Quotes about prop, page 6
Sonnet: Old Age Will Subdue All
The day will come when you must hold a stick
As prop and stand or walk with its support;
This frame will age some day or become sick
Or bed-ridden ‘like old ship back to port’!
The day will come when you can’t raise your voice
Or sing aloud akin to days when young,
Nor eat variety foods as per your choice,
For feeble grows your stomach, cords and lung!
The day will come when you can’t even sin
By habit as you used to do in past;
With senescence, no one can ever win,
Or challenge it until you breathe your last!
When old-age seizes you so stealthily,
Surrender soul to God quite happily!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 12-27-2006
poem by John Celes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet XIX: On Cupid's Bow
On Cupid's bow how are my heartstrings bent,
That see my wrack, and yet embrace the same?
When most I glory, then I feel most shame:
I willing run, yet while I run, repent.
My best wits still their own disgrace invent:
My very ink turns straight to Stella's name;
And yet my words, as them my pen doth frame,
Avise themselves that they are vainly spent.
For though she pass all things, yet what is all
That unto me, who fare like him that both
Looks to the skies and in a ditch doth fall?
Oh let me prop my mind, yet in his growth,
And not in Nature, for best fruits unfit:
"Scholar," saith Love, "bend hitherward your wit."
poem by Philip Sidney
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Panda Bear
In waltzed Johnny,
like a splash of lemon meringue.
A bronzed, attractive,
slightly nervous young man.
Kind of catch me if you can
with a teddy in his hand.
Just like a Daddy Long Legs,
he settled on a stool.
A glass of wine, a little food,
not wishing to be rude,
he introduced me to his friend.
"This is Panda bear", he said.
I took to Panda immediately,
shook his paw and then,
I spoke at length to Johnny,
we were instant friends.
[...] Read more
poem by Ruth Walters
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Friendship's Substance
A friend reaches for your
hand and touches your heart
Thoughtfulness is your gift…
thanks for the present!
You have not compassion fatigue, for
the many demands made on your feelings
You are my prop when I falter and
willing to stand-in when I stagger
A friend embraces you
across distance and time
A friend shares your dreams
and help fend off nightmares too
A friend will be a sounding board
and lend a sympathetic ear
[...] Read more
poem by Almedia Knight Oliver
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Drought Year
That time of drought the embered air
burned to the roots of timber and grass.
The crackling lime-scrub would not bear
and Mooni Creek was sand that year.
The dingo's cry was strange to hear.
I heard the dingoes cry
in the scrub on the Thirty-mile Dry.
I saw the wedgetail take his fill
perching on the seething skull.
I saw the eel wither where he curled
in the last blood-drop of a spent world.
I heard the bone whisper in the hide
of the big red horse that lay where he died.
Prop that horse up, make him stand,
hoofs turned down in the bitter sand
make him stand at the gate of the Thirty-mile Dry.
Turn this way and you will die-
and strange and loud was the dingoes' cry.
poem by Judith Wright
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Wallace Stevens: The Click of Marbled Orbs
(Sonnet as Keynote to WS)
The stout man puffs on his Havana cigar
And picks canary chords on his blue guitar,
Fashions flawed words and spindrift sounds
Into day-glow verbs and glass-blown nouns.
How much the notion of a supreme fiction
Derives from bric-a-brac and spiffy diction
None knows. Say his thickest absolutes
Derive from blue rotundities of fruits:
His crispest jugglery performs the feat
Of hardening stealthy points into concrete
Trombones, sausage-makers, cattle skulls,
And pettifogging buds. His monocle's
Univocal, a prop that lets him see
Glories in pewter, and mere poetry.
(Published in The Wallace Stevens Journal, Fall 2005. Vol.29. No.2 p.304)
poem by William F Dougherty
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
A Tree Speaks Out!
I’m born from seed within the earth,
That’s watered by the sky;
And once the sun bathed me with heat,
Lo! I’m a seedling made.
I drink by roots that prop like feet,
And breathe through leafy pores;
I cook my food in green ‘kitchens’;
God’s love helps me to grow.
And I can feel like any man;
I give all - breeze and shade;
I give myself to men and beasts;
Why then, they destroy me?
May be, like men I can’t reason,
But I can never sin;
I am a dumb creature of God;
A soul, He never gave!
[...] Read more
poem by John Celes
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Homage to First Dreams
Tidying my work station I look at all the books
around me, Explication de texte by Boilly-Widmer,
containing some favourites: Le Ciel est par-dessus
le toit by Verlaine; Ballade des Dames du temps jadis
by François Villon, also
Astrology, Palmistry and Dreams by Donald Law -
though I use it to prop up my keyboard - still, it can
be read should I want to look up anything about
Astrogenetics and sun signs - even The Children's
Encyclopedia is here - for remembrance
Childhood's fantasies brought me here, I shall always
pay homage to the first dreams I had of being able to
speak in many tongues, and the music of the songs
my mother made us sing as toddlers - Frère Jacques
and Muss'I denn…
poem by Margaret Alice Second
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Womens Hidden Beauty
Each night you remove your makeup
You wash your face.
You rest your head in the same old place.
You prop up your pillow as I kiss you good night
But your inner beauty is always in my sight.
The outside beauty is only a mask
It is something that does not last.
But that inner beauty will last throughout eternity
That is something that I do see.
Even when you’re snoring in a deep restful sleep
And I lift up the covers to take a peek
The urge in me builds up a burning fire
Filling me with a sexual desire.
I want to tear the covers off of you
And hold your body close to mine
But I know it’s not the right time.
[...] Read more
poem by Louis Rams
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!
Rhyme Builder
I envy not those gay galoots
Who count on dying in their boots;
For that, to tell the sober truth
Sould be the privilege of youth;
But aged bones are better sped
To heaven from a downy bed.
So prop me up with pillows two,
And serve me with the barley brew;
And put a pencil in my hand,
A copy book at my command;
And let my final effort be
To ring a rhyme of homely glee.
For since I've loved it oh so long,
Let my last labour be in song;
And when my pencil falters down,
Oh may a final couplet crown
The years of striving I have made
To justify the jinglers trade.
[...] Read more
poem by Robert William Service
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!