Quotes about sic, page 10
Au Salon
Her grave, sweet haughtiness
Pleaseth me, and in like wise
Her quiet ironies.
Others are beautiful, none more, some less.
I suppose, when poetry comes down to facts,
When our souls are returned to the gods
And the spheres they belong in,
Here in the every-day where our acts
Rise up and judge us;
I suppose there are a few dozen verities
That no shift of mood can shake from us:
One place where we'd rather have tea
(Thus far hath modernity brought us)
'Tea' (Damn you!)
Have tea, damn the Caesars,
Talk of the latest success, give wing to some scandal,
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poem by Ezra Pound
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An Eccentric II
Was she ever married? Surely you'll want to know.
Yes and no being the precise answer:
yes, to a man who died of colon cancer-
to him she proved a good and prudent wife;
but, no, it was all remedial. The real love of her life
was a viscount who vanished
during a bombing mission over the continent-
or was it the Pacific? T'was him lent
her life it's strange trajectory-
it's sad 'sic transit Gloria' quality.
No, she couldn't forget her lost aviator.
Wrote, you might say, till she was blue
the world over for a clue
to his whereabouts. Was he tortured?
Was he ever, mangled, found? Succumb to some
lonely impulse to leave his life behind-
including among it's jetsam, her?
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poem by Morgan Michaels
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To A Crocus
An' so ye ‘ve oped your leaves at last—
I ‘ve often pitied ye, when fast
The drivin’ snaw has o'er ye past,
Puir bonnie thing,
Ye dared too soon the moody blast,
This damp cauld spring.
Ye ‘ve lifted up your gou'den head,
Too soon from off its wintry bed,
When late the faithless sunshine shed,
A saft warm gleam,
Then left ye, ere your leaves could spread,
Beneath its beam.
Sic’ is the hapless doom of those
Round whom her chain stern slavery throws,
Wha, born to naught but wrongs and woes,
An’ mony a tear,
Find storms and gloom around them close,
In life's young year.
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poem by Elizabeth Margaret Chandler from Poetical Works (1836)
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The Face of Love
When I gaze upon your countenance
I see all who I have and will still love
and your eyes a blue summer sky
warming the very core of my being
The alabaster perfection of your skin
crowning your lustrous beauty
Your inviting mouth drawing me in
to savour your sweet taste
to guess at your secrets
hidden behind an enigmatic smile
You are like a secret rendezvous
hankered after by all
Time cannot be defined
for you are infinite
in your freedom
Face of my beloved
the face of love
By: Suzette Crous
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poem by Suzette Crous
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Arbusto Hotel (a song parody)
tune Elvis' Heartbreak hotel (Chorus 1) [Chorus 2]
Now since Juan left the Pueblo,
He’s found a new place to dwell-
An S.R.O.* in Farmingdale
The Arbusto Hotel
(And Juan is so lonely
Juan is so lonely
He’s missing Juanita
Juan is so lonely, he could cry)
Now Juan waits on the Corner
He’s waiting for a van
They drive away, he mows all day
He’s working for the man.
(And Juan is so lonely
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poem by John F. McCullagh
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On The Train
I
THE lady in front of me in the car,
With little red coils close over her ears,
Is talking with her friend;
And the circle of ostrich foam around her hat,
Curving over like a wave,
Trembles with her little windy words.
What she is saying, I wonder,
That her feathers should tremble
And the soft fur of her coat should slip down over her shoulders?
Has her string of pearls been stolen,
Or maybe her husband?
II
He is drunk, that man -
Drunk as a lord, a lord of the bibulous past. [sic]
He shouts wittily from his end of the car to the man in the corner;
He bows to me with chivalrous apologies.
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poem by Harriet Monroe
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A Vision
As I stood by yon roofless tower,
Where the wa'flower scents the dewy air,
Where the howlet mourns in her ivy bower,
And tells the midnight moon her care.
The winds were laid, the air was still,
The stars they shot alang the sky;
The fox was howling on the hill,
And the distant echoing glens reply.
The stream, adown its hazelly path,
Was rushing by the ruin'd wa's,
Hasting to join the sweeping Nith,
Whase distant roaring swells and fa's.
The cauld blae North was streaming forth
Her lights, wi' hissing, eerie din;
Athwart the lift they start and shift,
Like Fortune's favors, tint as win.
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poem by Robert Burns
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Beat The Devil
Like a bull out of its cage,
charging upon the red narrow streets,
I pounded the pavement through riverside corridors.
My cadence was erratic,
dictated by the music in my ear and I couldn't stop.
When I rode the time moved backwards,
all to my first bicycle a huffy BMX,
where I learned how to pick myself up off the ground,
dust my pants and soar.
Since them days I've lived life behind bars.
The Buzcocks were in my ears telling me something goes wrong again.
I headed East on Charles street,
swallowing something,
a fly that didn't quite satiate me,
and spent a few blocks trying to hack it.
The world was decaying around me,
Sic transit gloria mundi! glory fades...the glory fades.
I took commercial avenue to Longfellow.
I zigzagged in and out of joggers, students, and tourist types.
Trucks, vans, cars, and busses were all in my way.
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poem by Jerome Moore
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Tam Glen
1 My heart is a-breaking, dear Tittie,
2 Some counsel unto me come len';
3 To anger them a' is a pity,
4 But what will I do wi' Tam Glen?
5 I'm thinking, wi' sic a braw fellow,
6 In poortith I might mak a fen':
7 What care I in riches to wallow,
8 If I mauna marry Tam Glen?
9 There's Lowrie, the laird o' Dumeller,
10 "Guid-day to you,"--brute! he comes ben:
11 He brags and he blaws o' his siller,
12 But when will he dance like Tam Glen?
13 My minnie does constantly deave me,
14 And bids me beware o' young men;
15 They flatter, she says, to deceive me;
16 But wha can think sae o' Tam Glen?
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poem by Robert Burns
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Memento Mori
Like a bull out of its tragic cage,
charging upon the red narrow streets,
I pounded the pavement through riverside corridors.
My cadence was erratic,
dictated by the music in my ear and I couldn't stop.
When I rode the time moved backwards,
all to my first bicycle a huffy BMX,
where I learned how to pick myself up off the ground,
dust my pants and soar.
Since them days I've lived life behind bars.
The Buzcocks were in my ears telling me something goes wrong again.
I headed East on Charles street,
swallowing something,
a fly that didn't quite satiate me,
and spent a few blocks trying to hack it.
The world was decaying around me,
Sic transit gloria mundi! glory fades...the glory fades.
I took commercial avenue to Longfellow.
I zigzagged in and out of joggers, students, and tourist types.
Trucks, vans, cars, and busses were all in my way.
[...] Read more
poem by Jerome Moore
Added by Poetry Lover
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