Quotes about clang, page 6
Monsoon Woes II
Nothing to set
Summer apart
Fading monsoon dreams!
Scorching sun
Dripping sweat
Awaiting rain!
Sterile cloud
Pricking heat
Rain holiday!
Reptiles crawling
Spewing hot venom
Respite sought!
Hot vapours rose
Still thirsty, sun gulped rain
Humid heat returns!
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poem by Indira Babbellapati
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Revision
Often I flip back the pages,
Of the bulky book of time,
Revision rakes afresh,
The dormant memories,
Pleases or makes me sad,
Pangs begin bubbling,
Pleasures spring up again,
As subterranean channels,
Find out from fountains,
Their way when dug deep,
Or blocking ooze is removed.
Who knew a cheerful lass,
Walking with frolic gait,
All alone in the deep forest,
Offering ripe sweet berries,
Plucked with the soft hands,
Streaked, stippled, scratched,
Spotted with the dew of blood,
And who clang on listening,
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poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Strange Are The Ways Of Men
STRANGE are the ways of men,
And strange the ways of God!
We tread the mazy paths
That all our fathers trod.
We tread them undismayed,
And undismayed behold
The portents of the sky,
The things that were of old.
The fiery stars pursue
Their course in heav'n on high;
And round the 'leaguered town,
Crest-tossing heroes cry.
Crest-tossing heroes cry;
And martial fifes declare
How small, to mortal minds,
Is merely mortal care.
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poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
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Four walls
Temptations everywhere, here, there
No reasons to have to regret
More and more items to have to get
A brusque shove, sleight of hand
Dare anyone to make a stand
My comeuppance which I accept
I've got to stand my ground and demand respect
I wish I was riding my bike, though
At least I'm not scratching the walls as I go through the door
Wonder what my friends are doing now?
Probably taking orders from their old cow
These four walls are all mine
I can think and plan while I spend my time
Stifled whimpering from through the wall
Keys jangle and bars clang from down the hall
Those so and sos treated me rough
And they took back all my stuff
One day my sentence will be done
Sniff.. sniff..got no one to talk to tonight..
wonder if tomorrow mum will come.
poem by Brian Roy Skyers
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In Blood She Sat
The machine roared into life, high spirits in a rover
Two lovely love birds had clang to each other
She a college fresher
He a young village school teacher
Yes,
It was an outing, never to be, up and down hard
They had met the earth, not a roar was heard
Under the stars, she sat, in her blood
Him, a fountain from his head, was blood.
Hmnn!
Help! And a slap from a would be Samaritan
Pockets ransacked, cash and cell phones gone
In darkness, they leaped, returning was none
One, two, three, her lover, would not stand up, lo! It was dawn
Yes,
She had sat there, in blood, oblivious of her lover's departure
Found at the break of dawn, to hospital for care
A soul gone by the wind, was her lover,
The times and places he would haunt, memories would linger!
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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Would You Know?
Would you know the kind of maid
Sets my heart a flame-a?
Eyes must be downcast and staid,
Cheeks must flush for shame-a!
She may neither dance nor sing,
But, demure in everything,
Hang her head in modest way
With pouting lips that seem to say,
"Kiss me, kiss me, kiss me, kiss me,
Though I die of shame-a!"
Please you, that's the kind of maid
Sets my heart a flame-a!
When a maid is bold and gay
With a tongue goes clang-a,
Flaunting it in brave array,
Maiden may go hang-a!
Sunflower gay and hollyhock
Never shall my garden stock;
Mine the blushing rose of May,
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poem by William Schwenck Gilbert
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Anzac
Within my heart I hear the cry
Of loves that suffer, souls that die,
And you may have no praise from me
For warfare's vast vulgarity;
Only the flag of love, unfurled
For peace above a weeping world,
I follow, though the fiery breath
Of murder shrivel me in death.
Yet here I stand and bow my head
To those whom other banners led,
Because within their hearts the clang
Of Freedom's summoning trumpets rang,
Because they welcomed grisly pain
And laughed at prudence, mocked at gain,
With noble hope and courage high,
And taught our manhood how to die.
Praise, praise and love be theirs who came
From that red hell of stench and flame,
Staggering, bloody, sick, but still
Strong with indomitable will,
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poem by John Le Gay Brereton
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Rye
Seagulls in the church tower calmly nest undeterred,
Though willfully her bells clang the eleventh hour.
Outside another, startled, launches itself from
A weathered crenulation, swoops through streets toward
The old school; rising up, decides to turn and scour
The bay. Tired fishing boats and dinghies tilt, conform
As morning tide repents, drags in the days sad news,
Lapping confessions against hulls, heard by no one.
This small fishing town’s gentle habit continues.
The seagull circles, heading out over tide worn
Coastlines, growing faint like ash against cloudy sky.
Further down the coast, at Fairlight Cove, gasping, drenched,
A man climbs the cliff’s steps too weak to speak or cry,
Bears news; his friends still out there, miles from shore, and drowned.
poem by Neil Young
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The Itinerant Singing Girl
Fatherless and motherless, no brothers have I,
And all my little sisters in the cold grave lie;
Wasted with hunger I saw them falling dead -
Lonely and bitter are the tears I shed.
Friendless and loverless, I wander to and fro,
Singing while my faint heart is breaking fast with woe,
Smiling in my sorrow, and singing for my bread -
Lonely and bitter are the tears I shed.
Harp clang and merry song by stranger's door and board,
None ask wherefore tremble my pale lips at each word;
None care why the color from my wan cheek has fled -
Lonely and bitter are the tears I shed.
Smiling and singing still, tho' hunger, want, and woe,
Freeze the young life-current in my veins as I go;
Begging for my living, yet wishing I were dead -
Lonely and bitter are the tears I shed.
poem by Jane Francesca Wilde
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Javanese Dancers
Twitched strings, the clang of metal, beaten drums,
Dull, shrill, continuous, disquieting:
And now the stealthy dancer comes
Undulantly with cat-like steps that cling;
Smiling between her painted lids a smile,
Motionless, unintelligible, she twines
Her fingers into mazy lines,
The scarves across her fingers twine the while.
One, two, three, four glide forth, and, to and fro,
Delicately and imperceptibly,
Now swaying gently in a row,
Now interthreading slow and rhythmically,
Still, with fixed eyes, monotonously still,
Mysteriously, with smiles inanimate,
With lingering feet that undulate,
With sinuous fingers, spectral hands that thrill
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poem by Arthur Symons
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