Quotes about lessen, page 14
I Am Disgrace
O lord and creator, thanks for beautiful world
Made it worth living with seasons hot and cold
Endless sky with wonder and thunder
Small hut like place to spend life it’s under
Beautiful creation and people noble,
Offer the worship with body fit and able
Never to suffer as they witness your presence
Each and every particle represents essence
Icy winds and rain drops lessen the heat wave
Relief to sufferings with energy to save
Resolute action with no let up in efforts
Blessed with grace ………………….
Sky so beautiful with colourful rainbow
Noble ideas and faith inspire me to bow
I see the nature with plentiful resource to offer
Pray to thy for brethren not to suffer
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Camps Of Green
NOT alone those camps of white, O soldiers,
When, as order'd forward, after a long march,
Footsore and weary, soon as the light lessen'd, we halted for the
night;
Some of us so fatigued, carrying the gun and knapsack, dropping
asleep in our tracks;
Others pitching the little tents, and the fires lit up began to
sparkle;
Outposts of pickets posted, surrounding, alert through the dark,
And a word provided for countersign, careful for safety;
Till to the call of the drummers at daybreak loudly beating the
drums,
We rose up refresh'd, the night and sleep pass'd over, and resumed
our journey,
Or proceeded to battle. 10
Lo! the camps of the tents of green,
Which the days of peace keep filling, and the days of war keep
filling,
With a mystic army, (is it too order'd forward? is it too only
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poem by Walt Whitman
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A Ballad of Baseball Burdens
The burden of hard hitting. Slug away
Like Honus Wagner or like Tyrus Cobb.
Else fandom shouteth: "Who said you could play?
Back to the jasper league, you minor slob!"
Swat, hit, connect, line out, goet on the job.
Else you shall feel the brunt of fandom's ire
Biff, bang it, clout it, hit it on the knob -
This is the end of every fan's desire.
The burden of good pitching. Curved or straight.
Or in or out, or haply up or down,
To puzzle him that standeth by the plate,
To lessen, so to speak, his bat-renown:
Like Christy Mathewson or Miner Brown,
So pitch that every man can but admire
And offer you the freedom of the town -
This is the end of every fan's desire.
The burden of loud cheering. O the sounds!
The tumult and the shouting from the throats
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poem by Franklin P. Adams
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Nine Hundred And Ninety Nine
NINE HUNDRED AND NINETY NINE
When you are done
With a thousand gals!
You might wave
Wave the triumph card
For faking to
Faking to nine hundred and ninety nine
But i`ll still be THE ONE
The one clad in white
Not to boast of honesty nor candor
But to see you scream
Scream for peace and tranquility! !
You`ll never be fanatic nor crazy
But you`ll yowl bawl and wail
For stillness and serenity!
But your mind will never
Never ever sit in peace
Cause you had killed the nine hundred and ninety nine
Who longed to live on this lovely mother earth! !
When the seven hundredth suicide happened
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poem by Dr DHANA LAKSHMI
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Sinned against sin
I was sinned against sin
The situation was half loss and half win
She was with fluctuating mind
She was confused for the solution to find
I used to draw aspiration in the dream
She was part of my powerful team
I may always be struck with new plot
She was there in particular slot
She felt at one stage that here mind is polluted
Her main thoughts on purity are diluted
She has remained restless for number of days
At least now she has found the reasonable ways
I was deeply disturbed and annoyed
Was the message meant for me and conveyed?
What was she intending to pass on?
So many ideas rushed in minds and gone
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Parody On The Recorder’s Speech To His Grace The Duke Of Ormond, 4th July, 1711
THE RECORDER'S SPEECH EXPLAINED BY THE TORIES
An ancient metropolis, famous of late
For opposing the Church, and for nosing the State,
For protecting sedition and rejecting order,
Made the following speech by their mouth, the Recorder:
First, to tell you the name of this place of renown,
Some still call it Dublin, but most Forster's town.
THE SPEECH
May it please your Grace,
We cannot omit this occasion to tell,
That we love the Queen's person and government well;
Then next, to your Grace we this compliment make,
That our worships regard you, but 'tis for her sake:
Though our mouth be a Whig, and our head a Dissenter,
Yet salute you we must, 'cause you represent her:
Nor can we forget, sir, that some of your line
Did with mildness and peace in this government shine.
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poem by Jonathan Swift
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Poems with difference
How does the imagination strike the mind?
Does the brain allow them place to find?
Why they are termed as crazy and dreamy persons?
Does this statement find any favour with reasons?
May be poetic appetite does not allow them to grasp?
Appeal in wordings may not be enough to last
It is as if some is asked to under go test and take medicine
Feeling good inwardly but with bitter test of quinine
We may see enough water available in pot
Put to test while making it very hot
It may turn into vapor beyond certain point
Poetry is also like vapour………………..
Ideas may suddenly emerge in sequence
Mind may pick up and build it as consequence
How to project it rightly may prove as acid test
It may be looked as fine blend of poetry and best
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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She Touches A Sad String Of Soft Recall
Return, return! all night my lamp is burning,
All night, like it, my wide eyes watch and burn;
Like it, I fade and pale, when day returning
Bears witness that the absent can return,
Return, return.
Like it, I lessen with a lengthening sadness,
Like it, I burn to waste and waste to burn,
Like it, I spend the golden oil of gladness
To feed the sorrowy signal for return,
Return, return.
Like it, like it, whene'er the east wind sings,
I bend and shake; like it, I quake and yearn,
When Hope's late butterflies, with whispering wings,
Fly in out of the dark, to fall and burn-
Burn in the watchfire of return,
Return, return.
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poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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The Things I Carry
One pair of feet pointed directly toward the door and
A mind that doesn't know where to begin or how to
Finish anything. Really
I've got
This thirst I can quench only for a few days at a time when
I can write something down and as
I do I can
Feel every part of myself
Fall into place it's like, I swear it was just like
Every autumn I spent napping with my father before we laid him down in
Lake Michigan to rest the world felt so much
More in tune with his harmony to bring up the pitch and
I need the world to know who gave me these eyes
This laugh and these jointy legs are not mine they are
My father's;
Sometimes I live up in the air and rejoice with all
The world's choruses and
Sometimes I live down low for such
empty things
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poem by Eden Gaiski
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Return!
RETURN, return! all night my lamp is burning,
All night, like it, my wide eyes watch and burn;
Like it, I fade and pale, when day returning
Bears witness that the absent can return,
Return, return.
Like it, I lessen with a lengthening sadness,
Like it, I burn to waste and waste to burn,
Like it, I spend the golden oil of gladness
To feed the sorrowy signal for return,
Return, return.
Like it, like it, whene'er the east wind sings,
I bend and shake; like it, I quake and yearn,
When Hope's late butterflies, with whispering wings,
Fly in out of the dark, to fall and burn--
Burn in the watchfire of return,
Return, return.
Like it, the very flame whereby I pine
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poem by Sydney Thompson Dobell
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