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

There is nothing to be embarrassed about being profitable.

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

Share

Related quotes

Embarrassed And Battered

Embarrassed and battered.
And nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Nothing you have done is deserving of that.

Embarrassed and battered.
And nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Nothing you have done is deserving of that.

Some people bring home their tempers to leave.
And nothing you have done is deserving of that.
While others show their hearts hanging on their sleeves.
And nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Nothing you have done is deserving of that.

Dragging on their backs every burden to keep.
And nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Bringing on their moodiness when they turn the key.
And nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Nothing you have done is deserving of that.

Keeping everybody up so they can't sleep.
And nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Nothing you have done is deserving of that.

Embarrassed and battered.
And nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Nothing you have done is deserving of that.

Embarrassed and battered.
And nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Nothing you have done is deserving of that.

Some people bring home their tempers to leave.
Bringing on their moodiness when they turn the key.
Dragging on their backs every burden to keep.
While others show their hearts hanging on their sleeves.
Keeping everybody up so they can't sleep.
And nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Nothing you have done is deserving of that.

Embarrassed and battered.
And nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Embarrassed and battered.
And nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Nothing you have done is deserving of that.
Embarrassed and battered.

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

Share

Embarrassed?

You seem to have no problem,
Admitting those things you've done.
Even those things not socially accepted,
Others in a similar position...
Would try to hide or lie about them to run.

But you...?
You almost seem to brag,
About those things that shock and stun.
Why is this?
People today expect remorse shown.
At least some sign of embarrassment.
But you...?
You want it known what you've done,
With an emphasis in expressed sentiments.

'Embarrassed?
Are you kidding?
Why should I be embarrassed,
To experience and adventure?
I've been blessed with life,
To explore and discover...
Those things for me that are right.

The walking on water to prove I can do miracles,
Has already been done by the Chosen One.
And IF I am going to be doing any walking on water,
It will be frozen to be witnessed by at least someone.
Embarrassed?
Are you kidding?

And I am certaily over qualified to run for politics.
I do not lie or deceive or pretend to do magic tricks.
Or use religion...
To deny my sins committed.
With a doing them over again...
To dilute a forgiveness to me that had been given.
Embarrassed?
You make me laugh.

You see those people over there,
Hanging their heads down in despair?
They are the ones embarrassed!
Not me.'

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

Share

Cyber Cafe Embarrassment.

She embarrassed too much the moon,
And for the fact she enjoyed it the dawn,
Watching secretly not to open the truth,
But to open because of denials the moon,
I called a cyber cafe and school embarrassment,

She embarrassed too much the moon,
And setting her Dogs in watch the dawn,
But eyes open but couldn't see still,
She needs but denials the moon,
I called a cyber cafe distractions for Art,

She embarrassed too much the moon,
And brought in are confusions,
And still cannot understand still,
A naive may be the moon dawn,
I called in darkness cyber cafe embarrassment.

She embarrassed too much the moon,
And dash out and dash in of its different gimmicks,
For a confusion of no meaning,
For its beauty in glory,
They tried to catch but couldn't,
They tried to obstruct but its morning shine!
I called in its windy liars and denials,


She embarrassed too much the moon,
We spoke even if its called an unspoken words,
We spoke and communicate very silently,
We ate but very silenced also,
But denials in reality of its greed the moon,
I called its security what J. p Clark refers 'SEASONS OF OMEN',
I called cyber cafe embarrassment in-depth,
I called my cyber cafe embarrassment in lust of love!
A cyber distraction diaspora.

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

Share

Cry If You Want

Once it was just innocence
Once it was just innocence
Brash ideas and insolence
Brash ideas and insolence
But you will never get away
But you will never get away
With the things you say today
With the things you say today
But you can try if you want
But you can try if you want
Dont you get embarrassed when you read the precious things you said
Dont you get embarrassed when you read the precious things you said
Many many years ago when life appeared rosy red
Many many years ago when life appeared rosy red
No one ever shared your bed
No one ever shared your bed
Nothing ever filled your head
Nothing ever filled your head
Except yourself and little ted
Except yourself and little ted
And scary dreams that you were dead.
And scary dreams that you were dead.
Dont you want to hide your face
Dont you want to hide your face
When going through your teenage books
When going through your teenage books
And read the kind of crap you wrote
And read the kind of crap you wrote
About ban the bomb and city crooks
About ban the bomb and city crooks
Think about how long it took
Think about how long it took
To get over that sudden yuk
To get over that sudden yuk
When in the mirror you would look
When in the mirror you would look
Well now my son youre well in stook
Well now my son youre well in stook
Cry if you want cry if you want
Cry if you want cry if you want
Didnt you writh in anger when you saw the man in his big car
Didnt you writh in anger when you saw the man in his big car
Didnt you drive a banger and a gallon didnt get you far
Didnt you drive a banger and a gallon didnt get you far
Should have been a famous star
Should have been a famous star
But that aint what you really are
But that aint what you really are
You could shout your last harrah
You could shout your last harrah

[...] Read more

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

Share

Prefer to feel embarrassed and forward you go

It’s an embarrassing situation for you
When you are caught unawares
Of having done a thing
Or having spelt out a thing
Which you should not have
Done or spoken

You, of course, have the choice
To feel embarrassed or not

People of lower orders normally choose
Not to feel so
While people on the path of improvement
Choose to feel embarrassed
For they see opportunities
In such situations

You might have acted so
Or spoken so because
You were not aware that
You were not supposed to do so
In this case
You will come over the situation
Pleading ignorance or innocence
At the same time
In private, you feel relieved
Having learnt a lesson
And come to know a new set of rules

There is also a chance that
You might have acted so
Or spoken so
Having taken a conscious decision
Even though there is deviation from norms
And at the same time
Thinking that no one will come to know of it
Here, you make attempts to cover up
Coming out with reasons
For having done or spoken so

If you have the mind to examine,
You will come to realise
That by feeling embarrassed
Either you learnt something new
And are clear of your roles and responsibilities

Or you discover new ways of
Doing or communicating
Despite its non-conformance to
Existing rules and norms

[...] Read more

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

Share

The Vision Of Piers Plowman - Part 13

And I awaked therwith, witlees nerhande,
And as a freke that fey were, forth gan I walke
In manere of a mendynaunt many yer after,
And of this metyng many tyme muche thought I hadde
First how Fortune me failed at my mooste nede,
And how that Elde manaced me, myghte we evere mete;
And how that freres folwede folk that was riche,
And [peple] that was povere at litel pris thei sette,
And no corps in hir kirkyerd ne in hir kirk was buryed
But quik he biquethe hem aught or sholde helpe quyte hir dettes;
And how this coveitise overcom clerkes and preestes;
And how that lewed men ben lad, but Oure Lord hem helpe,
Thorugh unkonnynge curatours to incurable peynes;
And how that Ymaginatif in dremels me tolde
Of Kynde and of his konnynge, and how curteis he is to bestes,
And how lovynge he is to bestes on londe and on watre
Leneth he no lif lasse ne moore;
The creatures that crepen of Kynde ben engendred;
And sithen how Ymaginatif seide, ' Vix iustus salvabitur,'
And whan he hadde seid so, how sodeynliche he passed.
I lay down longe in this thoght, and at the laste I slepte;

And as Crist wolde ther com Conscience to conforte me that tyme,
And bad me come to his court - with Clergie sholde I dyne.
And for Conscience of Clergie spak, I com wel the rather;
And there I [merkede] a maister - what man he was I nyste -
That lowe louted and loveliche to Scripture.
Conscience knew hym wel and welcomed hym faire;
Thei wesshen and wipeden and wenten to the dyner.
Ac Pacience in the paleis stood in pilgrymes clothes,
And preyde mete par charite for a povere heremyte.
Conscience called hym in, and curteisliche seide,
' Welcome, wye, go and wassh; thow shalt sitte soone.'
This maister was maad sitte as for the mooste worthi,
And thanne Clergie and Conscience and Pacience cam after.
Pacience and I were put to be mettes,
And seten bi oureselve at a side borde.
Conscience called after mete, and thanne cam Scripture
And served hem thus soone of sondry metes manye -
Of Austyn, of Ambrose, of alle the foure Evaungelistes
Edentes et bibentes que apud eos sunt.
Ac this maister ne his man no maner flessh eten,
Ac thei eten mete of moore cost - mortrews and potages
Of that men myswonne thei made hem wel at ese.
Ac hir sauce was over sour and unsavourly grounde
In a morter, Post mortem, of many bitter peyne -
But if thei synge for tho soules and wepe salte teris
Vos qui peccata hominum comeditis, nisi pro eis lacrimas et
oraciones effuderitis, ea que in deliciis comeditis, in tormentis evometis.
Conscience ful curteisly tho commaunded Scripture

[...] Read more

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

Share
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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

Share
Henry Wadsworth Longfellow

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

Share

Glad I Had Nothing to Do With It

Am I embarrassed?
By what?
'Anything' I've ever done?
As a performing artist?

Why...
Do you think I should be?
Are you referring to that porno movie?
Now 'that' was a brilliant work of art.
And that was thirty four years ago!

Embarrassed?
Are you kidding?
I have more than gifted jewels to expose!
I'm a performing artist!
Not a scientist...
Wishing for my talents!

However...
I must admit,
I am a bit experimental!
Isn't that what creativity is?

Afterall...
Look in the mirror!
Two performers were very creative,
To put 'that' together!
But don't blame God.
He assisted them the best He could!

And I doubt...
If He is embarrassed at all!
Not saying that He should be.
But I am very glad,
I had nothing to do with it!

God delivers.
And we must accept it.
No matter if we are pleased with what we get.
Or not!
But keep faith!
Someone is there somewhere,
To love us for who we are.
No matter what we look like!

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

Share

You've Enjoyed

I thought you would stay as dumb as possible?
Where has this test failed?
There is no one else left,
To depict low life and ignorance AND incompetence,
Except...?

Well...
I thought you would stay as dumb as possible?
There is no where else to turn.
To seek a replacement.
Except...?

I thought you would stay as dumb as possible?
Everything to keep your intelligence unnoticed,
We thought had been done.
Tell me...
I mean 'us',
Tell us more embarrassing things about yourself.
Something tells me...
You have not been embarrassed at all.
Your eyes begin to 'twinkle'...
Each time you are sought to reveal some 'dirt'.
Have you done this on purpose?
Believing we would think you to be embarrassed?

In fact...
You've enjoyed every moment of being depicted like that!
Haven't you?
You have...
Haven't you?
Knowing we would find,
That the being embarrassed...
Does nothing to your cost of expense.
Does it?
Why don't you answer me?

'Oh!
So NOW you want to know what my thoughts are?
And who pays me for this admission?
You?
Or 'we'? ...or both? '

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

Share

Business 2.0 was hugely profitable last year, and will be profitable this year.

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

Share

Ch 01 Manner Of Kings Story 16

One of my friends complained of the unpropitious times, telling me that he had a slender income, a large family, without strength to bear the load of poverty and had often entertained the idea to emigrate to another country so that no matter how he made a living no one might become aware of his good or ill luck.

Many a man slept hungry and no one knew who he was.
Many a man was at the point of death and no one wept for him.

He was also apprehensive of the malevolence of enemies who would laugh behind his back and would attribute the struggle he underwent for the benefit of his family to his want of manly independence and that they will say:

"Behold that dishonourable fellow who will never
See the face of prosperity,
Will choose bodily comfort for himself,
Abandoning his wife and children to misery."

He also told me that as I knew he possessed some knowledge of arithmetic, I might, through my influence, get him appointed to a post which would become the means of putting his mind at ease and place him under obligations to me, which he could not requite by gratitude during the rest of his life. I replied: "Dear friend! Employment by a padshah consists of two parts, namely, the hope for bread and the danger of life, but it is against the opinion of intelligent men to incur this danger for that hope."

No one comes to the house of a dervish
To levy a tax on land and garden.
Either consent to bear thy anxiety or grief
Or carry thy beloved children to the crows.

He replied: "Thou hast not uttered these words in conformity with my case nor answered my question. Hast thou not heard the saying? 'Whoever commits treachery let his hand tremble at the account'."

Straightness is the means of acceptance with God.
I saw no one lost on the straight road.

Sages have said: "Four persons are for life in dread of four persons: a robber of the sultan, a thief of the watchman, an adulterer of an informer, and a harlot of the muhtasib. But what has he to fear whose account of the conscience is clear?"

Be not extravagant when in office, if thou desirest
On thy removal to see thy foes embarrassed for imputations against thee.
Be thou pure, O brother, and in fear of no one.
Washermen beat only impure garments against stones.

I said: "The story of that fox resembles thy case, who was by some persons seen fleeing with much trouble and asked for the cause of his fear replied: I have heard that camels are being forced into the service." They said: "O fool, what connection hast thou with a camel and what resemblance does the latter bear to thee?" The fox rejoined: "Hush. If the envious malevolently say that I am a camel and I am caught, who will care to release me or investigate my case? Till the antidote is brought from Eraq the snake-bitten person dies." Thou art a very excellent and honest man but enemies sit in ambush and competitors in every corner. If they describe thy character in a contrary manner, thou wouldst be called upon to give explanations to the padshah and incur reproof. Who would on that occasion venture to say anything? Accordingly I am of opinion that thou shouldst retire to the domain of contentment and abandon aspirations to dominion. Wise men have said:

"In the sea there are countless gains,
But if thou desirest safety, it will be on the shore."

My friend, having heard these words, became angry, made a wry face and began to reproach me, saying: "What sufficiency of wisdom and maturity of intellect is this? The saying of philosophers has come true, that friends are useful in prison because at table all enemies appear as friends."’

Account him not a friend who knocks at the door of prosperity,
Boasts of amity and calls himself thy adopted brother.
I consider him a friend who takes a friend’s hand
When he is in a distressed state and in poverty.

Seeing that he had thus changed and ascribed my advice to an interested motive, I paid a visit to the President of the State Council and, trusting in my old acquaintance with him, explained the case of my friend whom he then appointed to a small post. In a short time my friend’s affable behaviour and good management elicited approbation so that he was promoted to a higher office. In this manner the star of his good luck ascended till he reached the zenith of his aspirations, became a courtier of his majesty the sultan, generally esteemed and trusted. I was delighted with his safe position and said:

"Be not apprehensive of tangled affairs and keep not a broken heart
Because the spring of life is in darkness."
Do not grieve, O brother in misery,
Because the Ill-merciful has hidden favours.
Sit not morose on account of the turns of time; for patience,

[...] Read more

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

Share

My friends never talk to me about my poetry because they're embarrassed that I write it or they're embarrassed by what I write about which are not such extraordinarily terrifying things, but they are the state of human existence.

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

Share
Cybill Shepherd

I know you are going to be embarrassed. We're all embarrassed by it, but to hide the embarrassment... silence has never protected women or helped them. We need to talk about it more with our, you know - whoever - our friends, our family.

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

Share

I Am Tired

and i imagine her
laughing

as though
she is sure of herself

as she removes the
patches
covering her eyes

and she tells me
that i am embarrassed

or that i must be
embarrassed at the end

she is the woman
so sure of herself

when she wakes up
everyone has left her

for good and they
are not coming back anymore

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

Share

An ugly or bad face

It made her very sad and felt embarrassed
Situation developed all of sudden and not assessed
Circumstances too were hostile to be pressed
Emotions ran high and worries were suddenly traced

She did hide her face and almost wept
No one was ready to look at her and accept
Was it a good offer or to reject?
Who on the earth is so perfect?

I couldn’t say she was normal or ugly
She looked Intelligent but seemed so homely
Black spots were visible on the rough face
For her there was no one in the race

Right from the day one of her gaining consciousness
She faced all words of world with seriousness
She was still confident, unmindful of hollowness
Some concrete moves were on her part with fineness

Was she ugly and looked clumsy of her own?
Why people, friends offer her and disown?
Was she asking for precious stone or crown?
it was only honorable living without any frown

She moved easily with confidence and boldness
People still frowned with and offered coldness
She still surged ahead with disregards to all
It was need of the hour and urgent call

Nothing could shake her zeal and will power
She never looked below but always at peak or tower
Only cowards and weak look down with shyness
She was good at all move with bright success

Everybody may not look at and praise outer beauty
It was role of almighty who did his best duty
Who are we to criticize and insult the ugly person?
I find nothing new or wrong with any of the reason

someone from us liked her and offered rose
Millions of questions just invaded her mind and posed?
Was that the out come of trust in God she reposed?
She never thought of such and ideas tossed

Was that the inner strength in her which prevailed?
All far off chances even if not sure must be availed
Life is full of uncertainties and must be respected
One should search the soul and must be inspected

[...] Read more

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

Share

0194 At last

At last I’m old enough

old enough not to be
embarrassed when
it happens

it can be when
some athlete stands
and mouths the words of
their national anthem
as the flag waves

or a young musician
makes their first, fresh
debut playing some
often played classic
as if it had never
been played before

or a cloud passes and
the sunlight reaches into
the room and says
look at this crystal vase,
look at this flower
look at this dewdrop

or someone who was anyone
a moment ago
smiles

oh so many so little big things and
my chest heaves, shudders,
and my heart not my eyes
is shaking with tears which
cannot be explained but
only recognised for
whence they come
beyond tears

at last I’m old enough
not to be embarrassed
by this joy
though
I make the excuse
to go into another room
in case

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

Share

I Have Written Too Much

I HAVE WRITTEN TOO MUCH

I have written too much -
I have published too much-
I have worried too much
About the making of my own name-
I have wanted fame and honor too much -
I have made too much of myself -

I am embarrassed and ashamed
About the excessive attention I sometimes receive-
After all I am only a little man
Who has wanted to hide away in his own dreams-
A little man embarrassed when singled out for the special love he wants so much-

If I were completely honest I wouldn't even write these lines,
But I need to write to live-
I don't think I really need anyone to read them
But of course I want still to be praised for them.

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

Share
Patrick White

And It Doesn't Matter Who I Am Now

It doesn't matter who I am now among these white dragons of energy
sleeping all around me like hills of snow, longing for a heart
that hasn't been run through with a sword or fried
in the fires of its squandered passions. As I pass and passing is an art,
the silent art of learning to prefer death, alone
with the tongueless eloquence of a vast departure, as I pass
I keep a journal of faces in the windows of longing hung
with sidereal curtains
to elucidate the perfect isolation of my enlightened crimes.
I wrote myself off a cosmos ago; everything I do, a reflex of emptiness,
even the shining a cry of torment out of space, an unamed wound,
a fountain-mouth that has sung itself away like the birds,
a leaf on articulated waters, an idiot moon that has sighed away its seas.
Within me, night; within me, mysteries I keep as pets
to amuse the children who come with their inquisitive eyes
and tortured dolls to learn if hope is the truest of fallacies. I read my own ashes,
some slapstick sage, embarrassed by their innocence
into an impromptu clarity, brick roses, embarrassed
to be anything at all. Out of the depths of my own inconsequence, the dark shale
of my awareness of life, the indecipherable chronicle of my life
that whispers strange fossils into the moment like curious doors
to the exhausted shrines of time, I laugh at myself as an antidote,
a mystical serum, as I teach the unteachable by arraying
the sacred fraudulence of my own unverified life.
I listen like the shadow of an assassin behind this eyeless translucence
for the sound of approaching footsteps, the groan of worn stairs,
the musical rain of keys, to startle the bones of their dragons
out of death, to cannibalize their lies and rob them of their radiant chains
in a sudden assault of light. I sell them forged passports to nowhere
to befriend their endless seeking like the wind
that erases their footprints home. I offer them everywhere
as a room for the night, my heart the stone beneath their head.
Sleep, gently, babies, in the arms of the dream
that covers your faraway hills like a summer sky freaked with legends.
I am the unworthy nothing that loves you best; the ghost of the grain
I break like bread and salt with stars
to entice you to the unsuspected windows of your own inner seeing.
Rogue dragons wake in the blood, root gods thaw
and send a shudder through the branch, spinal lightning
strikes the cold stone of the brain and the castle falls
that ruled forbidden fields. Are you afraid of your freedom, your exile
your ancient throne? Is the vastness too much, the solitude, the curse;
do you tremble before the armies of your own defeat, regretting the gods
and delusions you overcame to arrive at this moment
faced through tears by the mad messiah of suicide
who has come too late to witness your lonely redemption?
Are you snarled in the void by nets you cast for golden fish,
mesmerized by the points of emptiness that come
with pins in their mouths to trick you out in a wardrobe
of designer straightjackets, your heart, the rock that killed the bird,

[...] Read more

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

Share
Patrick White

It Doesn't Matter Who I Am Now

It doesn’t matter who I am now among these white dragons of energy
sleeping all around me like hills of snow, longing for a heart
that hasn’t been run through with a sword or fried
in the fires of its squandered passions. As I pass and passing is an art,
the silent art of learning to prefer death, alone
with the tongueless eloquence of a vast departure, as I pass
I keep a journal of faces in the windows of longing hung
with sidereal curtains
to elucidate the perfect isolation of my enlightened crimes.
I wrote myself off a cosmos ago; everything I do, a reflex of emptiness,
even the shining a cry of torment out of space, an unnamed wound,
a fountain-mouth that has sung itself away like the birds,
a leaf on articulated waters, an idiot moon that has sighed away its seas.
Within me, night; within me, mysteries I keep as pets
to amuse the children who come with their inquisitive eyes
and tortured dolls to learn if hope is the truest of fallacies. I read my own ashes,
some slapstick sage, embarrassed by their innocence
into an impromptu clarity, brick roses, embarrassed
to be anything at all. Out of the depths of my own inconsequence, the dark shale
of my awareness of life, the indecipherable chronicle of my life
that whispers strange fossils into the moment like curious doors
to the exhausted shrines of time, I laugh at myself as an antidote,
a mystical serum, as I teach the unteachable by arraying
the sacred fraudulence of my own unverified life.
I listen like the shadow of an assassin behind this eyeless translucence
for the sound of approaching footsteps, the groan of worn stairs,
the musical rain of keys, to startle the bones of their dragons
out of death, to cannibalize their lies and rob them of their radiant chains
in a sudden assault of light. I sell them forged passports to nowhere
to befriend their endless seeking like the wind
that erases their footprints home. I offer them everywhere
as a room for the night, my heart the stone beneath their head.
Sleep, gently, babies, in the arms of the dream
that covers your faraway hills like a summer sky freaked with legends.
I am the unworthy nothing that loves you best; the ghost of the grain
I break like bread and salt with stars
to entice you to the unsuspected windows of your own inner seeing.
Rogue dragons wake in the blood, root gods thaw
and send a shudder through the branch, spinal lightning
strikes the cold stone of the brain and the castle falls
that ruled forbidden fields. Are you afraid of your freedom, your exile
your ancient throne? Is the vastness too much, the solitude, the curse;
do you tremble before the armies of your own defeat, regretting the gods
and delusions you overcame to arrive at this moment
faced through tears by the mad messiah of suicide
who has come too late to witness your lonely redemption?
Are you snarled in the void by nets you cast for golden fish,
mesmerized by the points of emptiness that come
with pins in their mouths to trick you out in a wardrobe
of designer straightjackets, your heart, the rock that killed the bird,

[...] Read more

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

Share
 

Search


Recent searches | Top searches