Quotes about tumble, page 3
Breakdown
In the coypus wake of darkness
demons from our dark side
invade our dreams portals
in hope to gain our soul.
Deeper into the darkness
they hide themselves in light
invading where they can
to permutated our being.
Our muddled thoughts confuse reality
as we tumble into the chasm
near the borders of madness
where our are demons are calling.
Abysses open at each step
hoping to have us tumble
into the platitudes of madness
to where our demons dwell.
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poem by David Harris
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Sea of Trilobites
S ilt
E mbalmed
A tumble
O f calcite-eyed
F alling Trilobites.
T urretted complex eyes
R emained stoically open
I n the submarine avalanche.
L enses of unscathed crystalline chalk
O bserved the enveloping velvet mud.
B link of an era passed unblinking rock eyes.
I n the hard southern flanks of the Atlas Mountains
T heir curled armored bodies are painstakingly released.
E ye to eye, facets to orbs, they meet our curious gaze.
S ilt embalmed a tumble of calcite-eyed falling Trilobites.
poem by Diane Hine
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Nightmare
The floor has slipped beneath you
and you tumble into that dark abyss.
You look back at what you’ve achieved.
Asking yourself could I have done
that little bit more
and if I ever get out of here,
I am going to do just that.
Down and down you tumble
into your conscience hell
where the mistakes you made
haunt your every moment wake
and you begin to ask yourself
within a screaming yell
help me to make amends.
Finally, you awake from the nightmare
and lay there shivering and sweating.
Eventually you get up
to start your new day,
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poem by David Harris
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To Withstand The Crowd
if all of you shall dance
to be noticed
i won't, i would be still like
a post
i would stand tall like a wall
if all of you go right
to be noticed i will go wrong
and if all of you wear yellow
to be noticed
i wear black
and if all of you are so silent
like zombies
i will scream and to be notice well
i will dress like an angel
if on the stage the three of us are
displayed
you two tumble
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Humble In Tumble
This television got me feeling kind of egotistical
my age got me seeing kind of cynical
Myu honesty got me trapped in being physical
Not to say that this is biblical
but I hope it brightens pivotal
Proof that I am not completely spiritual
is not found it the fact that this is lyrical
keep me humble in my tumple when you hear my belly grumble
I pray i stay without myself
i want the thing I knew I felt
held liable everytime i yell
need a verse to ring a bell
Just looking for a story to tell
Keep me humble in my tumble when you hear my belly grumble
Dont let me cause you to stumble
Know theres something more
Know its not your store
love the life you live
Embrace the thought you give
But know its all a gift
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poem by Andrew Reeves
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Hendecasyllabics
O you chorus of indolent reviewers,
Irresponsible, indolent reviewers,
Look, I come to the test, a tiny poem
All composed in a metre of Catullus,
All in quantity, careful of my motion,
Like the skater on ice that hardly bears him,
Lest I fall unawares before the people,
Waking laughter in indolent reviewers.
Should I flounder awhile without a tumble
Thro' this metrification of Catullus,
They should speak to me not without a welcome,
All that chorus of indolent reviewers.
Hard, hard, hard it is, only not to tumble,
So fantastical is the dainty meter.
Wherefore slight me not wholly, nor believe me
Too presumptuous, indolent reviewers.
O blatant Magazines, regard me rather -
Since I blush to belaud myself a moment -
As some rare little rose, a piece of inmost
Horticultural art, or half-coquette-like
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poem by Alfred Lord Tennyson
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The Fowls Flying In The Air
Methinks I see a sight most excellent,
All sorts of birds fly in the firmament:
Some great, some small, all of a divers kind,
Mine eye affecting, pleasant to my mind.
Look how they tumble in the wholesome air,
Above the world of worldlings, and their care.
And as they divers are in bulk and hue,
So are they in their way of flying too.
So many birds, so many various things
Tumbling i' the element upon their wings.
Comparison.
These birds are emblems of those men that shall
Ere long possess the heavens, their all in all.
They are each of a diverse shape and kind,
To teach we of all nations there shall find.
They are some great, some little, as we see,
To show some great, some small, in glory be.
Their flying diversely, as we behold,
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poem by John Bunyan
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The Spirit Of St. Louis V
In my consotium,
Of blue tongues and red tongues!
But the yellow tongue came in to respect my muse,
And like the colours of the rainbow to tell my story as an African.
The wolves of the night and the birds of the day,
Cure the rabies to give them babies! !
For i do take my afternoon nap under the big trees,
And the heat of Africa is all about my sweet muse.
Tie up your lace to win the race set before you,
For the race of this world is all about left-handed and right-handed;
But respect him or her to move up with life,
And like the joy of my mind in the land of talented people.
I've got my right brain to think from and,
My left-hand to write with;
But talented with the muse of love when the sun shines on me,
For Mother Africa is my home.
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poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Old Wishing Well
Oh wishing well, oh wishing
Well
Will you answer me truly
If I dropp a quarter down large
Mouth
Will you answer me truly
Oh wishing well, oh wishing
Well
I want to know if my future
Look grim
Or that of a happy life ending
Will I travel the open seas
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poem by Carolyn Sears
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The Painted Ceiling
My Grandpapa lives in a wonderful house
With a great many windows and doors,
There are stairs that go up, and stairs that go down,
And such beautiful, slippery floors.
But of all of the rooms, even mother's and mine,
And the bookroom, and parlour and all,
I like the green dining-room so much the best
Because of its ceiling and wall.
Right over your head is a funny round hole
With apples and pears falling through;
There's a big bunch of grapes all purply and sweet,
And melons and pineapples too.
They tumble and tumble, but never come down
Though I've stood underneath a long while
With my mouth open wide, for I always have hoped
Just a cherry would drop from the pile.
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poem by Amy Lowell
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