Grand-stranding
With little success at hair retention
I've one strand left of small dimension
Scalped this way, I'm not enthralled
One-stranded now, I'm follicle-y bald
It's hair raising to feel alone and bereft
Deserted by all it's brothers who left
This ordeal has the hair standing there pining
Atop my bald scalp, so hairless-ly shining
The lonesome strand just keeps on grieving
Missing its mates, since their mass leaving
So soulful and sad, it can't seem to find
On the scalp of this lad, a hair-piece of mind
My dome once covered with hair-filled density
Has no foreseeable future-tense-ity
For so loyally standing hair-ly at hand
I'll always be grateful to that one last grand strand
poem by Stanley Cooper
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Related quotes
Brothers
Lets get to the point now
Just because weve got the same mum and dad
That dont mean im your keeper
That dont mean I owe anything to you
You dont care for me
And man I dont think that much of you
Cause were brothers brothers brothers
I dont approve of anything you do
Cause were brothers brothers brothers
Cain and abel and me and you
You drove my car when we were young boys
And you tore it up too
You never paid to get it fixed
And you got me beat up a time or two
I know I should forgive and forget
But man I still hold a grudge against you
Cause were brothers brothers brothers
I dont approve of anything you do
Cause were brothers brothers brothers
Cain and abel and me and you
It is as normal as it can be
This sibling rivalry
We should have dropped it at 22
But man I cant stand the things you do
Cause were brothers brothers brothers
Youre always want something from me
Cause were brothers brothers brothers
It was so much fun having you in the family
Cause were brothers brothers brothers
Now that were grown it aint helped nothin? at all
Cause were brothers brothers brothers
On my birthday, please dont bother to call
Cause were brothers brothers brothers
Brothers brothers brothers
Yeah, youre my brother brother brother
Brothers brothers brothers
Yeah, were brothers brothers brothers
Yeah, were brothers brothers brothers
Brothers brothers brothers
song performed by John Mellencamp
Added by Lucian Velea
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Bald
I didn’t need shampoo to clean my scalp; instead a glass of tainted
water
could excellently do the job,
On the other hand you required tones of bubbly froth to cleanse your
hair;
evacuate the petulant granules of dandruff neatly entrapped between
your
follicles.
I didn’t need gleaming hair oil to smear on my head; all I had to do
was clap
it loudly with my bohemian palms,
On the other hand you required swanky ointments; antiseptic creams to
keep the
conglomerate of your hair well in place.
I didn’t need scintillating scissors to use on my scalp; it would
appear
wholesomely ludicrous even if I held one in close proximity with it,
On the other hand you required a plethora of sharp instruments; pairs
of
intricate razors; in order to occasionally trim the unruly tentacles of
your
hair.
I didn’t need a brush to part my scalp; as it nimbly obliged to my
scrubbing
it with a dust cloth,
On the other hand you required a luxuriously serrated comb; to
meticulously
entangle the incorrigible knots formed in your long hair.
I didn’t need to camouflage my scalp with a taut piece of cloth every
time I
ventured out; as there was no danger of the wind blowing it away,
On the other hand you required to embellish yourself with a
grandiloquent cap;
a host of flapping sunshades; in order to ensure that the thin wisps of
your
hair didn’t rip apart with the tenacious breeze,
I didn’t need to incessantly browse my hands through my scalp; while
attending
pompous parties,
On the other hand you required to sporadically run your fingers against
your
cuticles; making sure that they remained stringently aligned.
I didn’t need to wash my scalp after bathing in the saline ocean;
instead let
[...] Read more
poem by Nikhil Parekh
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Mogg Megone - Part I.
Who stands on that cliff, like a figure of stone,
Unmoving and tall in the light of the sky,
Where the spray of the cataract sparkles on high,
Lonely and sternly, save Mogg Megone?
Close to the verge of the rock is he,
While beneath him the Saco its work is doing,
Hurrying down to its grave, the sea,
And slow through the rock its pathway hewing!
Far down, through the mist of the falling river,
Which rises up like an incense ever,
The splintered points of the crags are seen,
With water howling and vexed between,
While the scooping whirl of the pool beneath
Seems an open throat, with its granite teeth!
But Mogg Megone never trembled yet
Wherever his eye or his foot was set.
He is watchful: each form in the moonlight dim,
Of rock or of tree, is seen of him:
He listens; each sound from afar is caught,
The faintest shiver of leaf and limb:
But he sees not the waters, which foam and fret,
Whose moonlit spray has his moccasin wet, -
And the roar of their rushing, he bears it not.
The moonlight, through the open bough
Of the gnarl'd beech, whose naked root
Coils like a serpent at his foot,
Falls, checkered, on the Indian's brow.
His head is bare, save only where
Waves in the wind one lock of hair,
Reserved for him, whoe'er he be,
More mighty than Megone in strife,
When breast to breast and knee to knee,
Above the fallen warrior's life
Gleams, quick and keen, the scalping-knife.
Megone hath his knife and hatchet and gun,
And his gaudy and tasselled blanket on:
His knife hath a handle with gold inlaid,
And magic words on its polished blade, -
'Twas the gift of Castine to Mogg Megone,
For a scalp or twain from the Yengees torn:
His gun was the gift of the Tarrantine,
And Modocawando's wives had strung
The brass and the beads, which tinkle and shine
On the polished breach, and broad bright line
Of beaded wampum around it hung.
What seeks Megone? His foes are near, -
Grey Jocelyn's eye is never sleeping,
[...] Read more
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 10
THE GATES of heav’n unfold: Jove summons all
The gods to council in the common hall.
Sublimely seated, he surveys from far
The fields, the camp, the fortune of the war,
And all th’ inferior world. From first to last, 5
The sov’reign senate in degrees are plac’d.
Then thus th’ almighty sire began: “Ye gods,
Natives or denizens of blest abodes,
From whence these murmurs, and this change of mind,
This backward fate from what was first design’d? 10
Why this protracted war, when my commands
Pronounc’d a peace, and gave the Latian lands?
What fear or hope on either part divides
Our heav’ns, and arms our powers on diff’rent sides?
A lawful time of war at length will come, 15
(Nor need your haste anticipate the doom),
When Carthage shall contend the world with Rome,
Shall force the rigid rocks and Alpine chains,
And, like a flood, come pouring on the plains.
Then is your time for faction and debate, 20
For partial favor, and permitted hate.
Let now your immature dissension cease;
Sit quiet, and compose your souls to peace.”
Thus Jupiter in few unfolds the charge;
But lovely Venus thus replies at large: 25
“O pow’r immense, eternal energy,
(For to what else protection can we fly?)
Seest thou the proud Rutulians, how they dare
In fields, unpunish’d, and insult my care?
How lofty Turnus vaunts amidst his train, 30
In shining arms, triumphant on the plain?
Ev’n in their lines and trenches they contend,
And scarce their walls the Trojan troops defend:
The town is fill’d with slaughter, and o’erfloats,
With a red deluge, their increasing moats. 35
Æneas, ignorant, and far from thence,
Has left a camp expos’d, without defense.
This endless outrage shall they still sustain?
Shall Troy renew’d be forc’d and fir’d again?
A second siege my banish’d issue fears, 40
And a new Diomede in arms appears.
One more audacious mortal will be found;
And I, thy daughter, wait another wound.
Yet, if with fates averse, without thy leave,
The Latian lands my progeny receive, 45
Bear they the pains of violated law,
And thy protection from their aid withdraw.
But, if the gods their sure success foretell;
If those of heav’n consent with those of hell,
To promise Italy; who dare debate 50
[...] Read more
poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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Brothers O' Mine
Brothers o' mine, brothers o' mine,
All the world over, from pole to pole
All of them brothers of mine and thine
Every wondering, blundering soul.
Banded together by grace divine,
Brothers o' mine, brothers o' mine.
Good Brother Green at the service sat
Sat in the chapel and bowed his head;
Praying most fervently into his hat;
Bending his knee when The Word was read.
For good Brother Green was a godly man
A godly keristian; and what be more,
He loved all sinners, and carefully ran
A worldy and prosperous grocery store.
'Brothers o' mine, brothers o' mine,'
Quoted the preacher, with dolorous drone:
'The Lord He hath given thee all that is thine.
Love ye not gold for itself alone.
E'er to the fallen thy mercy incline,
Love thou thy neighbour! O, brothers o' mine.'
Good comrade Hal in the tavern sat
Sat in the tavern and tossed his head,
Tilting a glass to the brim of his hat;
Bending his arm when the toast was said.
But comrade Hal was a godless man
A godless sinner; and what be more,
He loved good liquor, and carelessly ran
A long, long bill at the grocery store.
'Brother o' mine, brother o' mine,'
Shouted the tippler in riotous tone,
'Toiled thou, and sweated for all that is thine;
But love not gold for itself alone.
Gold bringeth gladness and red, red wine.
Fill up another! O, brother o' mine.'
Every Sabbath, since childhood years,
Good Brother Green at the service sat
A traveller stern in this vale of tears
Breathing his piety into his hat;
Praying for guidance and praying for light;
Vowing unworthiness more and more;
With a nice warm feeling that all was right
With the business of Green's Cash Grocery Store.
'Brothers o' mine, brothers o' mine,'
Turn not away from thy brother in sin.
[...] Read more
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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I Wonder Atop the Dunes
Will your Summer breeze,
Captivate my thoughts on Fall.
When the air is thick,
And hot with sticky humidity?
Will my Autumn wishes,
Be of those you select and pick?
I like to sit atop the dunes,
At Cape Cod and Padre Island.
I am closer to my thoughts.
When the seagulls and waves,
Exchange as nature wishes.
With sounds that attract,
My need to be distracted.
Then I make eye contact with it.
Pulling me in like a magnet!
And I see you...
This attractive distraction.
Relaxing to instigate,
My delusions of being laid...
On Labor Day.
And throughout the festivities of the holidays.
Will your Summer breeze,
Captivate my thoughts on Fall.
When the air is thick,
And hot with sticky humidity.
Will my Autumn wishes,
Be of those you select and pick?
And we discover a great happiness.
Will we be sharing Thanksgiving?
Or comfortable enough to be sitting...
Under the Christmas Tree butt naked.
And exchanging gifts with kisses?
To sweat if we let it get done.
Near the grate of the fireplace.
To quietly lay to hear 'carols' we hum.
I like to sit atop the dunes,
At Cape Cod and Padre Island.
I am closer to my thoughts.
When the seagulls and waves,
Exchange as nature wishes.
With sounds that attract,
[...] Read more
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Lonesome Cowboy Bill
(reed)
Lonesome cowboy bill
Rides the rodeo.
Lonesome cowboy bill,
You got to see him yodel ay-hee-ho!
Lonesome cowboy bill
Rides the rodeo.
Ever since he was a little lad,
Loves the rodeo.
Bucking broncs, yeah, sipping wine,
You got to see him go,
And all the ten-gallon girls
Love to hear him yodel ay-hee-ho!
Because
Lonesome cowboy bill
Rides the rodeo.
Lonesome cowboy bill,
You got to see him yodel ay-hee-ho!
Oh, lonesome cowboy bill,
You still ride the rodeo.
Up round the colorado shore,
Down by the ohio.
Sometimes even new orleans,
Down by the mardi gras,
And all the ten-gallon girls
Love to hear him yodel ay-hee-ho!
Hes lonesome cowboy bill, he rides the rodeo.
Just a lonesome cowboy bill,
You got to see him yodel ay-hee-ho!
You got to see him in the rodeo
When hes ridin, goin too darn fast.
You got to hear the people scream and shout
They call him,
Lonesome cowboy bill
Hes a
Lonesome cowboy bill
He goes...
Lonesome cowboy bill
Rides the rodeo.
Lonesome cowboy bill,
You got to see him yodel ay-hee-ho!
I said,
You got to see him yodel ay-hee-ho!
Oh hes a lonesome cowboy bill, lonesome cowboy bill...
song performed by Velvet Underground
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Tower Beyond Tragedy
I
You'd never have thought the Queen was Helen's sister- Troy's
burning-flower from Sparta, the beautiful sea-flower
Cut in clear stone, crowned with the fragrant golden mane, she
the ageless, the uncontaminable-
This Clytemnestra was her sister, low-statured, fierce-lipped, not
dark nor blonde, greenish-gray-eyed,
Sinewed with strength, you saw, under the purple folds of the
queen-cloak, but craftier than queenly,
Standing between the gilded wooden porch-pillars, great steps of
stone above the steep street,
Awaiting the King.
Most of his men were quartered on the town;
he, clanking bronze, with fifty
And certain captives, came to the stair. The Queen's men were
a hundred in the street and a hundred
Lining the ramp, eighty on the great flags of the porch; she
raising her white arms the spear-butts
Thundered on the stone, and the shields clashed; eight shining
clarions
Let fly from the wide window over the entrance the wildbirds of
their metal throats, air-cleaving
Over the King come home. He raised his thick burnt-colored
beard and smiled; then Clytemnestra,
Gathering the robe, setting the golden-sandaled feet carefully,
stone by stone, descended
One half the stair. But one of the captives marred the comeliness
of that embrace with a cry
Gull-shrill, blade-sharp, cutting between the purple cloak and
the bronze plates, then Clytemnestra:
Who was it? The King answered: A piece of our goods out of
the snatch of Asia, a daughter of the king,
So treat her kindly and she may come into her wits again. Eh,
you keep state here my queen.
You've not been the poorer for me.- In heart, in the widowed
chamber, dear, she pale replied, though the slaves
Toiled, the spearmen were faithful. What's her name, the slavegirl's?
AGAMEMNON Come up the stair. They tell me my kinsman's
Lodged himself on you.
CLYTEMNESTRA Your cousin Aegisthus? He was out of refuge,
flits between here and Tiryns.
Dear: the girl's name?
AGAMEMNON Cassandra. We've a hundred or so other
captives; besides two hundred
Rotted in the hulls, they tell odd stories about you and your
guest: eh? no matter: the ships
Ooze pitch and the August road smokes dirt, I smell like an
old shepherd's goatskin, you'll have bath-water?
CLYTEMNESTRA
They're making it hot. Come, my lord. My hands will pour it.
[...] Read more
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Give Your Heart To The Hawks
1 he apples hung until a wind at the equinox,
That heaped the beach with black weed, filled the dry grass
Under the old trees with rosy fruit.
In the morning Fayne Fraser gathered the sound ones into a
basket,
The bruised ones into a pan. One place they lay so thickly
She knelt to reach them.
Her husband's brother passing
Along the broken fence of the stubble-field,
His quick brown eyes took in one moving glance
A little gopher-snake at his feet flowing through the stubble
To gain the fence, and Fayne crouched after apples
With her mop of red hair like a glowing coal
Against the shadow in the garden. The small shapely reptile
Flowed into a thicket of dead thistle-stalks
Around a fence-post, but its tail was not hidden.
The young man drew it all out, and as the coil
Whipped over his wrist, smiled at it; he stepped carefully
Across the sag of the wire. When Fayne looked up
His hand was hidden; she looked over her shoulder
And twitched her sunburnt lips from small white teeth
To answer the spark of malice in his eyes, but turned
To the apples, intent again. Michael looked down
At her white neck, rarely touched by the sun,
But now the cinnabar-colored hair fell off from it;
And her shoulders in the light-blue shirt, and long legs like a boy's
Bare-ankled in blue-jean trousers, the country wear;
He stooped quietly and slipped the small cool snake
Up the blue-denim leg. Fayne screamed and writhed,
Clutching her thigh. 'Michael, you beast.' She stood up
And stroked her leg, with little sharp cries, the slender invader
Fell down her ankle.
Fayne snatched for it and missed;
Michael stood by rejoicing, his rather small
Finely cut features in a dance of delight;
Fayne with one sweep flung at his face
All the bruised and half-spoiled apples in the pan,
[...] Read more
poem by Robinson Jeffers
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Nobodys Lonesome For Me
Words and music by hank williams, sr.
[g] evrybodys lonesome for somebody else
But nobodys lonesome for [d7] me
Evrybodys thinkin bout somebody else
But nobody thinks about [g] me
When the [c] time rolls around for me to [g] lay down and die
I bet [d7] Ill have to go and hire me [a7] someone to [d7] cry
[g] evrybodys lonesome for somebody else
[d7] nobody is lonesome for [g] me.
Evrybodys longin for somebody else
But nobodys lonesome for me
Evrybodys dreamin about somebody else
But nobody dreams about me
All I need is a bride who wants a big-hearted groom
I wouldnt care if she come ridin in on a broom
Evrybodys lonesome for somebody else
No-bod-o-dy lonesome for me.
Evrybodys pinin for somebody else
But nobodys lonesome for me
Evrybodys crazy bout somebody else
But nobodys crazy bout me
Oh, I shined up my shoes and then I slicked down my hair
Put on my sunday suit, but I aint goin nowhere
Evrybodys lonesome for somebody else
But nobodys lonesome for me.
Evrybodys yearnin for somebody else
But nobodys lonesome for me
Evrybodys fallin for somebody else
But nobodys fallin for me
Now I aint had a kiss since I fell out of my crib
It looks to me like I been cheated out of my rib
Evrybodys lonesome for somebody else
No-bod-o-dy lonesome for me.
song performed by Hank Williams
Added by Lucian Velea
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High Lonesome
High in a tree on the top of the hill
By the light of the lonesome ol moon
I hear the call of a lone whipporwill
Singing his mournful tune.
Way off in the night blows the long freight train
With a roar and a ramble of wheels
My poor heart is breaking with every refrain
Cause it sounds just like the way I feel.
And it's high lonesome
High lonesome, heartbroken and blue
High lonesome
Lil darling, I'm lonesome for you.
--- Instrumental ---
Do you ever get weary roamin around
Do you think of the sweet love we knew
Do you ever get lonesome the way I am now
Lil darling I'm lonesome for you.
And it's high lonesome
High lonesome heartbroken and blue
Its a high lonesome
Lil darling I'm lonesome for you.
It's high lonesome
Lil darling I'm lonesome for you...
song performed by Randy Travis
Added by Lucian Velea
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Lonesome Number One
Don gibson
Lonesome number one,just call me lonesome number one
Although no titles have I won,i surely must be lonesome number one
Every love Ive had has faded like the dew
Every one Ive wanted,has wanted someone new
Heartaches hang around and always come
I surely must be lonesome number one
Lonesome number one,just call me lonesome number one
Although no titles have I won,i surely must be lonesome number one
It seems Im always losing,love just cant come near
Just when love gets close it always disappears
Sorrow always keeps me on the run
I surely must be lonesome number one
Lonesome number one, just call me lonesome number one
Although no titles have I won, I surely must be lonesome number one
Just call me lonesome number one,here I come Im lonesome number one
song performed by Roy Orbison
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 9
WHILE these affairs in distant places pass’d,
The various Iris Juno sends with haste,
To find bold Turnus, who, with anxious thought,
The secret shade of his great grandsire sought.
Retir’d alone she found the daring man, 5
And op’d her rosy lips, and thus began:
“What none of all the gods could grant thy vows,
That, Turnus, this auspicious day bestows.
Æneas, gone to seek th’ Arcadian prince,
Has left the Trojan camp without defense; 10
And, short of succors there, employs his pains
In parts remote to raise the Tuscan swains.
Now snatch an hour that favors thy designs;
Unite thy forces, and attack their lines.”
This said, on equal wings she pois’d her weight, 15
And form’d a radiant rainbow in her flight.
The Daunian hero lifts his hands and eyes,
And thus invokes the goddess as she flies:
“Iris, the grace of heav’n, what pow’r divine
Has sent thee down, thro’ dusky clouds to shine? 20
See, they divide; immortal day appears,
And glitt’ring planets dancing in their spheres!
With joy, these happy omens I obey,
And follow to the war the god that leads the way.”
Thus having said, as by the brook he stood, 25
He scoop’d the water from the crystal flood;
Then with his hands the drops to heav’n he throws,
And loads the pow’rs above with offer’d vows.
Now march the bold confed’rates thro’ the plain,
Well hors’d, well clad; a rich and shining train. 30
Messapus leads the van; and, in the rear,
The sons of Tyrrheus in bright arms appear.
In the main battle, with his flaming crest,
The mighty Turnus tow’rs above the rest.
Silent they move, majestically slow, 35
Like ebbing Nile, or Ganges in his flow.
The Trojans view the dusty cloud from far,
And the dark menace of the distant war.
Caicus from the rampire saw it rise,
Black’ning the fields, and thick’ning thro’ the skies. 40
Then to his fellows thus aloud he calls:
“What rolling clouds, my friends, approach the walls?
Arm! arm! and man the works! prepare your spears
And pointed darts! the Latian host appears.”
Thus warn’d, they shut their gates; with shouts ascend 45
The bulwarks, and, secure, their foes attend:
For their wise gen’ral, with foreseeing care,
Had charg’d them not to tempt the doubtful war,
Nor, tho’ provok’d, in open fields advance,
But close within their lines attend their chance. 50
[...] Read more
poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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The Aeneid of Virgil: Book 2
ALL were attentive to the godlike man,
When from his lofty couch he thus began:
“Great queen, what you command me to relate
Renews the sad remembrance of our fate:
An empire from its old foundations rent, 5
And ev’ry woe the Trojans underwent;
A peopled city made a desart place;
All that I saw, and part of which I was:
Not ev’n the hardest of our foes could hear,
Nor stern Ulysses tell without a tear. 10
And now the latter watch of wasting night,
And setting stars, to kindly rest invite;
But, since you take such int’rest in our woe,
And Troy’s disastrous end desire to know,
I will restrain my tears, and briefly tell 15
What in our last and fatal night befell.
“By destiny compell’d, and in despair,
The Greeks grew weary of the tedious war,
And by Minerva’s aid a fabric rear’d,
Which like a steed of monstrous height appear’d: 20
The sides were plank’d with pine; they feign’d it made
For their return, and this the vow they paid.
Thus they pretend, but in the hollow side
Selected numbers of their soldiers hide:
With inward arms the dire machine they load, 25
And iron bowels stuff the dark abode.
In sight of Troy lies Tenedos, an isle
(While Fortune did on Priam’s empire smile)
Renown’d for wealth; but, since, a faithless bay,
Where ships expos’d to wind and weather lay. 30
There was their fleet conceal’d. We thought, for Greece
Their sails were hoisted, and our fears release.
The Trojans, coop’d within their walls so long,
Unbar their gates, and issue in a throng,
Like swarming bees, and with delight survey 35
The camp deserted, where the Grecians lay:
The quarters of the sev’ral chiefs they show’d;
Here Phœnix, here Achilles, made abode;
Here join’d the battles; there the navy rode.
Part on the pile their wond’ring eyes employ: 40
The pile by Pallas rais’d to ruin Troy.
Thymoetes first (’t is doubtful whether hir’d,
Or so the Trojan destiny requir’d)
Mov’d that the ramparts might be broken down,
To lodge the monster fabric in the town. 45
But Capys, and the rest of sounder mind,
The fatal present to the flames designed,
Or to the wat’ry deep; at least to bore
The hollow sides, and hidden frauds explore.
The giddy vulgar, as their fancies guide, 50
[...] Read more
poem by Publius Vergilius Maro
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The Bridal of Pennacook
We had been wandering for many days
Through the rough northern country. We had seen
The sunset, with its bars of purple cloud,
Like a new heaven, shine upward from the lake
Of Winnepiseogee; and had felt
The sunrise breezes, midst the leafy isles
Which stoop their summer beauty to the lips
Of the bright waters. We had checked our steeds,
Silent with wonder, where the mountain wall
Is piled to heaven; and, through the narrow rift
Of the vast rocks, against whose rugged feet
Beats the mad torrent with perpetual roar,
Where noonday is as twilight, and the wind
Comes burdened with the everlasting moan
Of forests and of far-off waterfalls,
We had looked upward where the summer sky,
Tasselled with clouds light-woven by the sun,
Sprung its blue arch above the abutting crags
O'er-roofing the vast portal of the land
Beyond the wall of mountains. We had passed
The high source of the Saco; and bewildered
In the dwarf spruce-belts of the Crystal Hills,
Had heard above us, like a voice in the cloud,
The horn of Fabyan sounding; and atop
Of old Agioochook had seen the mountains'
Piled to the northward, shagged with wood, and thick
As meadow mole-hills,—the far sea of Casco,
A white gleam on the horizon of the east;
Fair lakes, embosomed in the woods and hills;
Moosehillock's mountain range, and Kearsarge
Lifting his granite forehead to the sun!
And we had rested underneath the oaks
Shadowing the bank, whose grassy spires are shaken
By the perpetual beating of the falls
Of the wild Ammonoosuc. We had tracked
The winding Pemigewasset, overhung
By beechen shadows, whitening down its rocks,
Or lazily gliding through its intervals,
From waving rye-fields sending up the gleam
Of sunlit waters. We had seen the moon
Rising behind Umbagog's eastern pines,
Like a great Indian camp-fire; and its beams
At midnight spanning with a bridge of silver
The Merrimac by Uncanoonuc's falls.
There were five souls of us whom travel's chance
Had thrown together in these wild north hills
A city lawyer, for a month escaping
From his dull office, where the weary eye
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poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Hairy Woes
(This not a poem. One day I thought whether I could write about hair problems and this is what I could come up with. Have a good hair day.)
Oh all the balding men of the world! Neither split your hair nor let your hair down; instead, get up to fight against hair experts and hair industries because, you have nothing to loss except hairs, which you are already losing anyway.
The scientific study published in, 'International Journal of Fake Studies', has proven beyond doubt that, all kinds of hairs and particularly black hairs, absorb sun light and thus indirectly contribute to the global warming whereas, shining bald pates reflect sun light back into the atmosphere, thus help to make earth’s climate cool. So taking these facts in account, bald persons should be given the tax rebate in form of carbon credits whereas, high taxation should be levied on persons with hair for leaving carbon footprints behind.
It is true my friend, that you are paying the tax as well as losing your hair, but try to imagine a plight of less fortunate ones, who neither earn enough money to pay the tax nor have enough hair to loss.
'Son! Why do you worry about your hair problems; get me mustards seeds from the home, that doesn't have hair problems', thus spake enlightened sage, hearing which young man became calm.
The biggest cause of hair fall, dandruff and other hair related problems is existence of hair.
No person with hair on his head, can solve all your hair problems, neither can the person without hair.
As, not all the armies of the world, can stop the idea whose time has come so, not all the hair experts can stem the progress of baldness, whose time has come.
Only two things are universal, hair problems and human stupidity, but I have doubt about former, thus spake Einstein of hair science.
Not all the trichologists, dermatologists and hair experts together, armed with shampoos, hair oils, hair dyes and herbal ointments can cure all the hair ailments, as long as hairs are there.
As long as hairs are there, there are going to be hair problems, similarly as long as shrinks are there, there are going to be mental problems.
The hair industry expands their business by perpetuating the two myths, first is there are more hair at unwanted place and other is, there are less hair at desired place.
Hair here, hair there, hair everywhere similarly: problem here, problem there, problem everywhere.
He fell in love with her hair and married the whole girl, soon he was without hair.
In early part of his life man losses his hair to earn money then he uses same money to gain hair back.
Don't bask in a glory of the hair, you used to have in past, instead tell me, do you have gorgeous hair now?
There is some truth in a myth that the bald men are fortunate; to begin with, they don't have to spend their fortune on comb, hair products, hair cuts and last but not least girls.
There are more blondes on streets of India than women of the rest of the world put together; thanks to Garnier. Take Care.
White hair is nothing but a flag hoisted by a tired life, signaling armistice with hostile time, which eventually leads to surrender to the death.
Blessed are the monks who shave their hair themselves, a symbol of a vanity of the world, because nature is going to destroy that vanity eventually anyhow.
Oh Sinner! Vain is your attempt to hide your sins, for sins will shine in your life as bald pate shines through the sparse tufts of hair.
It is irony that the monks who do not care for their hair often have beautiful and luxuriant hair.
Trees are nothing but hair of Gaia, the earth; if you destroy, them then earth too would take her revenge by creating conditions, that won't allow the hair to stay on your crown.
More often than not, one owns heir are responsible for one owns hair fall.
If you cannot prevent hair fall, enjoy it.
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poem by Hitesh Sheth
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Shining Light
Oooooh...
Something was pulling me
Without knowing what was leading me on
Your shining light, your shining light
In my darkest hour, the only way to bring the dawn
Was your shining light, your shining light
But youre unaware your shining light is even on
Like with a little glance when you take me by surprise
And I take a chance and I see it all through your eyes
Free me from my history, show me where to draw the line
By lighting up the mystery, and you dont even know that it shines
Im not worried now about flying too close to the sun
Your shining light, your shining light
When december skies are cold
Well, you know I will always run
To your shining light, your shining light
But youre unaware your shining light is even on
Like with a little glance when you take me by surprise
And I take a chance and I see it all through your eyes
Free me from my history, show me where to draw the line
By lighting up the mystery, and you dont even know that it shines
I wont abuse it, so please just let it glow behind your smile
Let me use it, let me feel the warmth like a little child
Who understands your glance, though it takes me by surprise
And I take a chance and I see it all through your eyes
Its your shining light, from my history, and it pulls me out of my mind
Its your shining light, you dont even know that it shines (by lighting up the mystery)
Its your shining, its your shining light
Its your shining light, oooooh
Its your shining, its your shining light
Its your shining light, you dont even know that it shines
Its your shining, its your shining light
Its your shining light, oooooh
Its your shining, its your shining light
Its your shining light, you dont even know that it shines
song performed by 10000 Maniacs
Added by Lucian Velea
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M'Fingal - Canto IV
Now Night came down, and rose full soon
That patroness of rogues, the Moon;
Beneath whose kind protecting ray,
Wolves, brute and human, prowl for prey.
The honest world all snored in chorus,
While owls and ghosts and thieves and Tories,
Whom erst the mid-day sun had awed,
Crept from their lurking holes abroad.
On cautious hinges, slow and stiller,
Wide oped the great M'Fingal's cellar,
Where safe from prying eyes, in cluster,
The Tory Pandemonium muster.
Their chiefs all sitting round descried are,
On kegs of ale and seats of cider;
When first M'Fingal, dimly seen,
Rose solemn from the turnip-bin.
Nor yet his form had wholly lost
Th' original brightness it could boast,
Nor less appear'd than Justice Quorum,
In feather'd majesty before 'em.
Adown his tar-streak'd visage, clear
Fell glistening fast th' indignant tear,
And thus his voice, in mournful wise,
Pursued the prologue of his sighs.
"Brethren and friends, the glorious band
Of loyalty in rebel land!
It was not thus you've seen me sitting,
Return'd in triumph from town-meeting;
When blust'ring Whigs were put to stand,
And votes obey'd my guiding hand,
And new commissions pleased my eyes;
Blest days, but ah, no more to rise!
Alas, against my better light,
And optics sure of second-sight,
My stubborn soul, in error strong,
Had faith in Hutchinson too long.
See what brave trophies still we bring
From all our battles for the king;
And yet these plagues, now past before us,
Are but our entering wedge of sorrows!
"I see, in glooms tempestuous, stand
The cloud impending o'er the land;
That cloud, which still beyond their hopes
Serves all our orators with tropes;
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poem by John Trumbull
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I Am A Human Head
I'm a human head
And my best friend is also a head
I don't really need my best friend
Now my friend is gone
And I'm only a head by myself
I find I don't need my whole head
Now I'm just the top of a head
Just the scalp and the hair
I don't like the scalp just the hair
What do I really need?
Best friend also a head
Just the head
Just a scalp
Hair
Friend
No
Head
No
Scalp
No
Hair
I am only one human hair
With no scalp for a home
All I need's the top of a head
Now all I am is just a scalp
I don't have any head
I'd be glad if I had a head
Now I have a head
Look at me
I'm a fine floating head
Where is my friend the other head?
song performed by They Might Be Giants
Added by Lucian Velea
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The Victories Of Love. Book I
I
From Frederick Graham
Mother, I smile at your alarms!
I own, indeed, my Cousin's charms,
But, like all nursery maladies,
Love is not badly taken twice.
Have you forgotten Charlotte Hayes,
My playmate in the pleasant days
At Knatchley, and her sister, Anne,
The twins, so made on the same plan,
That one wore blue, the other white,
To mark them to their father's sight;
And how, at Knatchley harvesting,
You bade me kiss her in the ring,
Like Anne and all the others? You,
That never of my sickness knew,
Will laugh, yet had I the disease,
And gravely, if the signs are these:
As, ere the Spring has any power,
The almond branch all turns to flower,
Though not a leaf is out, so she
The bloom of life provoked in me;
And, hard till then and selfish, I
Was thenceforth nought but sanctity
And service: life was mere delight
In being wholly good and right,
As she was; just, without a slur;
Honouring myself no less than her;
Obeying, in the loneliest place,
Ev'n to the slightest gesture, grace
Assured that one so fair, so true,
He only served that was so too.
For me, hence weak towards the weak,
No more the unnested blackbird's shriek
Startled the light-leaved wood; on high
Wander'd the gadding butterfly,
Unscared by my flung cap; the bee,
Rifling the hollyhock in glee,
Was no more trapp'd with his own flower,
And for his honey slain. Her power,
From great things even to the grass
Through which the unfenced footways pass,
Was law, and that which keeps the law,
Cherubic gaiety and awe;
Day was her doing, and the lark
Had reason for his song; the dark
In anagram innumerous spelt
Her name with stars that throbb'd and felt;
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poem by Coventry Patmore
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