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I felt profoundly ashamed, I was very much upset.

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Magnificently enchanting night

The calm which the stringent day miserably dithered to provide; was profoundly imparted by the chilly breeze of the dark night,

The tumultuous passion which the austerely acerbic day failed to provide; was profoundly imparted by the agony of the resplendent night,

The ocean of dreams which the acrimonious day floundered every second to provide; was profoundly imparted by the mesmerizing fantasy of the velvety night,

The cloud of tingling sensations which the sultry day stumbled to provide; was profoundly imparted by the tantalizing charisma of the moonlit night,

The poignant aroma of romance which the brilliantly sweltering day tripped to provide; was profoundly imparted by the overwhelmingly silvery night,

The delectably sweet flavor which the harshly perspiring day dawdled to provide; was profoundly imparted by the surreal and stormy night,

The stupendous congeniality which the monstrously illuminated day succumbed to provide; was profoundly imparted by the superlatively friendly and voluptuous night,

The tunnel of unrelenting adventure which the monotonous day ludicrously refrained to provide; was profoundly imparted by the spell binding and exotically perfumed night,

The astoundingly fragrant aura which the nondescript day faltered to provide; was profoundly imparted by the piquantly pepped up night,

The enigmatic tales of fascinating mystery which the day abysmally shirked to provide; was profoundly imparted by the enticing and profusely titillating night,
The vivacious rainbow of colors which the incorrigibly boring day fluttered to provide; was profoundly imparted by the gorgeously whispering night,

The flamboyant rays of fire which the cloudy day horrendously nictitated to provide; was profoundly imparted by the vividly vibrant night,

The dreary trail of incredulous sedation that the day obnoxiously dwindled to provide; was profoundly imparted by the incomprehensibly seductive night,

The magical wave of longing that the stoical day irrevocably refused to provide; was profoundly imparted by the mystically simmering night,

The cold beads of unprecedented exhilaration that the abysmally hot day pathetically slithered to provide; was profoundly imparted by the majestic and princely night,

The ardently milky aroma which the intractably bright day disastrously shivered to provide; was profoundly imparted by the ravishingly dainty night,

The unparalleled tremors of ecstasy which the brutal beams of day insurmountably struggled to provide; was profoundly imparted by the stringently spicy winds of night,

The opulent showers of nostalgia which the murderously blazing day wavered to provide; was profoundly imparted by the opalescent shades of the night,

And the celestial stupor which the savagely bubbling day thoroughly failed to provide; was profoundly imparted by the magnificently enchanting night…

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Hmph...People

Leave me alone.

'Okay,
I will.'

I'm not talking to you.

'I see.
Then...
Who ARE you talking to? '

No one in particular.
It has been a while since I've said it.
And it is refreshing to know,
You weren't offended at all.
I remember the days,
My saying that would upset you.

'Why should I feel offended?
Or upset.
I was hoping you weren't going to ask me,
Where I am going? '

What?
Where are you going?

'That's none of your business.
And I'm hoping that doesn't offend.
Now you can practice not getting upset.'

Upset?
Why should I get upset?
You're trying to get me upset.
And I'm not a child.
You can do whatever you want.
Who cares?
I don't.
Upset?
Why should I get upset?
You're trying to get me upset.
You can do whatever you want.
Who cares?
I don't.
And what are you laughing about?

'I was only teasing.
I'm not going anywhere.'

Oh yes you are!
You're going to leave me alone.

[...] Read more

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I felt the most immortal woman

I felt the most wonderfully ameliorated woman on this fathomless Universe; when you poignantly sketched even the most infinitesimal contour of my sensuously impoverished form,

I felt the most unbelievably liberated woman on this boundless Universe; when you flirtatiously chased me till times beyond infinite infinity; behind those voluptuously rain soaked hills,

I felt the most unassailably virile woman on this indefatigable Universe; when you passionately interlocked every pore of your naked flesh with mine; tantalizingly stroking your masculine fingers through every crevice of my nubile spine,

I felt the most fearlessly intrepid woman on this endless Universe; when you timelessly stared into the whites of my eye; exploring and magically deciphering its never-ending mysteries and astounding depth,

I felt the most eclectically endowed woman on this resplendent Universe; when you whispered a tale of inscrutable desire into my ears; gently nibbling at their lobes as the Sun slowly sunk behind the enchantingly evanescent horizons,

I felt the most impregnably honored woman on this inexhaustible Universe; when you unceasingly called my name infront of the entire planet; without the tiniest of embarrassment or uncanny fear in your profoundly muscled chest,

I felt the most jubilantly fructifying woman on this boundless Universe; when you sowed the seed of your friendship; deep into the most innermost crannies of my crimson blood and veins,

I felt the most inimitably undefeated woman on this triumphant Universe; when you unflinchingly stood by my diminutive side; in my times of inexplicably asphyxiating duress and celestial felicity; alike,

I felt the most pricelessly perennial woman on this ever-pervading Universe; when you compassionately coalesced even the most mercurial line on your palms; with the innumerable permutations and combinations of destiny on my laconic hands,

I felt the most euphorically learned woman on this everlasting Universe; when you unabashedly embossed your signature of humanitarian goodness upon both my breasts; unafraid of even the most diabolical of consequence to unfurl,

I felt the most incredulously serenaded woman on this bountiful Universe; when you timelessly conserved even the most infinitesimal droplet of my sweat; in the center of your reflection even in the most hedonistic of mayhem and maelstroms,

I felt the most victoriously accomplished woman on this limitless Universe; when you blessed me with your unconquerably divinely child; fertilizing me with your undying manhood for times and centuries immemorial,

I felt the most ubiquitously worshipped woman on this unsurpassable Universe; when you discovered the most replenishing sleep of your life on the soles of my Spartan feet; wholesomely oblivious to even the most lucratively magnetizing vagaries of this treacherously robotic planet,

I felt the most astoundingly fragrant woman on this gargantuan Universe; when you tirelessly blended every of your fierily unbridled breath with mine; at the most ethereal insinuation of Sunrise and seductive nightfall,

I felt the most unlimitedly possessed woman on this spell-binding Universe; when you placed me as the most supreme throne in even the most obfuscated of your fantasy; overruling even the most uncontrollably obsessive desire of your body,

I felt the most ecstatically imaginative woman on this panoramic Universe; when you inundated even the most transient portions of my mind; body and soul; with the unconquerably optimistic kisses of tomorrow,

I felt the most opulently inebriated woman on this proliferating Universe; when you unstoppably traced the hapless barrenness of my skin; with your magically velvety tongue,

I felt the most inevitably surrendered woman on this spell-binding Universe; when you impregnably clasped me in your fervent arms; the very first time we proposed each other; to be insuperably bonded for an infinite more lifetimes,

And I felt the most blessedly immortal woman on this miraculous Universe; when you loved me more than you could love any other woman on this interminable earth; granting me not only the status of your beloved wife; but every breath that you undefeatedly inhaled in the tenure of your truncated life…

©®copyright-2005, by nikhil parekh. all rights reserved.

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I'm Not Upset! Not Yet!

Tell me where you go,
When you've got to leave me.
To say you're seeking some harmony!

Tell me where you go,
When you've got to leave me.
To say you're seeking some harmony!


I'm not upset!
Not yet!
'Cause,
I know you need alone time on your own.

I'm not upset!
Not yet!
'Cause,
I know you'll come back here to me at home.

Tell me where you go,
When you've got to leave.
I'm not upset.
Not yet,
'Cause...
I know you're needing some time alone on your own.
But you know at least you can pick up a telephone.

I'm not upset!
Not yet,
But...
Tell me where you go,
When you've got to leave me.
To say you're seeking some harmony!

Tell me where you go,
When you've got to leave me.
To say you're seeking some harmony!

I'm not upset!
Not yet!
'Cause,
I know you need alone time on your own.

I'm not upset!
Not yet!
'Cause,
I know you'll come back here to me at home.

I'm not upset!
Not yet!

[...] Read more

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Tamar

I
A night the half-moon was like a dancing-girl,
No, like a drunkard's last half-dollar
Shoved on the polished bar of the eastern hill-range,
Young Cauldwell rode his pony along the sea-cliff;
When she stopped, spurred; when she trembled, drove
The teeth of the little jagged wheels so deep
They tasted blood; the mare with four slim hooves
On a foot of ground pivoted like a top,
Jumped from the crumble of sod, went down, caught, slipped;
Then, the quick frenzy finished, stiffening herself
Slid with her drunken rider down the ledges,
Shot from sheer rock and broke
Her life out on the rounded tidal boulders.

The night you know accepted with no show of emotion the little
accident; grave Orion
Moved northwest from the naked shore, the moon moved to
meridian, the slow pulse of the ocean
Beat, the slow tide came in across the slippery stones; it drowned
the dead mare's muzzle and sluggishly
Felt for the rider; Cauldwell’s sleepy soul came back from the
blind course curious to know
What sea-cold fingers tapped the walls of its deserted ruin.
Pain, pain and faintness, crushing
Weights, and a vain desire to vomit, and soon again
die icy fingers, they had crept over the loose hand and lay in the
hair now. He rolled sidewise
Against mountains of weight and for another half-hour lay still.
With a gush of liquid noises
The wave covered him head and all, his body
Crawled without consciousness and like a creature with no bones,
a seaworm, lifted its face
Above the sea-wrack of a stone; then a white twilight grew about
the moon, and above
The ancient water, the everlasting repetition of the dawn. You
shipwrecked horseman
So many and still so many and now for you the last. But when it
grew daylight
He grew quite conscious; broken ends of bone ground on each
other among the working fibers
While by half-inches he was drawing himself out of the seawrack
up to sandy granite,
Out of the tide's path. Where the thin ledge tailed into flat cliff
he fell asleep. . . .
Far seaward
The daylight moon hung like a slip of cloud against the horizon.
The tide was ebbing
From the dead horse and the black belt of sea-growth. Cauldwell
seemed to have felt her crying beside him,

[...] Read more

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Walls

Im not ashamed
To say that Ive loved you well
Im not ashamed
To let you know
Im just a name thats all
Scratched upon your wall
Youve used it well but what the hell
Thats what walls are for
Im not ashamed
To listen to the fast-fallin rain
In the morning upon my window
Im not afraid to cry
Im not ashamed to try
To be your friend once again
cause thats whats friends are for
Friends are for sorting out the hang-ups that we hide
Walls are for shutting out the love we feel inside
Im not ashamed no to talk it over once again
To rearrange my vocabulary
But I cant seem to find
Any words to change your mind
Because I left them all behind
And thats what words are for
Words are for explaining the mistakes we might have made
Names are for calling when theres nothing left to say
Im not ashamed, no, to say that Ive loved you well
Im not ashamed, and yet I know
Im just a name, thats all
Scratched upon your wall
Youve used it well, but what the hell
Thats what walls are for
Im not ashamed of wearing out my old grey socks
Chasing you around the back woods
Im not ashamed to darn
Nor to proud to find some yarn
To sew them up once again
cause thats what socks are for

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Joy & Pain

Heaven aint your place girl , not now anyways
And in this hell yeah yeah , you cant erase
All of the pain , that youve been given
That aint the reason yeah , that youve been driven
Watch the hand as its movin ,
24 times around
Every seconds like a minute ,
Till youre back on the ground
Ive felt joy and Ive felt pain (girl Im sorry)
Ive felt joy and Ive felt pain (girl Im sorry)
Ive felt joy and Ive felt pain (girl Im sorry)
But I know Im gonna see you again
Girl we had our chances , we knew from the start
That we could take heaven yeah and tear it apart tear it apart
You gotta take a chance girl , you gotta lead me by the hand
And turn this wild one , into a family man..come on
Many miles been between us since I walked away
Girl Im sorry what I did to you , this time Im here to stay
Ive felt joy and Ive felt pain (girl Im sorry)
Ive felt joy and Ive felt pain (girl Im sorry)
Ive felt joy and Ive felt pain (girl Im sorry)
But I know baby Im gonna see you again
But I know yeah
Ive felt pain Ive felt joy yeah
Heaven aint your place girl , not now anyways
And in this hell yeah yeah , you cant erase
All of the pain , that youve been given
That aint the reason yeah , that youve been driven
Watch the hand as its movin ,
24 times around
Every seconds like a minute ,
Till youre back on the ground
Ive felt joy and Ive felt pain (and the girls say)
Ive felt joy and Ive felt pain (and the girls say)
Ive felt joy and Ive felt pain (girl Im sorry)
Ive felt joy and Ive felt pain (girl Im sorry [x3])
But I know Im gonna see you again

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With Rose In Hand

Prayer is worth more than a rose
in my hand where love grows
for God and all he knows
The rose has a thorn
which Jesus felt on the crown he had worn.
the rose is red as the blood from his head
when he was crucifed before we were born.


[...] Read more

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Any form of life was better than death

I felt like committing suicide there and then itself. Everytime I saw countless haplessly orphaned children; being viciously kicked into dustbins of malice; for ostensibly no reason or rhyme,

I felt like committing suicide there and then itself. Everytime I saw the pricelessly innocuous female fetus; being brutally assassinated and aborted; right in the very depths of the unassailably godly womb,

I felt like committing suicide there and then itself. Everytime I saw heartlessly cold-blooded men; ruthlessly felling innumerable a tree; using its blessed branches; trunk and roots; for evolving lifelessly wastrel commodities,

I felt like committing suicide there and then itself. Everytime I saw demonically manipulating politicians; weigh the very essence of unconquerably righteous life; in terms of wantonly decrepit currency coin,

I felt like committing suicide there and then itself. Everytime I saw innocently minor girls being brutally raped; by the diabolically idiosyncratic perversions of sadistic man,

I felt like committing suicide there and then itself. Everytime I saw peerlessly impeccable blood being parasitically sucked from newborn forms; just in order to spuriously enrich and consecrate; the already blessed and bountiful human form,

I felt like committing suicide there and then itself. Everytime I saw boundless wives and children reduced to a cadaverous carcass; as the man of the family simply refrained to budge an inch to earn; cannibalistically guzzling the last dropp of wine and vixen; to be found of planet earth,

I felt like committing suicide there and then itself. Everytime I saw beautifully fructifying wildlife being emotionlessly beheaded; just in order to become the exuberant delicacy; of the already replenished palette,

I felt like committing suicide there and then itself. Everytime I saw robustly ebullient organisms doing nothing but just endlessly gazing at fathomless sky; nonsensically proclaiming that their destiny would one day and eventually take them to the absolute epitome of cloud nine,

I felt like committing suicide there and then itself. Everytime I saw one man derogatorily slaving and slavering for another man; wherein the Omnipotent Creator had created all symbiotically equal in the first place,

I felt like committing suicide there and then itself. Everytime I saw millions of innocent being indiscriminately butchered; in the wrath and aftermath of barbarously thwarting bombardment and war,

I felt like committing suicide there and then itself. Everytime I saw satanic terrorists launch an inconsolably pulverizing assault on one particular fraternity of mankind; in the name of sacrifice to the Omnipresent Lord,

I felt like committing suicide there and then itself. Everytime I saw hordes of people blindfoldedly offering their last ounce of wealth to the Omnipotent deity of the Lord; who in the first place owned every speck of the unending Universe; and who wanted them to benevolently donate the same to all suffering living kind instead,

I felt like committing suicide there and then itself. Everytime I saw school going girls and boys begging hoarsely on the obdurately chauvinistic streets; with their parents abhorrently using them to tickle the soft corner of the opulent society,
I felt like committing suicide there and then itself. Everytime I saw women of all ages; right from the age of my daughter; to sister to mother; tawdrily selling their flesh to hedonistically dastardly men; just for securing those two quintessential morsels of food,

I felt like committing suicide there and then itself. Everytime I saw limitless dying unattended on the freezing streets; because of unforgivably ghastly corruption; viciously infiltrating in every echelon of the government and society,

I felt like committing suicide there and then itself. Everytime I saw impudently pretentious brats; telling their life-bestowing parents to clean the stagnating shit in their houses; whilst they themselves deliriously drowned themselves; into barrels of sinfully expensive wine and cigarette smoke,

I felt like committing suicide there and then itself. Everytime I saw the most perpetually faithful of lovers salaciously separate like a miserably broken leaf; at the tiniest of objection from the sanctimoniously turgid society,

I felt like committing suicide there and then itself. Everytime I saw selfishly shriveled man; praying to God for solely impregnating his lungs with a countless breaths; instead of immortally sharing the same in perfect symbiosis with endless numbers of his own kind,

But when I was actually committing suicide. I felt that any form of life was better than death; as I approached my very last breath. For if at all I could endeavor my very best to ameliorate every fraternity of estranged and maliciously cannibalistic living kind; then by the grace of God it could be only while in undefeated life and not the slightest after stonily gory death…

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Ashamed

i feel alone... i feel like i could die
i feel alone... i feel like i could die... tonight
carry on carry on

don't feel ashamed.. don't feel ashamed
i rather it be this way
you're not to blame you're not to blame
don't feel ashamed

i'm getting close...
to the other side
just close the door
i'll leave the past behind me
can you see my pride
it's only one step away from
freedom... freedom...

i feel i can fly anywhere with anyone

don't feel ashamed
i rather it be this way
you're not to blame
don't feel ashamed
don't feel ashamed
i rather it be this way
you're not to blame
don't feel ashamed

i love you baby... so don't you feel ashamed!!


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0038 Why I'm ashamed of being British

It was so easy being a British child
in the 1930s:
everything was – or so it seems to memory’s
selective mind - so ordered:
how old was I, when I stopped
raising my school cap
(‘Don’t just touch it, Michael;
lift it! ’) to, not just staff at school,
but anyone to whom my parents talked
or who had talked (‘My, hasn’t he grown! ’
as if this was some personal achievement) to me,
or more likely, over my head, as I
shifted from foot to foot,
trapped in a grown-up world
of politenesses; which however
my mother loved and rightly
as one now raised in her station
from being polite to customers
in grandma’s terrace front-window shop
where homemade cooking was the income
now that the cotton dust had got to grandpa's lungs;
but now the wife of a man retired
at thirty-eight, stone-deaf…

The history books at school were slender – since
we’d won every war – or if some foreigners thought
we hadn’t, it had all the same brought out great courage,
incredible bravery which was a lesson to us all,
fortitude and leadership and deeds
‘ surpassing the call of duty’. We’d even
won wars in places which technically weren’t ours,
called The Empire; over which we ruled
because we did it better than the natives;
because we were born to rule..

And we were taught by haunted heroes who’d fought
in the war to end all wars – the PT instructor
had a face like camouflage, white, greenish, brown and red,
where he’d been mustard-gassed; our heroes
were still close to us, although
they didn’t talk about it much. That was
another lesson in how to be British.

Geography was happy natives
(only the National Geographic Magazine
photographed their tits, and then only if brown)
moving export crops, balancing trade
and the occasional water-pot – which was always full.
And the sun never set on those red bits on the map
which were the British Empire…

[...] Read more

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Take Me Back

Ive been walking by the river
Ive been walking down by the water
Ive been walking down by the river
Ive been feeling so sad and blue
Ive been thinking, Ive been thinking, Ive been thinking,
Ive been thinking, Ive been thinking, Ive been thinking,
Ah theres so much suffering, and its
Too much confusion, too much, too much confusion in the world
Take me back, take me back, take me back
Take me way back, take me way back, take me way back
Take me way back, take me way back, take me way back
Take me way back, take me way back, ah!
Take me way, way, way, way, way, way, way back, huh!
Help me un.....help me understand
Take me, do you remember the time darlin
When everything made more sense in the world (yeah)
Oh I remember, I remember
When life made more sense
Ah, ah, take me back, take me back, take me back, take me back
Take me back, take me back, take me back, take me back
Take me back (woah) to when the world made more sense
Well theres too much suffering and confusion
And Im walking down by the river
Oh, let me understand religion
Way, way back, way back
When you walked, in a green field, in a green meadow
Down an avenue of trees
On a, on a golden summer
And the sky was blue
And you didnt have no worries, you didnt have no care
You were walking in a green field
In a meadow, through the buttercups, in the summertime
And you looked way out over, way out
Way out over the city and the water
And it feels so good, and it feels so good
And you keep on walking
And the music on the radio, and the music on the radio
Has so much soul, has so much soul
And you listen, in the nightime
While were still and quiet
And you look out on the water
And the big ships, and the big boats
Came on sailing by, by, by, by
And you felt so good, and I felt so good
I felt I wanna blow my harmonica
Take me back, there, take me way back there
Take me back, take me back, take me back
Take me way, way, way back, way back
To when, when I understood
When I understood the light, when I understood the light

[...] Read more

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When I saw the Sun rising in the sky

When I saw the sun rising in the sky; I felt waves of unparalleled enchantment circumvent my persona,

When I saw the sun rising in the sky; nascent pores embedded in my skin sprung up with exuberant intensity,

When I saw the sun rising in the sky; I felt waves of marathon despair deeply embodied in me; vanish into thin wisps of oblivion,

When I saw the sun rising in the sky; I felt besieged by volatile gushes of resplendent light,

When I saw the sun rising in the sky; stale pools of air in my lungs got profoundly reinvigorated; revitalizing my dreary senses,

When I saw the sun rising in the sky; I felt innovative perceptions about beauty circulating wildly through intricate pores of my mind,

When I saw the sun rising in the sky; I felt newly born droplets of sweat trickle down my nape; washing away sins of the previous day,

When I saw the sun rising in the sky; I felt golden beams of light gently caress my obscured eyes,

When I saw the sun rising in the sky; I felt an unprecedented vigor suddenly impregnate my feeble veins,

When I saw the sun rising in the sky; I felt a compassionate warmth engulfing me from all sides; annihilating completely the barbaric chill I had encountered in the night,

When I saw the sun rising in the sky; I felt my legs rhythmically sway; my ears absorbedly focused to melodious chirping of the humming bird,
When I saw the sun rising in the sky; I felt catapulted to supreme heights of ecstasy; with benevolent feelings of forgiveness slowly creeping in my soul,

When I saw the sun rising in the sky; I felt the palpitations of my heart grow faster; loads of enthusiasm embodied in my blood,

When I saw the sun rising in the sky; I felt the color of my skin dramatically change; it had now acquired tinges of robust crimson; profusely replacing patches of pallid flesh,

When I saw the sun rising in the sky; it made me retrospect more nostalgically about my past; forming a pellucid picture of my entity,

When I saw the sun rising in the sky; I felt inundated with images of celestial gods; hovering very near my silhouette,

When I saw the sun rising in the sky; I made a plethora of resolutions before commencing nondescript activities of the day,

When I saw the sun rising in the sky; I pictured all my ancestors living in coordinated harmony as the rays emanating out,

When I saw the sun rising in the sky; I dreamt about my love which was immortal as the perpetual shine,

And when I saw the sun rising in the sky; I conceived a new beginning to life; felt like bestowed with another opportunity to prove my mettle in this unsparing world.

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In My Mind Am I My Enemy

If I get upset.
Regret those limits met.
In my mind am I...
My,
Enemy?

You,
Can't free me!
No way.
Until,
I know...
What that freedom means,
To me!

You,
Can't free me!
No way.
Until,
I know...
What that freedom means,
To me!

If I live in doubt.
And voice this from my mouth,
From dawn until the night falls...
Am,
I...
Free?

If I get upset.
Regret those limits met.
In my mind am I...
My,
Enemy?

If I live in doubt.
Are my needs freed?
And voice this from my mouth.
Are my needs freed?
If I get upset.
Are my needs freed?
Regret those limits met.
Are my needs freed?

If I live in doubt.
Are my needs freed?
And voice this from my mouth.
Are my needs freed?
If I get upset.
Are my needs freed?

[...] Read more

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Not Ashamed Of Being Ashamed

Some Frenchmen are ashamed of being French,
while others are ashamed that those who are ashamed aren’t proud;
though nowadays it’s hard to be a mensch,
it’s harder to oppose opinions of the madding crowd,
as well as those espoused by the elite,
which turns a blind eye to the problems of identity,
opining that a nation should backbeat
traditions and become an obsolete nonentity.

Devorah Lauter writes an article about French identity politics in the LA Times, December 14,2009 (“As the French debate their identity, some recoil”) . The allusion to the Swiss minaret poll brings to mind my poem “Swiss Minarets, ” which Huffpo chose not to put on its blog. Lauter writes:
It was one of a series of government-run public debates aimed at defining the values that constitute French national identity. But in this middle-class suburb west of Paris, the discussion last week quickly turned into a cacophony of hot-tempered accusations. Rather than give his version of what it means to be French, an invited speaker, historian Jean-Yves Mollier, attacked his host (who sat stone-still a few feet in front of him) for supporting the national dialogue. Mollier said the ongoing debates represent none other than Vichy-style propaganda attempting to 'stigmatize' those who don't fall into France's ruling native caste, in this case mostly French Muslims of immigrant origin. Mollier and several other attendees proceeded to walk out. Meanwhile, two actors disguised as avid participants launched into a faux back-and-forth. 'Today, I'm ashamed of being French! ' said one of the men, standing up to be heard. The other, jumping to his feet, replied, 'Excuse me, but I'm proud of being French, and you, you should be ashamed of being proud of being ashamed of France! ' 'It's a shame for France! ' shouted back the first. 'I'm proud of the shame I feel for people like you who are ashamed of being French! ' cried the second. In the crowd, one middle-aged man's face turned the color of his pink shirt. He termed the scene 'disgraceful.' Host Anne Boquet, the local police chief, expressed her hope that the dialogue would 'remind people of their Republican values and to respect authority.'

'The debates can introduce that respect, ' she said, and help 'define the face of France we like today.' That, it seems, may be a long way off. The 3-month-long national debate series, spearheaded by conservative President Nicolas Sarkozy and his minister of immigration, has been the subject of heated controversy since a late November vote in Switzerland to ban the construction of minarets on mosques. Sympathy for the Swiss vote here, according to polls, has helped focus the debates, which began in November, on widely held demands that Muslims do more to blend into French society. Polls show that a small majority in France favor a ban on minarets like the one the Swiss approved with a 57.5% majority.


12/14/09

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The Loves of the Angels

'Twas when the world was in its prime,
When the fresh stars had just begun
Their race of glory and young Time
Told his first birth-days by the sun;
When in the light of Nature's dawn
Rejoicing, men and angels met
On the high hill and sunny lawn,-
Ere sorrow came or Sin had drawn
'Twixt man and heaven her curtain yet!
When earth lay nearer to the skies
Than in these days of crime and woe,
And mortals saw without surprise
In the mid-air angelic eyes
Gazing upon this world below.

Alas! that Passion should profane
Even then the morning of the earth!
That, sadder still, the fatal stain
Should fall on hearts of heavenly birth-
And that from Woman's love should fall
So dark a stain, most sad of all!

One evening, in that primal hour,
On a hill's side where hung the ray
Of sunset brightening rill and bower,
Three noble youths conversing lay;
And, as they lookt from time to time
To the far sky where Daylight furled
His radiant wing, their brows sublime
Bespoke them of that distant world-
Spirits who once in brotherhood
Of faith and bliss near ALLA stood,
And o'er whose cheeks full oft had blown
The wind that breathes from ALLA'S throne,
Creatures of light such as still play,
Like motes in sunshine, round the Lord,
And thro' their infinite array
Transmit each moment, night and day,
The echo of His luminous word!

Of Heaven they spoke and, still more oft,
Of the bright eyes that charmed them thence;
Till yielding gradual to the soft
And balmy evening's influence-
The silent breathing of the flowers-
The melting light that beamed above,
As on their first, fond, erring hours,-
Each told the story of his love,
The history of that hour unblest,
When like a bird from its high nest

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Tale IX

EDWARD SHORE.

Genius! thou gift of Heav'n! thou light divine!
Amid what dangers art thou doom'd to shine!
Oft will the body's weakness check thy force,
Oft damp thy vigour, and impede thy course;
And trembling nerves compel thee to restrain
Thy nobler efforts, to contend with pain;
Or want (sad guest!) will in thy presence come,
And breathe around her melancholy gloom:
To life's low cares will thy proud thought confine,
And make her sufferings, her impatience, thine.
Evil and strong, seducing passions prey
On soaring minds, and win them from their way,
Who then to Vice the subject spirits give,
And in the service of the conqu'ror live;
Like captive Samson making sport for all,
Who fear'd their strength, and glory in their fall.
Genius, with virtue, still may lack the aid
Implored by humble minds, and hearts afraid;
May leave to timid souls the shield and sword
Of the tried Faith, and the resistless Word;
Amid a world of dangers venturing forth,
Frail, but yet fearless, proud in conscious worth,
Till strong temptation, in some fatal time,
Assails the heart, and wins the soul to crime,
When left by honour, and by sorrow spent,
Unused to pray, unable to repent,
The nobler powers, that once exalted high
Th' aspiring man, shall then degraded lie:
Reason, through anguish, shall her throne forsake,
And strength of mind but stronger madness make.
When Edward Shore had reach'd his twentieth

year,
He felt his bosom light, his conscience clear;
Applause at school the youthful hero gain'd,
And trials there with manly strength sustain'd:
With prospects bright upon the world he came,
Pure love of virtue, strong desire of fame:
Men watch'd the way his lofty mind would take,
And all foretold the progress he would make.
Boast of these friends, to older men a guide,
Proud of his parts, but gracious in his pride;
He bore a gay good-nature in his face,
And in his air were dignity and grace;
Dress that became his state and years he wore,
And sense and spirit shone in Edward Shore.
Thus, while admiring friends the Youth beheld,
His own disgust their forward hopes repell'd;

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Tale XVI

THE CONFIDANT.

Anna was young and lovely--in her eye
The glance of beauty, in her cheek the dye:
Her shape was slender, and her features small,
But graceful, easy, unaffected all:
The liveliest tints her youthful face disclosed;
There beauty sparkled, and there health reposed;
For the pure blood that flush'd that rosy cheek
Spoke what the heart forbade the tongue to speak,
And told the feelings of that heart as well,
Nay, with more candour than the tongue could tell.
Though this fair lass had with the wealthy dwelt,
Yet like the damsel of the cot she felt;
And, at the distant hint or dark surmise,
The blood into the mantling cheek would rise.
Now Anna's station frequent terrors wrought,
In one whose looks were with such meaning fraught,
For on a Lady, as an humble friend,
It was her painful office to attend.
Her duties here were of the usual kind -
And some the body harass'd, some the mind:
Billets she wrote, and tender stories read,
To make the Lady sleepy in her bed;
She play'd at whist, but with inferior skill,
And heard the summons as a call to drill;
Music was ever pleasant till she play'd
At a request that no request convey'd;
The Lady's tales with anxious looks she heard,
For she must witness what her Friend averr'd;
The Lady's taste she must in all approve,
Hate whom she hated, whom she lov'd must love;
These, with the various duties of her place,
With care she studied, and perform'd with grace:
She veil'd her troubles in a mask of ease,
And show'd her pleasure was a power to please.
Such were the damsel's duties: she was poor -
Above a servant, but with service more:
Men on her face with careless freedom gaz'd,
Nor thought how painful was the glow they raised.
A wealthy few to gain her favour tried,
But not the favour of a grateful bride;
They spoke their purpose with an easy air,
That shamed and frighten'd the dependent fair;
Past time she view'd, the passing time to cheat,
But nothing found to make the present sweet:
With pensive soul she read life's future page,
And saw dependent, poor, repining age.
But who shall dare t'assert what years may

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Those Who Hurt and Go

When you've been hurt and it is felt,
Is if felt like no one else?
When you've been scandalized to dirt...
Is this a group effort that's hurt?

And when forgiveness is expected,
Is it easy to forget...
Those who left you feeling grief.
Perceiving you to over-react.
And you to be too sensitive.

When you've been hurt and it is felt,
Is if felt like no one else?
When you've been scandalized to dirt...
Is this a group effort that's hurt?

And when forgiveness is expected,
Is it easy to forget...
Those who left you feeling grief.
Perceiving you to over-react.
And you to be too sensitive.

There is a misunderstanding...
As to who should feel what deeply.
To what degree a hurt is felt.
And who is left to grieve.

When you've been hurt and it is felt,
Is if felt like no one else?
When you've been scandalized to dirt...
Is this a group effort that's hurt?

No!
No!
No-no-no.

There's a misunderstanding...
As to who should feel what deeply.
To what degree a hurt is felt.
And who is left to grieve.

There's a misunderstanding...
As to who should feel what deeply.
To what degree a hurt is felt.
And who is left to grieve.

And when forgiveness is expected,
Is it easy to forget...
Those who left you feeling grief,
Believing you are weak.

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Avon's Harvest

Fear, like a living fire that only death
Might one day cool, had now in Avon’s eyes
Been witness for so long of an invasion
That made of a gay friend whom we had known
Almost a memory, wore no other name
As yet for us than fear. Another man
Than Avon might have given to us at least
A futile opportunity for words
We might regret. But Avon, since it happened,
Fed with his unrevealing reticence
The fire of death we saw that horribly
Consumed him while he crumbled and said nothing.

So many a time had I been on the edge,
And off again, of a foremeasured fall
Into the darkness and discomfiture
Of his oblique rebuff, that finally
My silence honored his, holding itself
Away from a gratuitous intrusion
That likely would have widened a new distance
Already wide enough, if not so new.
But there are seeming parallels in space
That may converge in time; and so it was
I walked with Avon, fought and pondered with him,
While he made out a case for So-and-so,
Or slaughtered What’s-his-name in his old way,
With a new difference. Nothing in Avon lately
Was, or was ever again to be for us,
Like him that we remembered; and all the while
We saw that fire at work within his eyes
And had no glimpse of what was burning there.

So for a year it went; and so it went
For half another year—when, all at once,
At someone’s tinkling afternoon at home
I saw that in the eyes of Avon’s wife
The fire that I had met the day before
In his had found another living fuel.
To look at her and then to think of him,
And thereupon to contemplate the fall
Of a dim curtain over the dark end
Of a dark play, required of me no more
Clairvoyance than a man who cannot swim
Will exercise in seeing that his friend
Off shore will drown except he save himself.
To her I could say nothing, and to him
No more than tallied with a long belief
That I should only have it back again
For my chagrin to ruminate upon,
Ingloriously, for the still time it starved;

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