Quotes about grimy, page 4
Quest and question
To ask a question beyond answering
may seem to some to be a waste of mind..
and yet it may advance some reasoning,
thus, other questions, real answers find:
for instance: if a soul remains itself
and yet is re-embodied many times
until it is returned to perfect health,
no longer grimy with our human crimes –
how can we guess, in this life’s noble aim,
what hideous past so slowly drags ‘our’ feet?
And – if we knew – would then some devilish claim,
the aim, to free our self, somehow defeat?
No answer comes; the question hangs in air;
but now it has been asked, truth may appear.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Tramp With Cramp
Loneliness within a horde of humans
Moving like wildebeest across the earth!
Hoping for a handout, not a sermon,
For money, not a cup of tea,
Nor food they watch me eat
Instead of drugs they think I'll buy later.
No alcohol upon my breath, yet still condemned
By the prejudice against every tramp.
Beggars can't be choosers.
Take pennies as well as pounds
And foreign coins given by smart alec sadists.
Brave the chill in my bones.
Autumn turns to Winter.
Extra socks! Long Johns under grimy trousers.
Wouldn't do to wear clean ones.
No sympathy, no kudos, no street cred!
Just looks of disdain, only more so...
poem by Denis Martindale
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A Barefoot Boy
A barefoot boy! I mark him at his play --
For May is here once more, and so is he, --
His dusty trousers, rolled half to the knee,
And his bare ankles grimy, too, as they:
Cross-hatchings of the nettle, in array
Of feverish stripes, hint vividly to me
Of woody pathways winding endlessly
Along the creek, where even yesterday
He plunged his shrinking body -- gasped and shook --
Yet called the water 'warm,' with never lack
Of joy. And so, half enviously I look
Upon this graceless barefoot and his track, --
His toe stubbed -- ay, his big toe-nail knocked back
Like unto the clasp of an old pocketbook.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Art Of Lotus
Murky the heart soilure sad
Impatient the mind tainted
Dark and benighted
Absolving of sins
Meditate and contemplate multiple sittings
Resting like a lotus visioning a lotus
Does bloom a lotus?
Mire the pond muddy the aqua
Mucky mossy grimy etcetera
Afoul never the blooming flora
Lotus red and white and blue aesthetic vista
Aeonian seed speaks flowered to aura
Its austere affinity to climatic aroma
Extends over cosmology the hidden dogma
Conserves murky though a pond a seed
Ages later a lotus to bloom and heed
Nerves mucky heart its enigma
Births later enlightened to defeat stigma
[...] Read more
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Poor Boy's Easter Day
I don't have flowers of sun
The destiny took them away and gone
Even i don't have colored eggs
At this blissful Easter days
I don't have golden combs
To comb this dirty hair of mine
And my shoes are jugged and old
And it's already Easter day to hold
My little brother's hand
And go to our old church
but how I'll go?
People will make fun of me i know
And i can hear them when they say
'Oh how a dirty grimy his hair is'
'Oh God look to his old nasty shoes'
'What is doing this poor boy here'
'Oh Tom my son don't go near
then you become infected if you go near
that beggar boy so stay here'
And at the end ill return home
[...] Read more
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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Our First War-Christmas
HARD to wait for the postman's tramp
Up the snowy walk, for the hand that gropes
Deep in his pack, while the children tease
For the rainbow-ribboned packages,
And women wax faint with their fearful hopes
For those tattered, grimy envelopes
With the foreign stamp,
— Word, dear word from overseas,
From the fleet, the trench, the camp.
Oh, not jewels nor curious toys
Of art and fashion, no gift most rare
Can gladden those eyes that weep in the hush
Of lonely nights, can bring the flush
To faces white with their silent prayer,
Like the letters, precious beyond compare,
From our soldier-boys,
Letters to laugh over, cry over, crush
To the lips, our Christmas joys.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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Yet Another Shower
To warm urgent winds
Stroking insane minds
Thunder and rumbling in sky
And ocean, come rain.
To grimy Krishnachura, Sal, Sundari
Banyan, all but choked in vain
Come rain.
To broken-wing linnet
Limping mongrel cowering in pain
To ants queued up back to front with grain
Come rain.
To throbbing city streets
In startling sheets
Entreating oblivion
Come rain.
To Ivy, Honeysuckle, Red dead nettle
Azalea, Great mullein, come rain.
To fields, cornstalk, hay, scythe, sugarcane
Cattle bound by wild hawthorn terrain
Come rain.
[...] Read more
poem by Mandira Mitra
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The Monster
When we might make with happy heart
This world a paradise,
With bombs we blast brave men apart,
With napalm carbonize.
Where we might till the sunny soil,
And sing for joy of life,
We spend our treasure and our toil
In bloody strife.
The fields of wheat are sheening gold,
The flocks have silver fleece;
The signs are sweetly manifold
Of plenty, praise and peace.
Yet see! The sky is like a cowl
Where grimy toilers bore
The shards of steel that feed the foul
Red maw of War.
Instead of butter give us guns;
Instead of sugur, shells.
[...] Read more
poem by Robert William Service
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666 War Street
The grimy mirror on the hallway floor
recognized the stranger
who entered its door
a familiar haunting…home for the lost
gallery to hell
a threshold crossed
bleary hopes
letters etched
epithets scrawled
on dim-lit walls
writ 666… in reapers book
a loathsome tome
of names lives forsook
Faded memories… past betrayals
ghostly shadows
floating bouquets
tragic endings…devil-may-cares
echoing murmurings
[...] Read more
poem by George Vuyakovich
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The Fount Of Tears
All hot and grimy from the road,
Dust gray from arduous years,
I sat me down and eased my load
Beside the Fount of Tears.
The waters sparkled to my eye,
Calm, crystal-like, and cool,
And breathing there a restful sigh,
I bent me to the pool.
When, lo! a voice cried: 'Pilgrim, rise,
Harsh tho' the sentence be,
And on to other lands and skies--
This fount is not for thee.
'Pass on, but calm thy needless fears,
Some may not love or sin,
An angel guards the Fount of Tears;
All may not bathe therein.'
[...] Read more
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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