Quotes about warily, page 2
Patroling Barnegat
WILD, wild the storm, and the sea high running,
Steady the roar of the gale, with incessant undertone muttering,
Shouts of demoniac laughter fitfully piercing and pealing,
Waves, air, midnight, their savagest trinity lashing,
Out in the shadows there milk-white combs careering,
On beachy slush and sand spirts of snow fierce slanting,
Where through the murk the easterly death-wind breasting,
Through cutting swirl and spray watchful and firm advancing,
(That in the distance! is that a wreck? is the red signal flaring?)
Slush and sand of the beach tireless till daylight wending, 10
Steadily, slowly, through hoarse roar never remitting,
Along the midnight edge by those milk-white combs careering,
A group of dim, weird forms, struggling, the night confronting,
That savage trinity warily watching.
poem by Walt Whitman
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Song
O whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad,
O whistle, and I'll come to ye, my lad;
Tho' father, and mother, and a' should gae mad,
Thy Jeanie will venture wi'ye, my lad.
But warily tent, when ye come to court me,
And come nae unless the back-yett be a-jee;
Syne up the back-style and let naebody see,
And come as ye were na comin to me--
And come as ye were na comin to me--
O whistle &c.
At kirk, or at market whene'er ye meet me,
Gang by me as tho' that ye car'd nae a flie;
But steal me a blink o' your bonie black e'e,
Yet look as ye were na looking at me--
Yet look as ye were na looking at me.--
O whistle &c.
Ay vow and protest that ye care na for me,
[...] Read more
poem by Robert Burns
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Leaves
The leaves are falling one and one,
Each like a life to me,
As over-soonly in the sun
They spiral goldenly:
So airily and warily
They falter free.
The leaves are falling two and two,
Beneath a baleful sky;
So silently the sward they strew,
Reluctantly they die . . .
Rich crimson leaves,--and no one grieves
There doom but I.
The leaves are falling three and three
Beneath the mothlike moon;
They flutter downward silverly
In muted rigadoon;
And russet dry remote they lie
From feathered tune.
[...] Read more
poem by Robert William Service
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Honest Politician for Friend Thad
Self confidence is often found
where it cannot be justified.
In naïve fools who love the sound
of their own voices, full of pride.
Oft in the young an arrogant.
We can forgive them easily
but when the politicians rant.
We listen to them warily.
All of their florid verbiage,
we disregard we know they lie
Their promises mere persiflage
which when elected they deny,
So vote for me an honest man
I’m out to get all that I can.
My honesty makes me unique
I want to board the gravy train.
You can believe these words I speak
Because I state I hope to gain
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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On the desert
On the desert
A silence from the moon's deepest valley.
Fire rays fall athwart the robes
Of hooded men, squat and dumb.
Before them, a woman
Moves to the blowing of shrill whistles
And distant thunder of drums,
While mystic things, sinuous, dull with terrible colour,
Sleepily fondle her body
Or move at her will, swishing stealthily over the sand.
The snakes whisper softly;
The whispering, whispering snakes,
Dreaming and swaying and staring,
But always whispering, softly whispering.
The wind streams from the lone reaches
Of Arabia, solemn with night,
And the wild fire makes shimmer of blood
Over the robes of the hooded men
Squat and dumb.
Bands of moving bronze, emerald, yellow,
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poem by Stephen Crane
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City Streets
The gaudy glow of neon lights
dispels the darkness of the nights
on city streets.
They pop and fizzle noisily
creating a cacophony
on city streets.
The sober folks walk warily
and drunks stagger uncaringly
on city streets.
The ladies of the night parade
for there is money to be made
on city streets.
Drug dealers ready to retreat
if they should hear a coppers feet
on city streets.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Frost
Upon waking, I pad softly over to my window,
And look out, at the wintry world, down below.
Many of the things which are within my sight,
Are covered with a thin coating of pure white.
I hear car engines running, and ice being scrapped away,
As neighbours nearby, prepare for another working day.
Through the gap, between the houses, stood nearby,
I see a bright patch of beautiful, peach coloured sky.
With icing sugar, the world appears to have been sprinkled.
In the morning sunlight, millions of minute crystals twinkle.
With dazzling diamonds, pavements seem to have been encrusted;
But, my, once sure, footing upon them, can no longer be trusted.
As I walk along the pavement, my feet slide and slip;
It is much more difficult now, to get a really good grip.
My pace, this morning, is much slower than my norm;
I tread much more warily, on this crisp, cold, frosty morn.
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poem by Angela Wybrow
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A Week Later
A week later, I said to a friend: I don't
think I could ever write about it.
Maybe in a year I could write something.
There is something in me maybe someday
to be written; now it is folded, and folded,
and folded, like a note in school. And in my dream
someone was playing jacks, and in the air there was a
huge, thrown, tilted jack
on fire. And when I woke up, I found myself
counting the days since I had last seen
my husband-only two years, and some weeks,
and hours. We had signed the papers and come down to the
ground floor of the Chrysler Building,
the intact beauty of its lobby around us
like a king's tomb, on the ceiling the little
painted plane, in the mural, flying. And it
entered my strictured heart, this morning,
slightly, shyly as if warily,
untamed, a greater sense of the sweetness
and plenty of his ongoing life,
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poem by Sharon Olds
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Little Birds
Little Birds are dining
Warily and well,
Hid in mossy cell:
Hid, I say, by waiters
Gorgeous in their gaiters -
I've a Tale to tell.
Little Birds are feeding
Justices with jam,
Rich in frizzled ham:
Rich, I say, in oysters
Haunting shady cloisters -
That is what I am.
Little Birds are teaching
Tigresses to smile,
Innocent of guile:
Smile, I say, not smirkle -
Mouth a semicircle,
That's the proper style!
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poem by Lewis Carroll
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WElcome Guest, story poem
Harried by hounds the stag is spent.
He is worn out and terrified.
Enters my gates by accident,
In search of somewhere he can hide.
He finds safety in a stall
which has long been unoccupied.
He’s found his haven after all.
Because I instantly decide.
To bar my gates against the hounds
and to the idiots who ride.
They will not trespass on my grounds.
The law is firmly on my side.
The stag is safe and free to stay.
I will ensure he is not harmed
until the hunters go away.
He has no cause to be alarmed.
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poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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