Quotes about eight, page 3
The Tower Beyond Tragedy
I
You'd never have thought the Queen was Helen's sister- Troy's
burning-flower from Sparta, the beautiful sea-flower
Cut in clear stone, crowned with the fragrant golden mane, she
the ageless, the uncontaminable-
This Clytemnestra was her sister, low-statured, fierce-lipped, not
dark nor blonde, greenish-gray-eyed,
Sinewed with strength, you saw, under the purple folds of the
queen-cloak, but craftier than queenly,
Standing between the gilded wooden porch-pillars, great steps of
stone above the steep street,
Awaiting the King.
Most of his men were quartered on the town;
he, clanking bronze, with fifty
And certain captives, came to the stair. The Queen's men were
a hundred in the street and a hundred
Lining the ramp, eighty on the great flags of the porch; she
raising her white arms the spear-butts
Thundered on the stone, and the shields clashed; eight shining
clarions
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poem by Robinson Jeffers
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I. The Ring and the Book
Do you see this Ring?
'T is Rome-work, made to match
(By Castellani's imitative craft)
Etrurian circlets found, some happy morn,
After a dropping April; found alive
Spark-like 'mid unearthed slope-side figtree-roots
That roof old tombs at Chiusi: soft, you see,
Yet crisp as jewel-cutting. There's one trick,
(Craftsmen instruct me) one approved device
And but one, fits such slivers of pure gold
As this was,—such mere oozings from the mine,
Virgin as oval tawny pendent tear
At beehive-edge when ripened combs o'erflow,—
To bear the file's tooth and the hammer's tap:
Since hammer needs must widen out the round,
And file emboss it fine with lily-flowers,
Ere the stuff grow a ring-thing right to wear.
That trick is, the artificer melts up wax
With honey, so to speak; he mingles gold
With gold's alloy, and, duly tempering both,
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poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
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Chain of Thirty Three and Bracelet of Nine
Eight years ago in old New York,
I found a special shop
With silver things from Argentina;
Quality, the top.
I bought a silver necklace there,
With links of twenty five,
To mark that anniversary,
Our married love, alive.
I was assigned to Argentina
Some ten months ago.
We thought of adding to the necklace,
Since we liked it so.
We found an expert jeweler here,
And Sellar was his name.
He thought that he could find eight silver
Links made just the same.
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poem by Frank V. Gardner
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Spirituality Finds Reflection In Science
Then, said the Master,
Be a plasma, not a duster,
All human beings are his writing pads,
For him within they are mad,
You need deliverance,
Of the mystery of mind and matter,
For your case
To come out from mess,
Growing subtle to subtler,
My Master wakens from nucleus -lotus,
Unfolding an atom of eight-orbited petals,
His voice liquid soothing phantom,
Blooms and impresses, “Think you are an atom”.
My dull wit began to roam,
And get barred to the explosion of atomic bomb,
His empathy’s rudder, interrupts, and voices,
I say of conscious Physics, and plasma physic’s traces,
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poem by Bazi alis Subrata Ray
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Spirituality Finds Reflection In Science. by Ray Subrata
Then, said the Master,
Be a plasma, not a duster,
All human beings are his writing pads,
For him within they are mad,
You need deliverance,
Of the mystery of mind and matter,
For your case
To come out from mess,
Growing subtle to subtler,
My Master wakens from nucleus -lotus,
Unfolding an atom of eight-orbited petals,
His voice liquid soothing phantom,
Blooms and impresses, “Think you are an atom”.
My dull wit began to roam,
And get barred to the explosion of atomic bomb,
His empathy’s rudder, interrupts, and voices,
I say of conscious Physics, and plasma physic’s traces,
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poem by Ray Subrata Ray
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The Daily Act of Presence
Eight hours at work, commuting sometimes two,
the daily act of presence is assigned
its p[l]ace, weak celebration paid in kind,
traced race to waste bereft, much left to do.
Eight hours abed, at table almost two,
the daily act of presence, daily grind,
few dare opt out of as life's clocks unwind, -
such haste to conquer Time, whose ride’s askew.
Three hours of leisure, then, without ado,
day's drive departs, leaves most deprived of breath.
Who'd buck luck's trend bends in the end to Death
whose lock mocks motto 'to thyself be true! '
Three hours for chat, sex, net or television,
no wonder Man’s case-study for derision.
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Addict
Sleepmonger,
deathmonger,
with capsules in my palms each night,
eight at a time from sweet pharmaceutical bottles
I make arrangements for a pint-sized journey.
I'm the queen of this condition.
I'm an expert on making the trip
and now they say I'm an addict.
Now they ask why.
WHY!
Don't they know that I promised to die!
I'm keping in practice.
I'm merely staying in shape.
The pills are a mother, but better,
every color and as good as sour balls.
I'm on a diet from death.
Yes, I admit
it has gotten to be a bit of a habit-
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poem by Anne Sexton
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How many can a man love?
Is it true?
Can a man love
Not one but two
Yes, that’s nothing new
It’s called the midnight blues
Is it true?
Can a man love
Not one, not two but three
Well I suppose if the third is for free
Then so is his love meant to be!
If the third gives better head in bed
Then nothing more can be said.
Is it true?
Can a man love
Not one, not two, not three but four
Yes if that man is hard-core
Will the four not find him a bore?
Phew! His magic wand must be bruised and sore
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poem by Sylvia Chidi
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Johnny Armstrong
There dwelt a man in faire Westmerland
Ionne Armstrong men did him call
He had nither lands nor rents coming in
Yet he kept eight score men in his hall
He had horses and harness for them all,
Goodly steeds were all milk white;
O the golden bands an about their necks,
And their weapons, they were all alike.
Newes then was brought unto the king
That there was sicke a won as hee,
That lived (I]yke a bold out-law,
And robbed all the north country.
The king he writt an a letter then,
A letter which was large and long;
He signed it with his owne hand,
And he promised to doe him no wrong.
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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Genesis BK XVIII
(ll. 1082-1089) And there was also in that tribe another son of
Lamech, called Tubal Cain, a smith skilled in his craft. He was
the first of all men on the earth to fashion tools of husbandry;
and far and wide the city-dwelling sons of men made use of bronze
and iron.
(ll. 1090-1103) Then to his two beloved wives, Adah and Zillah,
Lamech rehearsed a tale of shame: "I have struck down a kinsman
unto death! I have defiled my hands with the blood of Cain! I
smote down Enoch's father, slayer of Abel, and poured his blood
upon the ground. Full well I know that for that mortal deed
shall come God's seven-fold vengeance. With fearful torment
shall my deed of death and murder be requited, when I go hence."
(ll. 1104-1111) Then another son was born to Adam in Abel's
stead; and his name was Seth. He was a righteous son and
blessed, a solace to his parents, his father and mother, Adam and
Eve. And he filled the place of Abel in the world. Then Adam
spake, the first of men:
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poem by Caedmon
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