Quotes about encore, page 10
Love Sonnet 43 Bring no ambrosia, I wanted no more,
Bring no ambrosia, I wanted no more,
Nor fill my cup, with sweet nectar to drink,
Of the graces dance, spare me no encore,
Muses' songs next time, but not now, I think;
Tell Apollo to mute his lyre today,
Happiness eludes even here above,
Goodbye Olympus, I must go my way,
To the plains below, where did wait my love;
I need no disguise, say, the form of swan,
Or of shiny bull which to roam the fields,
She is no huntress who could swiftly ran,
But angel of love that her heart so wields;
...Let her see me in my most humble form,
...And may our love then overcome the norm.
poem by Reyvrex Questor Reyes
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Tangled Sheets
See, You complain that the words
won't come, but last night
you wrote me out like an epic.
Your touch called me back to my body,
that unused thing.
I didn't know what to call it,
it was hardly even mine.
Just a costume, I borrowed
to hide what we all hide
under our skin.
You drew me
with the gesturing of hands.
You conjured me,
made me out of nothing
but an ache called desire.
I need the reminder
of your lips, the taking and being taken
The repeating chorus of your voice
singing out my name.
An encore dedicated
[...] Read more
poem by Eila Mahima Jaipaul
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We Are Nearing The Shore
Beautiful is that distant shore
Flourishing with lavish lush verdure
Tall trees in tune with wind’s tremolo
Are swaying their heads in wild gusto
As if saying no to all worldly woes
Flitting white doves in free skies
And glittering silvery sands; all encore
Seem to be vowing peace, comfort and more
That is the haven we’re trying to discover
The ultimate Utopia of Thomos More!
Ahoy! My fellow rowers of ‘Bharat’ boat
Let not sloth rust your grits
Rest not yours oars even for a minute
Let sweat evaporate; of few more droplets
Let brawn burn into some more effort
There! Great future is well within our sight! ! !
poem by Sathya Narayana
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I cannot dance upon my Toes
326
I cannot dance upon my Toes—
No Man instructed me—
But oftentimes, among my mind,
A Glee possesseth me,
That had I Ballet knowledge—
Would put itself abroad
In Pirouette to blanch a Troupe—
Or lay a Prima, mad,
And though I had no Gown of Gauze—
No Ringlet, to my Hair,
Nor hopped to Audiences—like Birds,
One Claw upon the Air,
Nor tossed my shape in Eider Balls,
Nor rolled on wheels of snow
Till I was out of sight, in sound,
[...] Read more
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Human Life Can Be Much
Human life can be much like a game of football
The winners we only do wish to recall
The hero as usual kicks the winning score
Tell us something new we have heard it before
For the winner the glory and that says it all
The winner the proud one the winner walks tall
The taste of success it is always so sweet
Whilst only bitterness in the taste of defeat
Even the gallant loser we tend to ignore
For him or her there is never an encore
The winners have earned their right for to boast
And 'tis only to them that we do drink a toast
Human life can be much like a game of football
For those known as losers life's not good at all.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Chaque heure, où je songe à ta bonté
Chaque heure, où je songe à ta bonté
Si simplement profonde,
Je me confonds en prières vers toi.
Je suis venu si tard
Vers la douceur de ton regard,
Et de si loin vers tes deux mains tendues,
Tranquillement, par à travers les étendues!
J'avais en moi tant de rouille tenace
Qui me rongeait à dents rapaces,
La confiance
J'étais si lourd, j'étais si las
J'étais si vieux de méfiance,
J'étais si lourd, j'étais si las
Du vain chemin de tous mes pas.
Je méritais si peu la merveilleuse joie
De voir tes pieds illuminer ma voie,
Que j'en reste tremblant encore et presque en pleurs
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poem by Emile Verhaeren
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Guerre
Rameau central de combat
Contact par l'écoute
On tire dans la direction ' des bruits entendus '
Les jeunes de la classe 1915
Et ces fils de fer électrisés
Ne pleurez donc pas sur les horreurs de la guerre
Avant elle nous n'avions que la surface
De la terre et des mers
Après elle nous aurons les abîmes
Le sous-sol et l'espace aviatique
Maîtres du timon
Après après
Nous prendrons toutes les joies
Des vainqueurs qui se délassent
Femmes Jeux Usines Commerce
Industrie Agriculture Métal
Feu Cristal Vitesse
Voix Regard Tact à part
Et ensemble dans le tact venu de loin
De plus loin encore
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poem by Guillaume Apollinaire
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Liens
Cordes faites de cris
Sons de cloches à travers l'Europe
Siècles pendus
Rails qui ligotez les nations
Nous ne sommes que deux ou trois hommes
Libres de tous liens
Donnons-nous la main
Violente pluie qui peigne les fumées
Cordes
Cordes tissées
Câbles sous-marins
Tours de Babel changées en ponts
Araignées-Pontifes
Tous les amoureux qu'un seul lien a liés
D'autres liens plus ténus
[...] Read more
poem by Guillaume Apollinaire
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Whisper on the Breeze 0258 2006 Version
Let's soar beyond ground limits, spread the spore
of present joys till Death destroys all we
could - would attain unchained. Life's mystery,
what lingers when Time fingers? no encore.
We little store transmit, on Earth no more
than memories, swirled winds whirl wild sigh seas.
Seize wishful thinking whisper on the breeze,
some soothing raindrops sent in summer pour,
to mine mind sense, some season's reason for
our quest, which questions inks, thinks answers sees
while surfing superficiality
for life's chromatic scale, some ciphered score.
Let all together seek the secret key
to life's myrrh music, stirring symphony.
(28 November 2006)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Vérone
O Vérone ! cité de vengeance et d’amour,
Ton Adige verdi coule une onde fielleuse
Sous ton pont empourpré, dont l’arche qui se creuse
Fait l’eau de bile amère et de sang tour à tour !
Le dôme, le créneau, la muraille, la tour,
Le cyprès dur jailli de la fente argileuse,
Et tes tombeaux guerriers et ta tombe amoureuse
Te parent orgueilleusement d’un noble atour.
C’est en vain que plus tard ta Sœur adriatique,
Dans la rouge paroi de ton palais de brique,
Incrusta son lion de pierre comme un sceau ;
Son grondement ailé s’est tu dans l’air sonore
Où roucoule toujours et se lamente encore
La colombe plaintive et chère à Roméo.
poem by Henri de Regnier
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