw no one
Worth saving anywhere
And a blind man on the corner said its simple, like flipping a coin
Dont matter what side it lands on if its someone elses dime
But Ive been down so long
Ooh, it cant be longer still
Weve been down for so long
That the end must be drawing near
I take a trip, I catch a train, I catch a plane
I got a ticket in my hand
And then a man takes my money
And like cattle we all stand
But weve been down so long
Ooh, it cant be longer still
Weve been down for so long
The end must be...
I know the end must be...
Oh, I know the end must be drawing near
Bridge repeat / scat section
* live version (pre-1997) *
Transcribed by adam l.
The sun sets across the ocean
Im a thousasnd mile from anywhere
And my pocketbook in my heart
Both just got stolen
And the sun act like she dont even care
The wind blows cold when you reach the top
Feels like somebodys face is stuck to the bottom of my shoe
Got a plastic jesus, a cordless telephone ..? ? .. corner of my room
Got everybody but you tellin me what to do
***
Well Ive been down so long
It cant be that much longer still
And Ive been down for so long
That the end must be drawing near
***
[...] Read more
song performed by Jewel
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!