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

Cartels

Cast: Steven Seagal, Luke Goss, Georges St-Pierre, Darren E. Scott, Florin Piersic Jr., Martine Argent, Lauro Chartrand, Bruce Crawford, Howard Dell

trailer for Cartels, directed by Keoni Waxman (2016)Report problemRelated quotes
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Share

Related quotes

The Lord of the Isles: Canto V.

I.
On fair Loch-Ranza stream'd the early day,
Thin wreaths of cottage-smoke are upward curl'd
From the lone hamlet, which her inland bay
And circling mountains sever from the world.
And there the fisherman his sail unfurl'd,
The goat-herd drove his kids to steep Ben-Ghoil,
Before the hut the dame her spindle twirl'd,
Courting the sunbeam as she plied her toil, -
For, wake where'er he may, Man wakes to care and coil.

But other duties call'd each convent maid,
Roused by the summons of the moss-grown bell;
Sung were the matins, and the mass was said,
And every sister sought her separate cell,
Such was the rule, her rosary to tell.
And Isabel has knelt in lonely prayer;
The sunbeam, through the narrow lattice, fell
Upon the snowy neck and long dark hair,
As stoop'd her gentle head in meek devotion there.

II.
She raised her eyes, that duty done,
When glanced upon the pavement-stone,
Gemm'd and enchased, a golden ring,
Bound to a scroll with silken string,
With few brief words inscribed to tell,
'This for the Lady Isabel.'
Within, the writing farther bore,-
''Twas with this ring his plight he swore,
With this his promise I restore;
To her who can the heart command,
Well may I yield the plighted hand.
And O! for better fortune born,
Grudge not a passing sigh to mourn
Her who was Edith once of Lorn!'
One single flash of glad surprise
Just glanced from Isabel's dark eyes,
But vanish'd in the blush of shame,
That, as its penance, instant came.
'O thought unworthy of my race!
Selfish, ungenerous, mean, and base,
A moment's throb of joy to own,
That rose upon her hopes o'erthrown!-
Thou pledge of vows too well believed,
Of man ingrate and maid deceived,
Think not thy lustre here shall gain
Another heart to hope in vain!
For thou shalt rest, thou tempting gaud,
Where worldly thoughts are overawed,

[...] Read more

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

Share

Michael: A Pastoral Poem

If from the public way you turn your steps
Up the tumultuous brook of Greenhead Ghyll,
You will suppose that with an upright path
Your feet must struggle; in such bold ascent
The pastoral mountains front you, face to face.
But, courage! for around that boisterous brook
The mountains have all opened out themselves,
And made a hidden valley of their own.
No habitation can be seen; but they
Who journey thither find themselves alone
With a few sheep, with rocks and stones, and kites
That overhead are sailing in the sky.
It is in truth an utter solitude;
Nor should I have made mention of this Dell
But for one object which you might pass by,
Might see and notice not. Beside the brook
Appears a straggling heap of unhewn stones!
And to that simple object appertains
A story--unenriched with strange events,
Yet not unfit, I deem, for the fireside,
Or for the summer shade. It was the first
Of those domestic tales that spake to me
Of shepherds, dwellers in the valleys, men
Whom I already loved; not verily
For their own sakes, but for the fields and hills
Where was their occupation and abode.
And hence this Tale, while I was yet a Boy
Careless of books, yet having felt the power
Of Nature, by the gentle agency
Of natural objects, led me on to feel
For passions that were not my own, and think
(At random and imperfectly indeed)
On man, the heart of man, and human life.
Therefore, although it be a history
Homely and rude, I will relate the same
For the delight of a few natural hearts;
And, with yet fonder feeling, for the sake
Of youthful Poets, who among these hills
Will be my second self when I am gone.
UPON the forest-side in Grasmere Vale
There dwelt a Shepherd, Michael was his name;
An old man, stout of heart, and strong of limb.
His bodily frame had been from youth to age
Of an unusual strength: his mind was keen,
Intense, and frugal, apt for all affairs,
And in his shepherd's calling he was prompt
And watchful more than ordinary men.
Hence had he learned the meaning of all winds,
Of blasts of every tone; and, oftentimes,
When others heeded not, He heard the South

[...] Read more

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

Share

The Lord of the Isles: Canto VI.

I.
O who, that shared them, ever shall forget
The emotions of the spirit-rousing time,
When breathless in the mart the couriers met,
Early and late, at evening and at prime;
When the loud cannon and the merry chime
Hail'd news on news, as field on field was won,
When Hope, long doubtful, soar'd at length sublime,
And our glad eyes, awake as day begun,
Watch'd Joy's broad banner rise, to meet the rising sun!
O these were hours, when thrilling joy repaid
A long, long course of darkness, doubts, and fears!
The heart-sick faintness of the hope delay'd,
The waste, the woe, the bloodshed, and the tears,
That track'd with terror twenty rolling years,
All was forgot in that blithe jubilee!
Her downcast eye even pale Affliction rears,
To sigh a thankful prayer, amid the glee,
That hail'd the Despot's fall, and peace and liberty!

Such news o'er Scotland's hills triumphant rode,
When 'gainst the invaders turn'd the battle's scale,
When Bruce's banner had victorious flow'd
O'er Loudoun's mountain, and in Ury's vale;
And fiery English blood oft deluged Douglas-dale,
And fiery Edward routed stout St. John,
When Randolph's war-cry swell'd the southern gale,
And many a fortress, town, and tower, was won,
And fame still sounded forth fresh deeds of glory done.

II.
Blithe tidings flew from baron's tower,
To peasant's cot, to forest-bower,
And waked the solitary cell,
Where lone Saint Bride's recluses dwell.
Princess no more, fair Isabel,
A vot'ress of the order now,
Say, did the rule that bid thee wear
Dim veil and wollen scapulare,
And reft thy locks of dark-brown hair,
That stern and rigid vow,
Did it condemn the transport high,
Which glisten'd in thy watery eye,
When minstrel or when palmer told
Each fresh exploit of Bruce the bold?-
And whose the lovely form, that shares
Thy anxious hopes, thy fears, thy prayers?
No sister she of convent shade;
So say these locks in lengthen'd braid,
So say the blushes and the sighs,

[...] Read more

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

Share

The Rose Delima

You can sew heem up in a canvas sack,
An' t'row heem over boar'
You can wait till de ship she 's comin' back
Den bury heem on de shore
For dead man w'en he 's dead for sure,
Ain't good for not'ing at all
An' he 'll stay on de place you put heem
Till he hear dat bugle call
Dey say will soun' on de las', las' day
W'en ev'ry t'ing 's goin' for pass away,
But down on de Gulf of St. Laurent
W'ere de sea an' de reever meet
An' off on St. Pierre de Miquelon,
De chil'ren on de street
Can tole you story of Pierre Guillaume,
De sailor of St. Yvonne
Dat 's bringin' de Rose Delima home
Affer he 's dead an' gone.
______

He was stretch heem on de bed an' he could
n't raise hees head
So dey place heem near de winder w'ere he
can look below,
An' watch de schooner lie wit' her topmas' on
de sky,
An' oh! how mad it mak' heem, ole Cap-
tinne Baribeau.

For she 's de fines' boat dat never was afloat
From de harbour of St. Simon to de shore of
New-fun-lan'
She can almos' dance a reel, an' de sea shell on
her keel
Wall! you count dem very easy on de finger
of your han'.

But de season 's flyin' fas', an' de fall is nearly
pas'
An' de leetle Rose Delima she 's doin' not-
'ing dere
Only pullin' on her chain, an' wishin' once
again
She was w'ere de black fish tumble, an jomp
upon de air.

But who can tak' her out, for she 's got de
tender mout'
Lak a trotter on de race-course dat's mebbe
run away

[...] Read more

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

Share

The Lord of the Isles: Canto III.

I.
Hast thou not mark'd, when o'er thy startled head
Sudden and deep the thunder-peal has roll'd,
How when its echoes fell, a silence dead
Sunk on the wood, the meadow, and the wold?
The rye-glass shakes not on the sod-built fold,
The rustling aspen's leaves are mute and still,
The wall-flower waves not on the ruin'd hold,
Till, murmuring distant first, then near and shrill,
The savage whirlwind wakes, and sweeps the groaning hill.

II.
Artornish! such a silence sunk
Upon thy halls, when that grey Monk
His prophet-speech had spoke;
And his obedient brethren's sail
Was stretch'd to meet the southern gale
Before a whisper woke.
Then murmuring sounds of doubt and fear,
Close pour'd in many an anxious ear,
The solemn stillness broke;
And still they gazed with eager guess,
Where, in an oriel's deep recess,
The Island Prince seem'd bent to press
What Lorn, by his impatient cheer,
And gesture fierce, scarce deign'd to hear.

III.
Starting at length with frowning look,
His hand he clench'd, his head he shook,
And sternly flung apart;-
'And deem'st thou me so mean of mood,
As to forget the mortal feud,
And clasp the hand with blood inbrued
From my dear Kinsman's heart?
Is this thy rede? - a due return
For ancient league and friendship sworn!
But well our mountain proverb shows
The faith of Islesmen ebbs and flows.
Be it even so - believe, ere long,
He that now bears shall wreak the wrong.-
Call Edith - call the Maid of Lorn!
My sister, slaves! - for further scorn,
Be sure nor she nor I will stay.-
Away, De Argentine, away! -
We nor ally nor brother know,
In Bruce's friend, or England's foe.'

IV.
But who the Chieftain's rage can tell,

[...] Read more

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

Share

Bruce

Doctor, doctor you gotta help me yeah
You gotta make it right for me
It seems this other mans name has been following me around
And it just wont let me be
You see I got this name and hes got this name too know
Well theyre kinda close only a blind crazy fool
Would think I was him its like saying green is blue
But let me tell you brother it started being a bother
When he made the cover of time magazine
I was at this party in the wild-hilled hills
Just the other night
Her name was shelly I introduced myself
She just smiled and said all right
Well we got talkin and drinkin wine
And she said she liked my music thought it was fine
She said, lets make love, your place or mine
And in the middle of the passion I was on the borderline
When she called out a name but it wasnt mine
She called me bruce, bruce
I can hear her calling bruce, bruce
I can hear her calling bruce, bruce
I can hear her
My name is rick Im gonna stick it to ya babe
And theres this kid walking carrying a guitar
You know I told him that I played
He asked me my name you know I told him
I said it plain as clear as day
Well he seemed really, clearly, sincerely impressed
And as he pulled a piece paper for me to sign from his vest
He said, I thought born to run was one of your best
Awww wait a minute man, who do you think I am?
He answered, mr. springsteen, your a famous man.
He called me bruce, bruce
I can hear him calling bruce, bruce
He called me bruce, bruce
I can hear him
My name is richard gonna hit it to you babe
You know my mama called me long distance yesterday
And as she got off the phone I swear I heard her say
Bye bye bruce, bruce
I can hear her calling bruce, bruce
She called me bruce, bruce
I can hear her
My name is ricky gonna stick it to you babe

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

Share

Steven

I don't want to see you go
I don't even want to be there
I will cover up my eyes
And pray it goes away
You've only lived a minute of your life
I must be dreaming, please stop screaming
I don't like to hear you cry
You just don't know how deep that cuts me
So I will cover up my eyes
And it will go away
You've only lived a minute of your life
I must be dreaming, please stop screaming
STEVEN!
STEVEN!
I hear my name!
STEVEN!
Is someone calling me? I hear my name!
STEVEN!
That icy breath that whispers screams of pain!
I don't want to feel you die
But if that's the way that God has planned you
I'll put pennies on your eyes
And it will go away
See?
You've only lived a minute of your life
I must be dreaming, please stop screaming
Steven.... Is someone calling me? No....
Steven....
I think I hear a voice--- it's outside the door!
STEVEN!
I hear my name!
STEVEN!
Is someone calling me? I hear my name!
STEVEN!
WHAT DO YOU WANT?
STEVEN!
WHAT DO YOU WANT?
WHAT DO YOU WANT?
WHAT DO YOU WANT?
STEVEN!
STEVEN!
STEVEN!
I hear my name

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

Share

The Lord of the Isles: Canto IV.

I.
Stranger! if e'er thine ardent step hath traced
The northern realms of ancient Caledon,
Where the proud Queen of Wilderness hath placed,
By lake and cataract, her lonely throne;
Sublime but sad delight thy soul hath known,
Gazing on pathless glen and mountain high,
Listing where from the cliffs the torrents thrown
Mingle their echoes with the eagle's cry,
And with the sounding lake, and with the moaning sky.

Yes! 'twas sublime, but sad. - The loneliness
Loaded thy heart, the desert tired thine eye;
And strange and awful fears began to press
Thy bosom with a stern solemnity.
Then hast thou wish'd some woodman's cottage nigh,
Something that show'd of life, though low and mean;
Glad sight, its curling wreath of smoke to spy,
Glad sound, its cock's blithe carol would have been,
Or children whooping wild beneath the willows green.

Such are the scenes, where savage grandeur wakes
An awful thrill that softens into sighs;
Such feelings rouse them by dim Rannoch's lakes,
In dark Glencoe such gloomy raptures rise:
Or farther, where, beneath the northern skies,
Chides wild Loch-Eribol his caverns hoar-
But, be the minstrel judge, they yield the prize
Of desert dignity to that dread shore,
That sees grim Coolin rise, and hears Coriskin roar.

II.
Through such wild scenes the champion pass'd,
When bold halloo and bugle blast
Upon the breeze came loud and fast.
'There,' said the Bruce, 'rung Edward's horn!
What can have caused such brief return?
And see, brave Ronald,- see him dart
O'er stock and stone like hunted hart,
Precipitate, as is the use,
In war or sport, or Edward Bruce.
- He marks us, and his eager cry
Will tell his news ere he be nigh.'

III.
Loud Edward shouts, 'What make ye here,
Warring upon the mountain-deer,
When Scotland wants her King?
A bark from Lennox cross'd our track,
With her in speed I hurried back,

[...] Read more

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

Share

Sir Andrew Barton

The First Part
'When Flora with her fragrant flowers
Bedeckt the earth so trim and gaye,
And Neptune with his daintye showers
Came to present the monthe of Maye;
King Henrye rode to take the ayre,
Over the river of Thames past hee;
When eighty merchants of London came,
And downe they knelt upon their knee.

'O yee are welcome, rich merchants,
Good saylors, welcome unto mee.'
They swore by the rood, they were saylors good,
But rich merchants they cold not bee.
'To France nor Flanders dare we pass,
Nor Bordeaux voyage dare we fare;
And all for a rover that lyes on the seas,
Who robbs us of our merchant ware.'

King Henrye frownd, and turned him rounde,
And swore by the Lord that was mickle of might,
'I thought he had not beene in the world,
Durst have wrought England such unright.'
The merchants sighed, and said, 'Alas!'
And thus they did their answer frame;
'He is a proud Scott, that robbs on the seas,
And Sir Andrewe Barton is his name.'

The king loot over his left shoulder,
And an angrye look then looked hee;
'Have I never a lorde in all my realme,
Will feitch yond traytor unto mee?'
'Yea, that dare I,' Lord Howard sayes;
If it please your grace to give me leave,
Myselfe wil be the only man.'

'Thou art but yong,' the kyng replyed,
'Yond Scott hath numbred manye a yeare.'
'Trust me, my liege, Ile make him quail,
Or before my prince I will never appeare.'
'Then bowemen and gunners thou shalt have,
And chuse them over my realme so free;
Besides good mariners, and shipp-boyes,
To guide the great shipp on the sea.'

The first man that Lord Howard chose,
Was the ablest gunner in all the realme,
Thoughe he was threescore yeeres and ten;
Good Peter Simon was his name.
'Peter,' sais hee, 'I must to the sea,

[...] Read more

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

Share

Native American

I am native american
Ho ka hey wah nah (steven and bruce)
Ho ka hey wah nah woh
Ho ka hey wah nah
Ho ka hey wah nah woh
Ho ka hey wah nah
Ho ka hey wah nah woh
(editors note: the above is war cry of the lakota(sioux) meaning
Lets go - now)
Life was forever when we were young (steven)
The land was protected for everyone (bruce)
Forever as long as the rivers run (both)
But now the water no longer comes (steven)
And now all that remains (both)
Is darkness a poisoned earth
And now before its too late
We must provide our own new birth
Chorus:
I am native american
I am native american
The question of honor you must decide (bruce)
The soul of the nation has been denied (steven)
Our dreams have been stolen before our eyes (both)
How do you say theres no tomorrow to a child? (bruce)
>from us there is much to learn (both)
There is so much youve forgotten
You cant change me
Try and understand I am proud of who I am
Chorus:
I am native american
I am native american
We must try and remember what were here for (steven)
You will suffer the darkness alone no more (bruce)
You will have the strength of all of us
Gathered here today (both)
That is something they can never take away (bruce)
Chorus:
I am native american
I am native american
Ho ka hey wah nah (steven and bruce)
Ho ka hey wah nah woh
Repeat 7 more times til fade

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

Share

The Lord of the Isles: Canto II.

I.
Fill the bright goblet, spread the festive board!
Summon the gay, the noble, and the fair!
Through the loud hall, in joyous concert pour'd,
Let mirth and music sound the dirge of Care!
But ask thou not if Happiness be there,
If the loud laugh disguise convulsive throe,
Or if the brow the heart's true livery wear;
Lift not the festal mask! - enough to know,
No scene of mortal life but teems with mortal woe.

II.
With beaker's clang, with harpers' lay,
With all that olden time deem'd gay,
The Island Chieftain feasted high;
But there was in his troubled eye
A gloomy fire, and on his brow
Now sudden flush'd, and faded now,
Emotions such as draw their birth
From deeper source than festal mirth.
By fits he paused, and harper's strain
And jester's tale went round in vain,
Or fell but on his idle ear
Like distant sounds which dreamers hear.
Then would he rouse him, and employ
Each art to aid the clamorous joy,
And call for pledge and lay,
And, for brief space, of all the crowd,
As he was loudest of the loud,
Seem gayest of the gay.

III.
Yet nought amiss the bridal throng
Mark'd in brief mirth, or musing long;
The vacant brow, the unlistening ear,
They gave to thoughts of raptures near,
And his fierce starts of sudden glee
Seem'd bursts of bridegroom's ecstasy.
Nor thus alone misjudged the crowd,
Since lofty Lorn, suspicious, proud,
And jealous of his honour'd line,
And that keen knight, De Argentine,
(From England sent on errand high,
The western league more firm to tie),
Both deem'd in Ronald's mood to find
A lover's transport-troubled mind.
But one sad heart, one tearful eye,
Pierced deeper through the mystery,
And watch'd, with agony and fear,
Her wayward bridegroom's varied cheer.

[...] Read more

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

Share

Thomas Winterbottom Hance

IN all the towns and cities fair
On Merry England's broad expanse,
No swordsman ever could compare
With THOMAS WINTERBOTTOM HANCE.

The dauntless lad could fairly hew
A silken handkerchief in twain,
Divide a leg of mutton too -
And this without unwholesome strain.

On whole half-sheep, with cunning trick,
His sabre sometimes he'd employ -
No bar of lead, however thick,
Had terrors for the stalwart boy.

At Dover daily he'd prepare
To hew and slash, behind, before -
Which aggravated MONSIEUR PIERRE,
Who watched him from the Calais shore.

It caused good PIERRE to swear and dance,
The sight annoyed and vexed him so;
He was the bravest man in France -
He said so, and he ought to know.

"Regardez donc, ce cochon gros -
Ce polisson! Oh, sacre bleu!
Son sabre, son plomb, et ses gigots
Comme cela m'ennuye, enfin, mon Dieu!

"Il sait que les foulards de soie
Give no retaliating whack -
Les gigots morts n'ont pas de quoi -
Le plomb don't ever hit you back."

But every day the headstrong lad
Cut lead and mutton more and more;
And every day poor PIERRE, half mad,
Shrieked loud defiance from his shore.

HANCE had a mother, poor and old,
A simple, harmless village dame,
Who crowed and clapped as people told
Of WINTERBOTTOM'S rising fame.

She said, "I'll be upon the spot
To see my TOMMY'S sabre-play;"
And so she left her leafy cot,
And walked to Dover in a day.

[...] Read more

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

Share

Little Pierre's Song

In a humble room in London sat a pretty little boy,
By the bedside of his sick mother her only joy,
Who was called Little Pierre, and who's father was dead;
There he sat poor boy, hungry and crying for bread.

There he sat humming a little song, which was his own,
But to the world it was entirely unknown,
And as he sang the song he felt heartsick,
But he resolved to get Madame Malibran to sing his song in public

Then he paused for a moment and clasped his hands,
And running to the looking-glass before it he stands,
Then he smoothed his yellow curls without delay,
And from a tin box takes a scroll of paper worn and grey.

Then he gave one fond eager glance at his mother,
Trying hard brave boy his grief to smother,
As he gazed on the bed where she lay,
But he resolved to see Madame Malibran without delay.

Then he kissed his mother while she slept,
And stealthily from the house he crept,
And direct to Madame Malibran's house he goes,
Resolved to see her no matter who did him oppose.

And when he reached the door he knocked like a brave gallant
And the door was answered by her lady servant,
Then he told the servant Madame Malibran he wished to see
And the servant said, oh yes, I'll tell her immediately.

Then away the servant goes quite confident,
And told her a little boy wished to see her just one moment
Oh! well, said Madame Malibran, with a smile,
Fetch in the little boy he will divert me a while.

So Little Pierre was broght in with his hat under his arm
And in his hand a scroll of paper, thinking it no harm,
Then walked straight up to Madame Malibran without dread
And said, dear lady my mother is sick and in want of bread.

And I have called to see if you would sing my little song,
At someof your grand concerts, Ah! Say before long,
Or perhaps you could sell it to a publisher for a small sum,
Then I could buy food for my mother and with it would run.

Then Madame Malibran rose from her seat most costly and grand
And took the scroll of paper from Pierre's hand
And hummed his little song, to a plaintive air,
Then said, your song is soul stirring I do declare.

[...] Read more

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

Share

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

Share

The Brus Book II

[Bruce escapes to Lochmaben]


The Bruys went till his innys swyth,
Bot wyt ye weile he wes full blyth
That he had gottyn that respyt.
He callit his marschall till him tyt
5 And bad him luk on all maner
That he ma till his men gud cher,
For he wald in his chambre be
A weile gret quhile in prevate,
With him a clerk foroutyn ma.
10 The marschell till the hall gan ga
And did hys lordys commanding.
The lord the Bruce but mar letting
Gert prevely bryng stedys twa,
He and the clerk foroutyn ma
15 Lap on foroutyn persavyng,
And day and nycht but sojournyng
Thai raid quhill on the fyften day
Cummyn till Louchmaben ar thai.
Hys broder Edward thar thai fand
20 That thocht ferly Ic tak on hand
That thai come hame sa prevely.
He tauld hys brodyr halyly
How that he thar soucht was
And how that he chapyt wes throu cas.

[The killing of Comyn and his uncle]

25 Sa fell it in the samyn tid
That at Dumfres rycht thar besid
Schir Jhone the Cumyn sojornyng maid.
The Brus lap on and thidder raid
And thocht foroutyn mar letting
30 For to quyt hym his discovering.
Thidder he raid but langer let
And with Schyr Jhone the Cumyn met
In the Freris at the hye awter,
And schawyt him with lauchand cher
35 The endentur, syne with a knyff
Rycht in that sted hym reft the lyff.
Schyr Edmund Cumyn als wes slayn
And othir mony off mekill mayn.
Nocht-for-thi yeit sum men sayis
40 At that debat fell other-wayis,
Bot quhat-sa-evyr maid the debate
Thar-throuch he deyt weill I wat.
He mysdyd thar gretly but wer
That gave na gyrth to the awter,

[...] Read more

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

Share

Sweet Echo Dell

"Three there were that left my cot;
Two are here, and one is not;
Why does Willie linger? Say, can you tell?"

"He was weary by the way;
When we came he could but stay
In the shady grove at Sweet Echo Dell."

Echo Dell! (Echo Dell!) Echo Dell! (Echo Dell!)
It was there we softly said "Farewell!" ("Farewell!")
And the towering granite crest
Nobly guards his place rest,
Near the lovely lake of Sweet Echo Dell.

"Is he laden well with gold?
Does he bring me wealth untold?
Why then does he linger? Say can you tell?"

"All his treasures are above;
All he sent you was his love,
With a whispered prayer from Sweet Echo Dell."

Coming homeward, does he sing
Like a lark upon the wing?
Why then does he linger? Say, can you tell?"

Naught is heard but rippling waves,
Warbling birds, and shouting braves;
Silent is his voice in Sweet Echo Dell."

"Is he coming by-and-by?
May I bless him ere I die?
Why then does he linger? Say, can you tell?"

"Mirrored in that mountain lake,
Heaven is near, and he will wake
Never elsewhere than in Sweet Echo Dell."

"Would you crush my only joy?
Surely I shall meet my boy;
When then does he linger? Say, can you tell?"

"Never will his weary feet
Travel more, yet may soon meet
When your soul floats over Sweet Echo Dell."

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

Share

When you are Old

Sonnet XXXII

Should you survive the number of my days,
Attest to buried bones and grounded hope,
Nervous, by chance, perhaps this book you'll ope,
Grave hand re-reading, when fast passed my ways.
Tender friend recall our comet blaze,
Openly with instinct's gyroscope
Mark, nurture, sight and sound, bright chromascope,
Able to distill implicit ph[r]ase.
Methinks fond thoughts might share this paraphrase:
“As rainbow bridge strips off coarse envelope
Underdeveloped were poor poet’s plays -
Death forced him far too early to elope.
E’er since he died, have other poets flourished.
Competent their works, I’ll read his, who love nourished.”

[c] Jonathan Robin

Shakespeare Sonnet XXXII
(cf Ronsard: When you are old and grey)


If thou survive my well-contented day,
When that churl death my bones with dust shall cover,
And shall by fortune once more re-survey
These poor rude lines of thy deceasèd lover,
Compare them with the bettering of the time,
And though they be outstripp’d by every pen,
Reserve them for my love, not for their rime,
Exceeded by the heights of happier men.
O! then vouchsafe me but this loving thought:
'Had my friend's Muse grown with this growing age,
A dearer birth than this his love had brought,
To march in ranks of better equipage:
But since he died, and poets better prove,
Theirs for their style I'll read, his for his love.'?

Quand vous serez bien vieille

Quand vous serez bien vieille, au soir, à la chandelle,
Assise auprès du feu, dévidant et filant,
Direz, chantant mes vers, en vous émerveillant:
'Ronsard me célébrait du temps que j'étais belle.'

[...] Read more

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

Share

The Log Jam

1 Dere 'a s beeg jam up de reever, w'ere rapide is runnin' fas',
2 An' de log we cut las' winter is takin' it all de room;
3 So boss of de gang is swearin', for not'ing at all can pass
4 An' float away down de current till somebody break de boom.

5 'Here 's for de man will tak' de job, holiday for a week
6 Extra monee w'en pay day come, an' ten dollar suit of clothes.
7 'T is n't so hard work run de log, if only you do it quick--
8 W'ere 's de man of de gang den is ready to say, ` Here goes?''

9 Dere was de job for a feller, handy an' young an' smart,
10 Willin' to tak' hees chances, willin' to risk hees life.
11 'Cos many a t'ing is safer, dan tryin' de boom to start,
12 For if de log wance ketch you, dey 're cuttin' you lak a knife.

13 Aleck Lachance he lissen, an' answer heem right away
14 'Marie Louise dat 's leevin' off on de shore close by
15 She 's sayin' de word was mak' me mos' happies' man to-day
16 An' if you ax de reason I 'm ready to go, dat 's w'y.'

17 Pierre Delorme he 's spikin' den, an' O! but he 's lookin' glad.
18 'Dis morning de sam' girl tole me, she mus' say to me, ` Good-bye Pierre.'
19 So no wan can stop me goin', for I feel I was comin' mad
20 An' wedder I see to-morrow, dat 's not'ing, for I don't care.'

21 Aleck Lachance was steady, he 's bully boy all aroun',
22 Alway sendin' de monee to hees moder away below,
23 Now an' den savin' a leetle for buyin' de house an' groun',
24 An' never done t'inkin', t'inkin' of Marie Louise Lebeau.

25 Pierre was a half-breed feller, we call heem de grand Nor' Wes'--
26 Dat is de place he 's leevin' w'en he work for de Compagnie,
27 Dey say he 's marry de squaw dere, never min' about all de res'--
28 An' affer he get hees monee, he 's de boy for de jamboree!

29 Ev'ry wan start off cheerin' w'en dey pass on de log out dere
30 Jompin' about lak monkey, Aleck an' Pierre Delorme.
31 Workin' de sam' as twenty, an' runnin' off ev'ryw'ere,
32 An' busy on all de places, lak beaver before de storm.

33 Den we hear some wan shoutin', an' dere was dat crazy girl,
34 Marie Louise, on de hillside, cryin' an' raisin' row.
35 Could n't do not'ing worser! mos' foolish t'ing on de worl'
36 For Pierre Delorme an' Aleck was n't workin' upon de scow.

37 Bote of dem turn aroun' dere w'en girl is commencin' cry,
38 Lak woman I wance remember, got los' on de bush t'ree day,
39 'Look how de log is movin'! I 'm seein' it wit' ma eye,
40 Come back out of all dem danger!' an' den she was faint away.

[...] Read more

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

Share

Old Town Types No. 13 - Larrikin Luke

Luke Gale, the larrikin lad, dwelt in Larrikin Lane,
A low street, a by-street, right at the edge of the town;
King of the boys and hobbledehoys - a vulgar youth, and vain,
Winning from all respectable folk a very respectable frown.
But, oh, to see him on Saturday nights, dolled in his nobbiest duds,
Doing the weekly Saturday rounds; impudent, out for larks
Eyeing the girls at the Saturday shops
Coming for candy and acidy drops,
While Luke and his henchmen leaned on posts, passing inane remarks.

Larrikin Luke knew how to dress; short, black-braided coat,
Big, black, felt hat, low and broad of brim;
Shirt, white and collarless quite, narrow tie at the throat
Neatly drawn thro' a quandong ring; vest low-cut and trim.
But, pride of his wardrobe, badge of his clan, flapping about his feet,
Black pants - wonderful pants, by a snake-skin belt girt low,
Belled at the bottoms and tight on the thighs;
A curly fringe combed down to his eyes;
Thimble heels to his shiny shoes, laced right down to the toe.

When General Booth sent soldiers hence banging the 'Salvo' drum,
Larrikin Luke and his rowdy push hatched more larrikin plots;
And the 'Starvation Army' marched, to the joy of the township's scum,
Down the streets as they wildly beat on old tins and pots.
And the grave town elders shook their heads hearing the ribald songs
As the badgered brothers of 'Blood and Fire' meekly knelt to pray;
'Larrikin Luke is doomed,' they said;
'Nothing but gaol for him ahead.'
Now Luke and his lads have long passed on, but Booth's men came to stay.

Larrikin Luke, when I saw him last, was a sober man and grey,
Boss of a thriving business now, moved to a different town;
Married and made and settled down; marking the young folk's way,
As any respectable citizen would, with a very respectable frown.
A serious man, Luke Gale, esquire, with a grown-up family now,
A family man, and a solid man, as every townsman grants,
Chiding the wayward young, forsooth!
But I see him still in his own wild youth,
With his thimble heels, and his broad-brimmed hat, and those queer bell-bottomed pants.

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

Share

Pontius Pilate Said

Pontius Pilate was Prefect of Judea
the Roman governor of Judea
during the reign of Tiberius Caesar.

Luke said at Luke 3: 1 “In the fifteenth
year of the reign of Tiberius Caesar,
when Pontius Pilate was governor of Judea
and Herod was district ruler of Galilee...”

That John the Baptist gave answer
that he was not the Christ declaring
as recorded at Luke 3: 16 “John gave
the answer, saying to all: “I, for my

part, baptize YOU with water; but
the one stronger than I am is coming,
the lace of whose sandals I am not fit
to untie. He will baptize you people

with holy spirit and fire.” Amen Lord!

Luke faithfully records at Luke 3: 21-22
by what authority Jesus the Messiah would
come writing “Now when all the people were
baptized, Jesus also was baptized and, as he

was praying, the heaven was opened up and the
holy spirit in bodily shape like a dove came down
upon him, and a voice came out of heaven; “You
are my son, the beloved; I have approved you.””

Years later just before Calvary, in Latin calvaria
“skull” translated from Aramaic Golgotha, John
faithfully records at John 18: 37 “Therefore Pilate
said to him: “Well, then, are you a king? ” Jesus

answered: “You yourself are saying that I am a king.
For this I have been born, and for this I have come
into the world, that I should bear witness to the truth.
Everyone that is on the side of the truth listens to my voice.”””

And Pontius “Pilate said to him: “What is truth? ”

Now do not be mislead Brothers and Sisters in Christ.
Any official professional master, in the art of appeasement,
who plays the game of massive truth manipulation, in
self serving advancement, knows ‘the truth is never the truth.’

All politicians and government officials know play the game that
‘the truth is never the truth’ truth is what people wish to believe!

[...] Read more

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

Share
 

Search


Recent searches | Top searches