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

Trying to Figure That Out

If you are on the outside...
It is easier to look in!
However...
If you 'are' on the inside,
'Who' and 'what' are you looking out for?
Even those there with you,
Are trying to figure that out for themselves!
Since they all believed...
They had been sheltered!

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

Share

Related quotes

Who and What Are They Masquerading

I'm sure I'm not the only one,
Who sees what they've done...
Like this:

IF what they had in place,
Was so perfect and right...
Why is it they've compromised their lives,
By standing near an abyss...
To jeopardize themselves instead.
To follow like sheep,
With opened eyes.

Why did it take fresh leadership,
One they criticize and despise.
To say the one elected by popularity...
Has 'stars' embedded in his mind,
As a prize.

To win as everyone praises him.
No matter what the color is,
Of his arrogance and his grin!

And he misunderstands the severity,
Of their dilemma...
Any idiot can recognize.

AND,
If he is the IDIOT...
Who and what are they masquerading,
To portray in disguise?
Heartless and blinded zombies?
Gathering to worship failure...
And finding the depth of it,
Surprisingly deep!
And this they can't deny,
Run away from or try to hide!

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

Share

Something About The Weather

Dear sister, you have no idea
About the weather here
The earth is dry
We haven't seen any rain
For the past few years
And hunger is striking.

Looking out through the window
Father is trying to forecast the weather
And he has been saying something
But no one heard what the exact words are
For he's talking to no one, but himself.
Oh! how terrible things are here
The weather is bad, so bad that
I am beginning to believe what father has said.

'This is not weather, but a curse laid upon us.'
23/03/2004

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

Share

And What Have You To Say?

I MIND the days when ladies fair
Helped on my overcoat,
And tucked the silken handkerchief
About my precious throat;
They used to see the poet’s soul
In every song I wrote.

They pleaded hard, but I had work
To do, and could not stay
I used to work the whole night through,
And what have you to say?

’Twas clever, handsome woman then,
And I their rising star;
I could not see they worshipped me,
Because I saw too far.
(’Tis well for one or two, I think,
That things are as they are.)

(I used to write for writing’s sake,
I used to write till day,
I loved my prose and poetry,
And what have you to say?)

I guess if one should meet me now
That she would gasp to think,
She ever knew a thing like me,
As down the street I slink,
And trembling cadge from some old pal
The tray-bit for a drink.

I used to drink with gentlemen
To pass an hour away:
I drink long beers in common bars,
And what have you to say?

But often, in the darkest night
(And ’tis a wondrous thing)—
When others see the devils dance,
I hear the angels sing,
And round the drunkard’s lonely bed
Heaven’s nurses whispering.

I wrote for Truth and Right alone,
I wrote from night till day;
I’ll find a drunken pauper grave,
And what have you to say?
Good night!
Good day!
My noble friends,
And what have you to say?

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

Share

Hippodromania; Or, Whiffs From The Pipe

Part I
Visions in the Smoke
Rest, and be thankful! On the verge
Of the tall cliff rugged and grey,
But whose granite base the breakers surge,
And shiver their frothy spray,
Outstretched, I gaze on the eddying wreath
That gathers and flits away,
With the surf beneath, and between my teeth
The stem of the 'ancient clay'.

With the anodyne cloud on my listless eyes,
With its spell on my dreamy brain,
As I watch the circling vapours rise
From the brown bowl up to the sullen skies,
My vision becomes more plain,
Till a dim kaleidoscope succeeds
Through the smoke-rack drifting and veering,
Like ghostly riders on phantom steeds
To a shadowy goal careering.

In their own generation the wise may sneer,
They hold our sports in derision;
Perchance to sophist, or sage, or seer,
Were allotted a graver vision.
Yet if man, of all the Creator plann'd,
His noblest work is reckoned,
Of the works of His hand, by sea or by land,
The horse may at least rank second.

Did they quail, those steeds of the squadrons light,
Did they flinch from the battle's roar,
When they burst on the guns of the Muscovite,
By the echoing Black Sea shore?
On! on! to the cannon's mouth they stride,
With never a swerve nor a shy,
Oh! the minutes of yonder maddening ride,
Long years of pleasure outvie!

No slave, but a comrade staunch, in this,
Is the horse, for he takes his share,
Not in peril alone, but in feverish bliss,
And in longing to do and dare.
Where bullets whistle, and round shot whiz,
Hoofs trample, and blades flash bare,
God send me an ending as fair as his
Who died in his stirrups there!

The wind has slumbered throughout the day,
Now a fitful gust springs over the bay,
My wandering thoughts no longer stray,
I'll fix my overcoat buttons;
Secure my old hat as best I may
(And a shocking bad one it is, by the way),
Blow a denser cloud from my stunted clay,
And then, friend BELL, as the Frenchmen say,
We'll 'go back again to our muttons'.

There's a lull in the tumult on yonder hill,
And the clamour has grown less loud,
Though the Babel of tongues is never still,
With the presence of such a crowd.
The bell has rung. With their riders up
At the starting post they muster,
The racers stripp'd for the 'Melbourne Cup',
All gloss and polish and lustre;
And the course is seen, with its emerald sheen,
By the bright spring-tide renew'd,
Like a ribbon of green stretched out between
The ranks of the multitude.

The flag is lowered. 'They're off!' 'They come!'
The squadron is sweeping on;
A sway in the crowd-a murmuring hum:
'They're here!' 'They're past!' 'They're gone!'
They came with the rush of the southern surf,
On the bar of the storm-girt bay;
And like muffled drums on the sounding turf
Their hoof-strokes echo away.

The rose and black draws clear of the ruck,
And the murmur swells to a roar,
As the brave old colours that never were struck,
Are seen with the lead once more.
Though the feathery ferns and grasses wave
O'er the sod where Lantern sleeps,
Though the turf is green on Fisherman's grave,
The stable its prestige keeps.

Six lengths in front she scours along,
She's bringing the field to trouble;
She's tailing them off, she's running strong,
She shakes her head and pulls double.
Now Minstrel falters and Exile flags,
The Barb finds the pace too hot,
And Toryboy loiters, and Playboy lags,
And the BOLT of Ben Bolt is shot.

That she never may be caught this day,
Is the worst that the public wish her.
She won't be caught: she comes right away;
Hurrah for Seagull and Fisher!
See, Strop falls back, though his reins are slack,
Sultana begins to tire,
And the top-weight tells on the Sydney crack,
And the pace on 'the Gippsland flyer'.

The rowels, as round the turn they sweep,
Just graze Tim Whiffler's flanks;
Like the hunted deer that flies through the sheep,
He strides through the beaten ranks.
Daughter of Omen, prove your birth,
The colt will take lots of choking;
The hot breath steams at your saddle girth,
From his scarlet nostril smoking.

The shouts of the Ring for a space subside,
And slackens the bookmaker's roar;
Now, Davis, rally; now, Carter, ride,
As man never rode before.
When Sparrowhawk's backers cease to cheer,
When Yattendon's friends are dumb,
When hushed is the clamour for Volunteer-
Alone in the race they come!

They're neck and neck; they're head and head;
They're stroke for stroke in the running;
The whalebone whistles, the steel is red,
No shirking as yet nor shunning.
One effort, Seagull, the blood you boast
Should struggle when nerves are strained;-
With a rush on the post, by a neck at the most,
The verdict for Tim is gained.

Tim Whiffler wins. Is blood alone
The sine qua non for a flyer?
The breed of his dam is a myth unknown,
And we've doubts respecting his sire.
Yet few (if any) those proud names are,
On the pages of peerage or stud,
In whose 'scutcheon lurks no sinister bar,
No taint of the base black blood.

Aye, Shorthouse, laugh-laugh loud and long,
For pedigree you're a sticker;
You may be right, I may be wrong,
Wiseacres both! Let's liquor.
Our common descent we may each recall
To a lady of old caught tripping,
The fair one in fig leaves, who d--d us all
For a bite at a golden pippin.

When first on this rocky ledge I lay,
There was scarce a ripple in yonder bay,
The air was serenely still;
Each column that sailed from my swarthy clay
Hung loitering long ere it passed away,
Though the skies wore a tinge of leaden grey,
And the atmosphere was chill.
But the red sun sank to his evening shroud,
Where the western billows are roll'd,
Behind a curtain of sable cloud,
With a fringe of scarlet and gold;
There's a misty glare in the yellow moon,
And the drift is scudding fast,
There'll be storm, and rattle, and tempest soon,
When the heavens are overcast.
The neutral tint of the sullen sea
Is fleck'd with the snowy foam,
And the distant gale sighs drearilie,
As the wanderer sighs for his home.
The white sea-horses toss their manes
On the bar of the southern reef,
And the breakers moan, and-by Jove, it rains
(I thought I should come to grief):
Though it can't well damage my shabby hat,
Though my coat looks best when it's damp;
Since the shaking I got (no matter where at),
I've a mortal dread of the cramp.
My matches are wet, my pipe's put out,
And the wind blows colder and stronger;
I'll be stiff, and sore, and sorry, no doubt,
If I lie here any longer.

Part II
The Fields of Coleraine


On the fields of Col'raine there'll be labour in vain
Before the Great Western is ended,
The nags will have toil'd, and the silks will be soil'd,
And the rails will require to be mended.

For the gullies are deep, and the uplands are steep,
And mud will of purls be the token,
And the tough stringy-bark, that invites us to lark,
With impunity may not be broken.

Though Ballarat's fast, and they say he can last,
And that may be granted hereafter,
Yet the judge's decision to the Border division
Will bring neither shouting nor laughter.

And Blueskin, I've heard that he goes like a bird,
And I'm told that to back him would pay me;
He's a good bit of stuff, but not quite good enough,
'Non licuit credere famae.'

Alfred ought to be there, we all of us swear
By the blood of King Alfred, his sire;
He's not the real jam, by the blood of his dam,
So I sha'n't put him down as a flyer.

Now, Hynam, my boy, I wish you great joy,
I know that when fresh you can jump, sir;
But you'll scarce be in clover, when you're ridden all over,
And punished from shoulder to rump, sir.

Archer goes like a shot, they can put on their pot,
And boil it to cover expenses;
Their pot will boil over, the run of his dover
He'll never earn over big fences.

There's a horse in the race, with a blaze on his face,
And we know he can gallop a docker!
He's proved himself stout, of his speed there's no doubt,
And his jumping's according to Cocker.

When Hynam's outstripp'd, and when Alfred is whipp'd,
To keep him in sight of the leaders,
While Blueskin runs true, but his backers look blue,
For his rider's at work with the bleeders;

When his carcase of beef brings 'the bullock' to grief,
And the rush of the tartan is ended;
When Archer's in trouble-who's that pulling double,
And taking his leaps unextended?

He wins all the way, and the rest-sweet, they say,
Is the smell of the newly-turned plough, friend,
But you smell it too close when it stops eyes and nose,
And you can't tell your horse from your cow, friend.


Part III
Credat Judaeus Apella


Dear Bell,-I enclose what you ask in a letter,
A short rhyme at random, no more and no less,
And you may inser it, for want of a better,
Or leave it, it doesn't much matter, I guess;
And as for a tip, why, there isn't much in it,
I may hit the right nail, but first, I declare,
I haven't a notion what's going to win it
(The Champion, I mean), and what's more, I don't care.
Imprimis, there's Cowra-few nags can go quicker
Than she can-and Smith takes his oath she can fly;
While Brown, Jones, and Robinson swear she's a sticker,
But 'credat Judaeus Apella', say I.

There's old Volunteer, I'd be sorry to sneer
At his chance; he'll be there, if he goes at the rate
He went at last year, when a customer queer,
Johnny Higgerson, fancied him lock'd in the straight;
I've heard that the old horse has never been fitter,
I've heard all performances past he'll outvie;
He may gallop a docker, and finish a splitter,
But 'credat Judaeus Apella', say I.

I know what they say, sir, 'The Hook' he can stay, sir,
And stick to his work like a sleuth-hound or beagle;
He stays 'with a HOOK', and he sticks in the clay, sir;
I'd rather, for choice, pop my money on Seagull;
I'm told that the Sydney division will rue, sir,
Their rashness in front of the stand when they spy,
With a clear lead, the white jacket spotted with blue, sir,
But 'credat Judaeus Apella', say I.

There's The Barb-you may talk of your flyers and stayers,
All bosh-when he strips you can see his eye range
Round his rivals, with much the same look as Tom Sayers
Once wore when he faced the big novice, Bill Bainge.
Like Stow, at our hustings, confronting the hisses
Of roughs, with his queer Mephistopheles' smile;
Like Baker, or Baker's more wonderful MRS.,
The terror of blacks at the source of the Nile;
Like Triton 'mid minnows; like hawk among chickens;
Like-anything better than everything else:
He stands at the post. Now they're off! the plot thickens!
Quoth Stanley to Davis, 'How is your pulse?'
He skims o'er the smooth turf, he scuds through the mire,
He waits with them, passes them, bids them good-bye!
Two miles and three-quarters, cries Filgate, 'He'll tire.'
Oh! 'credat Judaeus Apella', say I.

Lest my tale should come true, let me give you fair warning,
You may 'shout' some cheroots, if you like, no champagne
For this child-'Oh! think of my head in the morning,'
Old chap, you don't get me on that lay again.
The last time those games I look'd likely to try on,
Says Bradshawe, 'You'll feel very sheepish and shy
When you are haul'd up and caution'd by D--g--y and L--n,'
Oh! 'credat Judaeus Apella', say I.

This writing bad verses is very fatiguing,
The brain and the liver against it combine,
And nerves with digestion in concert are leaguing,
To punish excess in the pen and ink line;
Already I feel just as if I'd been rowing
Hard all-on a supper of onions and tripe
(A thing I abhor), but my steam I've done blowing,
I am, my dear BELL, yours truly, 'The Pipe'.

P.S.-Tell J. P., if he fancies a good 'un,
That old chestnut pony of mine is for sale.
N.B.-His forelegs are uncommonly wooden,
I fancy the near one's beginning to fail,
And why shouldn't I do as W--n does oft,
And swear that a cripple is sound-on the Bible-
Hold hard! though the man I allude to is soft,
He's game to go in for an action of libel.


Part IV
Banker's Dream


Of chases and courses dogs dream, so do horses-
Last night I was dozing and dreaming,
The crowd and the bustle were there, and the rustle
Of the silk in the autumn sky gleaming.

The stand throng'd with faces, the broadcloth and laces,
The booths, and the tents, and the cars,
The bookmakers' jargon, for odds making bargain,
The nasty stale smell of cigars.

We formed into line, 'neath the merry sunshine,
Near the logs at the end of the railing;
'Are you ready, boys? Go!' cried the starter, and low
Sank the flag, and away we went sailing.

In the van of the battle we heard the stones rattle,
Some slogging was done, but no slaughter,
A shout from the stand, and the whole of our band
Skimm'd merrily over the water.

Two fences we clear'd, and the roadway we near'd,
When three of our troop came to trouble;
Like a bird on the wing, or a stone from a sling,
Flew Cadger, first over the double.

And Western was there, head and tail in the air,
And Pondon was there, too-what noodle
Could so name a horse? I should feel some remorse
If I gave such a name to a poodle.

In and out of the lane, to the racecourse again,
Craig's pony was first, I was third,
And Ingleside lit in my tracks, with the bit
In his teeth, and came up 'like a bird'.

In the van of the battle we heard the rails rattle,
Says he, 'Though I don't care for shunning
My share of the raps, I shall look out for gaps,
When the light weight's away with the running.'

At the fence just ahead the outsider still led,
The chestnut play'd follow my leader;
Oh! the devil a gap, he went into it slap,
And he and his jock took a header.

Says Ingleside, 'Mate, should the pony go straight,
You've no time to stop or turn restive;'
Says I, 'Who means to stop? I shall go till I drop;'
Says he, 'Go it, old cuss, gay and festive.'

The fence stiff and tall, just beyond the log wall,
We cross'd, and the walls, and the water,-
I took off too near, a small made fence to clear,
And just touch'd the grass with my snorter.

At the next post and rail up went Western's bang tail,
And down (by the very same token)
To earth went his nose, for the panel he chose
Stood firm and refused to be broken.

I dreamt someone said that the bay would have made
The race safe if he'd STOOD a while longer;
IF he had,-but, like if, there the panel stands stiff-
He stood, but the panel stood stronger.

In and out of the road, with a clear lead still show'd
The violet fluted with amber;
Says Johnson, 'Old man, catch him now if you can,
'Tis the second time round you'll remember.'

At the road once again, pulling hard on the rein,
Craig's pony popp'd in and popp'd out;
I followed like smoke and the pace was no joke,
For his friends were beginning to shout.

And Ingleside came to my side, strong and game,
And once he appear'd to outstrip me,
But I felt the steel gore, and I shot to the fore,
Only Cadger seem'd likely to whip me.

In the van of the battle I heard the logs rattle,
His stroke never seem'd to diminish,
And thrice I drew near him, and thrice he drew clear,
For the weight served him well at the finish.

Ha! Cadger goes down, see, he stands on his crown-
Those rails take a power of clouting-
A long sliding blunder-he's up-well, I wonder
If now it's all over but shouting.

All loosely he's striding, the amateur's riding
All loosely, some reverie locked in
Of a 'vision in smoke', or a 'wayfaring bloke',
His poetical rubbish concocting.

Now comes from afar the faint cry, 'Here they are,'
'The violet winning with ease,'
'Fred goes up like a shot,' 'Does he catch him or not?'
Level money, I'll take the cerise.

To his haunches I spring, and my muzzle I bring
To his flank, to his girth, to his shoulder;
Through the shouting and yelling I hear my name swelling,
The hearts of my backers grow bolder.

Neck and neck! head and head! staring eye! nostril spread!
Girth and stifle laid close to the ground!
Stride for stride! stroke for stroke! through one hurdle we've broke!
On the splinters we've lit with one bound.

And 'Banker for choice' is the cry, and one voice
Screams 'Six to four once upon Banker;'
'Banker wins,' 'Banker's beat,' 'Cadger wins,' 'A dead heat'-
Ah! there goes Fred's whalebone a flanker.

Springs the whip with a crack! nine stone ten on his back,
Fit and light he can race like the devil;
I draw past him-'tis vain; he draws past me again,
Springs the whip! and again we are level.

Steel and cord do their worst, now my head struggles first!
That tug my last spurt has expended-
Nose to nose! lip to lip! from the sound of the whip
He strains to the utmost extended.

How they swim through the air, as we roll to the chair,
Stand, faces, and railings flit past;
Now I spring * * *
from my lair with a snort and a stare,
Rous'd by Fred with my supper at last.


Part V
Ex Fumo Dare Lucem
['Twixt the Cup and the Lip]


Prologue


Calm and clear! the bright day is declining,
The crystal expanse of the bay,
Like a shield of pure metal, lies shining
'Twixt headlands of purple and grey,
While the little waves leap in the sunset,
And strike with a miniature shock,
In sportive and infantine onset,
The base of the iron-stone rock.

Calm and clear! the sea-breezes are laden
With a fragrance, a freshness, a power,
With a song like the song of a maiden,
With a scent like the scent of a flower;
And a whisper, half-weird, half-prophetic,
Comes home with the sigh of the surf;-
But I pause, for your fancies poetic
Never rise from the level of 'Turf'.

Fellow-bungler of mine, fellow-sinner,
In public performances past,
In trials whence touts take their winner,
In rumours that circulate fast,
In strains from Prunella or Priam,
Staying stayers, or goers that go,
You're much better posted than I am,
'Tis little I care, less I know.

Alas! neither poet nor prophet
Am I, though a jingler of rhymes-
'Tis a hobby of mine, and I'm off it
At times, and I'm on it at times;
And whether I'm off it or on it,
Your readers my counsels will shun,
Since I scarce know Van Tromp from Blue Bonnet,
Though I might know Cigar from the Nun.

With 'visions' you ought to be sated
And sicken'd by this time, I swear
That mine are all myths self-created,
Air visions that vanish in air;
If I had some loose coins I might chuck one,
To settle this question and say,
'Here goes! this is tails for the black one,
And heads for my fav'rite the bay.'

And must I rob Paul to pay Peter,
Or Peter defraud to pay Paul?
My rhymes, are they stale? if my metre
Is varied, one chime rings through all:
One chime-though I sing more or sing less,
I have but one string to my lute,
And it might have been better if, stringless
And songless, the same had been mute.

Yet not as a seer of visions,
Nor yet as a dreamer of dreams,
I send you these partial decisions
On hackney'd, impoverish'd themes;
But with song out of tune, sung to pass time,
Flung heedless to friends or to foes,
Where the false notes that ring for the last time,
May blend with some real ones, who knows?


The Race


On the hill they are crowding together,
In the stand they are crushing for room,
Like midge-flies they swarm on the heather,
They gather like bees on the broom;
They flutter like moths round a candle-
Stale similes, granted, what then?
I've got a stale subject to handle,
A very stale stump of a pen.

Hark! the shuffle of feet that are many,
Of voices the many-tongued clang-
'Has he had a bad night?' 'Has he any
Friends left?'-How I hate your turf slang;
'Tis stale to begin with, not witty,
But dull, and inclined to be coarse,
But bad men can't use (more's the pity)
Good words when they slate a good horse.

Heu! heu! quantus equis (that's Latin
For 'bellows to mend' with the weeds),
They're off! lights and shades! silk and satin!
A rainbow of riders and steeds!
And one shows in front, and another
Goes up and is seen in his place,
Sic transit (more Latin)-Oh! bother,
Let's get to the end of the race.

* * * * *

See, they come round the last turn careering,
Already Tait's colours are struck,
And the green in the vanguard is steering,
And the red's in the rear of the ruck!
Are the stripes in the shade doom'd to lie long?
Do the blue stars on white skies wax dim?
Is it Tamworth or Smuggler? 'Tis Bylong
That wins-either Bylong or Tim.

As the shell through the breach that is riven
And sapp'd by the springing of mines,
As the bolt from the thunder-cloud driven,
That levels the larches and pines,
Through yon mass parti-colour'd that dashes
Goal-turn'd, clad in many-hued garb,
From rear to van, surges and flashes
The yellow and black of The Barb.

Past The Fly, falling back on the right, and
The Gull, giving way on the left,
Past Tamworth, who feels the whip smite, and
Whose sides by the rowels are cleft;
Where Tim and the chestnut together
Still bear of the battle the brunt,
As if eight stone twelve were a feather,
He comes with a rush to the front.

Tim Whiffler may yet prove a Tartar,
And Bylong's the horse that can stay,
But Kean is in trouble-and Carter
Is hard on the satin-skinn'd bay;
And The Barb comes away unextended,
Hard held, like a second Eclipse,
While behind the hoof-thunder is blended
With the whistling and crackling of whips.


Epilogue


He wins; yes, he wins upon paper,
He hasn't yet won upon turf,
And these rhymes are but moonshine and vapour,
Air-bubbles and spume from the surf.
So be it, at least they are given
Free, gratis, for just what they're worth,
And (whatever there may be in heaven)
There's little worth much upon earth.

When, with satellites round them the centre,
Of all eyes, hard press'd by the crowd,
The pair, horse and rider, re-enter
The gate, 'mid a shout long and loud,
You may feel, as you might feel, just landed
Full length on the grass from the clip
Of a vicious cross-counter, right-handed,
Or upper-cut whizzing from hip.

And that's not so bad if you're pick'd up
Discreetly, and carefully nursed;
Loose teeth by the sponge are soon lick'd up,
And next time you MAY get home first.
Still I'm not sure you'd like it exactly
(Such tastes as a rule are acquired),
And you'll find in a nutshell this fact lie,
Bruised optics are not much admired.

Do I bore you with vulgar allusions?
Forgive me, I speak as I feel,
I've pondered and made my conclusions-
As the mill grinds the corn to the meal;
So man striving boldly but blindly,
Ground piecemeal in Destiny's mill,
At his best, taking punishment kindly,
Is only a chopping-block still.

Are we wise? Our abstruse calculations
Are based on experience long;
Are we sanguine? Our high expectations
Are founded on hope that is strong;
Thus we build an air-castle that crumbles
And drifts till no traces remain,
And the fool builds again while he grumbles,
And the wise one laughs, building again.

'How came they to pass, these rash blunders,
These false steps so hard to defend?'
Our friend puts the question and wonders,
We laugh and reply, 'Ah! my friend,
Could you trace the first stride falsely taken,
The distance misjudged, where or how,
When you pick'd yourself up, stunn'd and shaken,
At the fence 'twixt the turf and the plough?'

In the jar of the panel rebounding!
In the crash of the splintering wood!
In the ears to the earth shock resounding!
In the eyes flashing fire and blood!
In the quarters above you revolving!
In the sods underneath heaving high!
There was little to aid you in solving
Such questions-the how or the why.

And destiny, steadfast in trifles,
Is steadfast for better or worse
In great things, it crushes and stifles,
And swallows the hopes that we nurse.
Men wiser than we are may wonder,
When the future they cling to so fast,
To the roll of that destiny's thunder,
Goes down with the wrecks of the past.

* * * * *

The past! the dead past! that has swallow'd
All the honey of life and the milk,
Brighter dreams than mere pastimes we've follow'd,
Better things than our scarlet or silk;
Aye, and worse things-that past is it really
Dead to us who again and again
Feel sharply, hear plainly, see clearly,
Past days with their joy and their pain?

Like corpses embalm'd and unburied
They lie, and in spite of our will,
Our souls on the wings of thought carried,
Revisit their sepulchres still;
Down the channels of mystery gliding,
They conjure strange tales, rarely read,
Of the priests of dead Pharaohs presiding
At mystical feasts of the dead.

Weird pictures arise, quaint devices,
Rude emblems, baked funeral meats,
Strong incense, rare wines, and rich spices,
The ashes, the shrouds, and the sheets;
Does our thraldom fall short of completeness
For the magic of a charnel-house charm,
And the flavour of a poisonous sweetness,
And the odour of a poisonous balm?

And the links of the past-but, no matter,
For I'm getting beyond you, I guess,
And you'll call me 'as mad as a hatter'
If my thoughts I too freely express;
I subjoin a quotation, pray learn it,
And with the aid of your lexicon tell us
The meaning thereof-'Res discernit
Sapiens, quas confundit asellus.'

Already green hillocks are swelling,
And combing white locks on the bar,
Where a dull, droning murmur is telling
Of winds that have gather'd afar;
Thus we know not the day, nor the morrow,
Nor yet what the night may bring forth,
Nor the storm, nor the sleep, nor the sorrow,
Nor the strife, nor the rest, nor the wrath.

Yet the skies are still tranquil and starlit,
The sun 'twixt the wave and the west
Dies in purple, and crimson, and scarlet,
And gold; let us hope for the best,
Since again from the earth his effulgence
The darkness and damp-dews shall wipe.
Kind reader, extend your indulgence
To this the last lay of 'The Pipe'.

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

Share

Side By Side We Must Go Beyond The Boundaries Of Beliefs

as you followed me
not to earn your ire
neither you
earning mine
i also followed you
and that makes it fair
enough
i get to know each story
about you
and you getting mine
then we share each
others' ups and downs
sometimes we rest upon
some shadows
getting the answers for
our riddles
time
gives us the moments
of who and what we are
we discover secret gardens
collected pebbles
we sit side by side now
watching
waves rolling upon our
feet
do you follow me
again?
who shall follow whom
when we are holding
each others' hands
like the river and
the hill?

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

Share

Where has the mother, father, kid, and happy family gone?

Where is the love the mother gave her child when it was first born?
Where is the genuine positivity that saved us from despair?
Where is the peacefulness that helps the tired man fall asleep at night?
Where has the mocking laughter gone when a kid thinks about marriage for themselves?
Well I can tell you
The mother is a seventeen year old girl who was raped and was forced by the law to go though with the pregnancy because abortion is illegal
The genuine positivity has been suppressed by stress and culture reformation
The peacefulness has been crushed by war.
The laughter about early marriage is gone with the 18 year old girl who just had her honeymoon
Where are the mother, father, kid, and happy family gone?

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

Share

Johnnys Got The Inside Moves

(jon mcelroy/ned mcelroy)
Somebodys got me looking for you
Somebodys got me looking for you
Who can it be
Are you alone now, I know shes with him
Are you at home now, Id like to come in
Johnnys got the inside moves
Johnnys got the inside moves
On me
Somebodys got me looking for you
Somebodys got me looking for you
Who can it be
Are you alone now, I know shes with him
Are you at home now, Id like to come in
Johnnys got the inside moves
Johnnys got the inside moves
On me
No matter how hard I try
I cant get her out of your eye
I dont know what you see in her
Somebodys got me crying for you
Somebodys got me crying for you
Who can it be
Are you alone now, I know shes with him
Are you at home now, Id like to come in
Johnnys got the inside moves
Johnnys got the inside moves
On me

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

Share

Am I The Only One Who Cares

(don schlitz,reba mcentire)
Jamie turned 13 tonight
But she didnt blow out the birthday lights
Jamie and her momma had another big fight
She locked herself in her room
She climbed up on her windowsill
Sat and stared at the cars on the street
And listened to her own heart beat
And whispered to the moon
Am I the only one who cares what I do
Cause if Im the only one then who can I turn to
Oh moon can you tell me that its not just me and you
Or am I the only one who cares what I do
The moon said jamie cant you hear yourself
Youre acting like there aint nobody else
Come on girl take a big ole breath
You know what you gotta do
Theres one more thing before I go
A womans been standing at the window below
Searching for the words to let you know
How much she loves you too
And youre not the only one who cares what you do
And Im not the only one that you can turn to
Now jamie please believe me
Its not just me and you
And Im not the only one who cares
She cares too
Jamie heard her mama
Softly knocking at her door
The moon just smiled and whispered
You all dont need me anymore
Im not the only one who cares what you do
And Im not the only one you can tell your troubles to
Ive done the best I can
Now the rest is up to you
And Im not the only one who cares
You both care too
You both care too

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

Share

The Dance

See the picture in the hall
Framed in magic on the wall
Aint it funny how it glows
Whats on the inside
No one knows
What makes this picture
So inviting
To those who stand outside it
Maybe its the dancers
Or maybe its the dance
The dancer dances
Thousands fill the gallery
They pay their price to see a dream
They can make believe for free
Two hours worth of fantasy
Maybe they pretend
The pictures them
Or maybe they just love
To sit and blend
Tonight the picture has no frame
Colours unleash and float away
To each and everyone of you
Tonight the spirit brings the news
You become a part of it all
Thousands turn to one in the hall
You become the dancer
And we become the dance
The dancer dances
The dancer dances
The dancer dances
And we become the dancer
And you become the dance

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

Share

Boys Gone

The boys gone. the boys gone home.
What will happen to a face in the crowd when it finally gets too crowded.
And will happen to the origins of sound after all the sounds have sounded
Well I hope I never have to see that day but by God I know its headed our way
So I better be happy now that the boys going home. the boys gone home.
And what becomes of a day for those who rage against it
And who will sum op the phrase for all left standing around in it
Well I suppose well all make our judgement call
Well walk it alone, stand up tall, then march to the fall
So we better be happy now that well all go home.
Be so happy with the way you are
Be so happy that you made it this far
Go on be happy now. please be happy now
Because this is something else
This is something else
I tried to live my life and live it so well
But when its all over is it heaven or is it hell
I better be happy now that no one can tell, nobody knows
Im gonna be happy with the way that I am
Im gonna be happy with all that I stand for
Im gonna be happy now because the boys going home.
The boys gone home.

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

Share

Feeling More Like a Dinosaur

They're free,
To flitter and twitter quicker,
And text like busy bees.
With neurotic overtones,
Humming tunes...
Only they can hear to please.

Playing games held in their hands.
With the clearness of TV!
And I'm...
With no cellphone on me.

When I hear someone say 'hello'.
I respond with a smile that's quick.
To get a look as if I am the one,
Invading in on private business.

Electronically I am alone.
Since I refuse to be that detached.
Like those earplugged to satellites,
Beaming signals to distract.

Electronically I am alone.
Since I refuse to be that detached.
And yet I feel so out of it...
When 'wassup? ' is all I'm asked!

'Wassup? You down in the hood, yo?
To grab a bite of sites?
Or are you just breezin' digging on the pace? '

Uh...uh...

'Latah, dude!
You done slid into the ages.'

Uh...uh...
Yeah!
Cool.

Electronically I am alone.
Since I refuse to be that detached.
And yet I feel so out of it...
When 'wassup? ' is all I'm asked!

Uh...uh...
Yeah, yo!
High five on that!

'Latah, dude!
You done slid into the ages.'

God?
'Who' and 'what'...
Are these people?

'Say what?
Who you talkin' to?
Crazy old man! '

GOD?
Is that you?

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

Share

Part III: Credat Judaeus Apella

Dear Bell,—I enclose what you ask in a letter,
A short rhyme at random, no more and no less,
And you may insert it, for want of a better
Or leave it, it doesn't much matter, I guess ;
And as for a tip, why, there isn't much in it,
I may hit the right nail, but first, I declare,
I haven't a notion what's going to win it
(The Champion, I mean), and what's more, I don't care.
Imprimis, there's Cowra—few nags can go quicker
Than she can—and Smith takes his oath she can fly ;
While Brown, Jones, and Robinson swear she's a sticker,
But 'credat Judaeus Apella,' say I.

There's old Volunteer, I'd be sorry to sneer
At his chance ; he'll be there, if he goes at the rate
He went at last year, when a customer queer,
Johnny Higgerson, fancied him lock'd in the straight.
I've heard that the old horse has never been fitter,
I've heard all performances past he'll outvie ;
He may gallop a docker, and finish a splitter,
But 'credat Judaeus Apella,' say I.

I know what they say, sir, 'The Hook' he can stay, sir,
And stick to his work like a sleuth-hound or beagle ;
He stays 'with a hook,' and he sticks in the clay, sir,
I'd rather, for choice, pop my money on Seagull ;
I'm told that the Sydney division will rue, sir,
Their rashness in front of the stand when they spy,
With a clear lead, the white jacket spotted with blue, sir,
But 'credat Judaeus Apella,' say I.

There's The Barb—you may talk of your flyers and stayers,
All bosh—when he strips you can see his eye range
Round his rivals, with much the same look as Tom Sayers
Once wore when he faced the big novice, Bill Bainge.
Like Stow, at our hustings, confronting the hisses
Of roughs, with his queer Mephistopheles' smile ;
Like Baker, or Baker's more wonderful Mrs.,
The terror of blacks at the source of the Nile ;
Like Triton 'mid minnows ; like hawk among chickens ;
Like—anything better than everything else ;
He stands at the post. Now they're off ! the plot thickens !
Quoth Stanley to Davis, 'How is your pulse ?'
He skims o'er the smooth turf, he scuds through the mire,
He waits with them, passes them, bids them good-bye !
Two miles and three-quarters, cries Filgate, 'He'll tire.'
But 'credat Judaeus Apella,' say I.

Lest my tale should come true, let me give you fair warning,
You may 'shout' some cheroots, if you like, no champagne
For this child—'Oh ! think of my head in the morning,'
Old chap, you don't get me on that lay again.
The last time those games I look'd likely to try on,
Says Bradshawe, 'You'll feel very sheepish and shy
When you are haul'd up and caution'd by D—g—y and L—n,'
But 'credat Judaeus Apella,' say I.

This writing bad verses is very fatiguing,
The brain and the liver against it combine,
And nerves with digestion in concert are leaguing,
To punish excess in the pen and ink line ;
Already I feel just as if I'd been rowing
Hard allon a supper of onions and tripe
(A thing I abhor), but my steam I've done blowing,
I am, my dear Bell, yours truly, 'The Pipe'.

P.S.—Tell J. P., if he fancies a good ‘un,
That old chestnut pony of mine is for sale.

N.B.—His fore legs are uncommonly wooden,
I fancy the near one's beginning to fail,
And why shouldn't I do as W—n does oft,
And swear that a cripple is sound—on the Bible—
Hold hard ! though the man I allude to is soft,
He's game to go in for an action of libel.

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

Share

The Surfer Moon

Theres a moon in the sky somewhere I know
Waiting for all the love to burn below
If you fall and it happens all to soon
Blame it all on the surfer moon
neath the hill hind the cloud one dreamy night
Rising up throwing down its golden light
If your heart hears this melancholy tune
Then youll know its the surfer moon
Brings the tide in
Takes it all away
Helps us ride in
Brings us waves each day
I say
Other moons have brought light and love before
Promising to remain for evermore
But they all disappeared with each new tune
They make way for the surfer moon
Moon
Moon
Moon
Moon

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

Share

I Am Beginning To Understand Myself

last night was different
inside my dream i was gentle
kind to myself there was no blaming
no enumeration of sins and no formula for what must be done
it was more of taking things like a shallow river
i step on it and there is no qualm
no sounds of wild ducks
just the cool, calm waters with slight ripples from the drops of dew
from the leaves of mountain trees,
last night, we were different
we simply gaze upon our bodies
naked as we are to the honesty of who and what we are
i kissed you on the mouth and your tongue licked mine
we closed our eyes we caressed our bodies with our hands
not a word, just a savor of the fleshy feast,
no justifications, no explanations
we grip our fingers
we bite our lips
on joint orgasms, a celebration at last of having discovered
our souls, fused, divine, and forgiving.

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

Share

Touchy!

(morten harket/mags/pal waaktaar)
Donna found us in her slow and dreamy way
I cant hear a word the waiter says
Shes looking older than the colour of her hair
She walks into the room too pleased to find me there
Me Im touchy
Touchy you
Me Im touchy
And you know what to do
Me Im touchy
Touchy, touchy you
Me Im touchy and you know what to do
Both of us together in a room by ourselves
I sneeze to look around, byt theres no escape
What can I do, what can I say
Shes waiting for this moment to explain itself.
Me Im touchy
Touchy you
Me Im touchy
And you know what to do
Me Im touchy
Touchy, touchy you
Touching love is the best I can do
Hey, this time youve gone too far
You know how touchy we are
Donna found me in her slow and dreamy way
Now she reads me what the paper say
The way she laughs and what I do
Im waiting for this moment to explain itself through
Me Im touchy...etc.

song performed by A-HaReport problemRelated quotes
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

It's All Too Much

Wow!
IT'S ALL TOO MUCH FOR ME TO SEE,
THE LOVE THAT'S SHINING ALL AROUND YOU.
IT'S EV'RYWHERE, IT'S WHAT YOU MAKE,
FOR US TO TAKE EACH OTHER'S LOVE.
IT'S ALL TOO MUCH FOR ME TO SEE,
THE LOVE THAT'S SHINING ALL AROUND ME.
THE MORE I AM, THE LESS I KNOW
AND WHAT I DO, IS LIVE FOR LOVE.
HEY HEY HEY HEY
OH, NO NO NO NO NO
YEAH HEY HEY HEY
ALRIGHT
WOOH, YEAH, YEAH
IT'S ALL TOO MUCH, IT'S ALL TOO MUCH, IT'S ALL TOO MUCH
IT'S ALL TOO MUCH FOR ME TO SEE,
THE LOVE THAT'S SHINING ALL AROUND YOU.
IT'S EV'RYWHERE, IT'S WHAT YOU MAKE,
FOR US TO TAKE EACH OTHER'S LOVE.
IT'S ALL TOO MUCH FOR ME TO SEE,
THE LOVE THAT'S SHINING ALL AROUND ME.
ALL THE WORLD IS BUILT IN HATE
SO TAKE A PIECE OF MY TRUE LOVE
IT'S ALL TOO MUCH, IT'S ALL TOO MUCH
IT'S ALL TOO MUCH, IT'S ALL TOO MUCH
IT'S ALL TOO MUCH, IT'S ALL TOO MUCH, WOW
IT'S ALL TOO MUCH, IT'S ALL TOO MUCH
HCUM OOT LLA S'TI, HCUM OOT LLA S'TI
HCUM OOT LLA S'TI, WOW, HCUM OOT LLA S'TI

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

Share

Anthem

It's a new day, but it all feels old
It's a good life, that's what I'm told
But everything, it all just feels the same
At my high school, it felt more to me like a jail cell, a penitentiary
My time spent there it only made me see
That I don't ever wanna be like you
I don't wanna do the things you do
I'm never gonna hear the words you say
and I don't ever wanna.
I don't ever wanna be.you.
don't wanna be just like you
What I'm saying is this is the anthem
throw all your hands up
you.don't wanna be you
Go to college, a university, get a real job
That's what they said to me
But I could never live the way they want
I'm gonna get by and just do my time
Out of step while they all get in line
I'm just a minor threat, so pay no mind
Do you really want to be like them,
Do you really wanna be another trend,
Do you wanna be part of that crowd
cause I don't ever wanna.
I don't ever want to be you.
don't wanna be just like you
what I'm saying is.this is the anthem
throw all your hands up.you.
don't wanna be you.
(Shake it once, that's fine, shake it twice that's okay.
shake it 3 times your playing with yourself again.)
you.
don't wanna be just like you,
what I'm saying is..this is the anthem
throw all your hands up
y'll got the feeling, sing if you're with me
you.don't wanna be just like you (just like you)
This is the anthem, throw all your hands up
y'll got the feeling, sing if your with me
Another loser anthem (whoa) 4x

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

Share

Looking Out Beyond

If we start looking out beyond
the reaches of today
passed the turbulences
tomorrow may bring
towards the sun blessed blue skies
of some future days.
We can instil our lives
with the richness of our world
and the life we live within.
If we start looking out beyond
everything we can see,
open up our perspectives
of what life might become
we can start to live
that life we want as ours.


21 November 2009

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

Share

What do we give thank for

what do we give thank for do we
give it for love and hate or do
we disresecpt and don't wait.
what do we give thanks for do
we give it for the joy that spread
around and we lead them in the right
path for they want be in their grave.
What we give thanks for to help othere
people over com the drakness when
they fill like solitude like life is tour aparte
what do we give thanks for is it because all
them aching hearts that stuffing in pain
but cant gain the joy.

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

Share

Feelings Of Insufficiency

our feelings of insufficiency are real.
we do not fake it
we show it, but these feelings have something greater to say
than mere helpless insufficiency:

it reminds us, boy, we are human
subject to the limitations of who and what we are
boy, we only give what we can
the rest could be luck
our best need not be enough

sometimes we feel that what we get we do not really deserve
oh boy! what conceit? what a lack of this sense of humility?

all is fair, nothing more nothing less
there is no rush for success
there is always the right season, the right time for the right person.

later, it will be me, later it will be mine.
all i need, having exerted my best, is just pray and wait.

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

Share
 

Search


Recent searches | Top searches