Quotes about clang, page 7
Stood floodful in the saddest pool ever
Wet in the rain outpoured by the mind
Set up on a journey
Concepts classified crashed
Whispered who through the drops
The trembling fingers clang to the umbrella
The saddest umbrella in the world
That had in it no magic at all
Could not fly or colour designs
In wetness tide soaked who
Started the walk of hours
Walked didn’t sing for there was no happy rain to sing in
And no pools to joyfully splash
I could have shared a sorrowful smile
A smile to who I didn’t know
To who I never met before
Or just follow the walk of who
Through the rainhour moments
Splash wave wings through the who rain
I wanted to pour down
Instead
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poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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Homo Podunkensis
As the poor ass that from his paddock strays
Might sound abroad his field-companions' praise,
Recounting volubly their well-bred leer,
Their port impressive and their wealth of ear,
Mistaking for the world's assent the clang
Of echoes mocking his accurst harangue;
So the dull clown, untraveled though at large,
Visits the city on the ocean's marge,
Expands his eyes and marvels to remark
Each coastwise schooner and each alien bark;
Prates of 'all nations,' wonders as he stares
That native merchants sell imported wares,
Nor comprehends how in his very view
A foreign vessel has a foreign crew;
Yet, faithful to the hamlet of his birth,
Swears it superior to aught on earth,
Sighs for the temples locally renowned
The village school-house and the village pound
And chalks upon the palaces of Rome
The peasant sentiments of 'Home, Sweet Home!'
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Robert Fulton Tanner
If a man could bite the giant hand
That catches and destroys him,
As I was bitten by a rat
While demonstrating my patent trap,
In my hardware store that day.
But a man can never avenge himself
On the monstrous ogre Life.
You enter the room--that's being born;
And then you must live--work out your soul,
Aha! the bait that you crave is in view:
A woman with money you want to marry,
Prestige, place, or power in the world.
But there's work to do and things to conquer--
Oh, yes! the wires that screen the bait.
At last you get in--but you hear a step:
The ogre, Life, comes into the room,
(He was waiting and heard the clang of the spring)
To watch you nibble the wondrous cheese,
And stare with his burning eyes at you,
And scowl and laugh, and mock and curse you,
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poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Mutual
You know,
I know;
It is rare,
But it does happen
Every now and then,
Life surprises us
With such a thing
We feel we want to sing;
People meet
Somewhere
And they feel
As if they knew
Each other
Before this life
On other planet
May be,
Or on the date
Of The Creation
Of pure Souls
Long before earth
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poem by Nadia Abduljabbar
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From Anacreon
I wish to tune my quivering lyre
To deed of fame and notes of fire;
To echo, from its rising swell,
How heroes fought and nations fell,
When Atreus' sons advanced to war,
Or Tyrian Cadmus roved afar;
But still, to martial strains unknown,
My lyre recurs to love alone.
Fired with the hope of future fame,
I seek some nobler hero's name;
The dying chords are strung anew,
To war, to war, my harp is due.
With glowing strings, the epic strain
To Jove's great son I raise again;
Alcides and his glorious deeds,
Beneath whose arm the Hydra bleeds.
All, all in vain; my wayward lyre
Wakes silver notes of soft desire.
Adieu, ye chiefs renown'd in arms!
Adieu the clang of war's alarms!
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Night Coming Out Of A Garden
Through the still air of night
Suddenly comes, alone and shrill,
Like the far-off voice of the distant light,
The single piping trill
Of a bird that has caught the scent of the dawn,
And knows that the night is over ;
(She has poured her dews on the velvet lawn
And drenched the long grass and the clover),
And now with her naked white feet
She is silently passing away,
Out of the garden and into the street,
Over the long yellow fields of the wheat,
Till she melts in the arms of the day.
And from the great gates of the East,
With a clang and a brazen blare,
Forth from the rosy wine and the feast
Comes the god with the flame-flaked hair ;
The hoofs of his horses ring
On the golden stones, and the wheels
Of his chariot burn and sing,
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poem by Lord Alfred Douglas
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At 55...
they married at a late age,
she was then 35 and he was
then 40,
a friend of hers said
that the marriage is doomed
she later died
but they offered her white flowers
to break the curse
his mother did not want her for him
she said she cannot be a good wife
she knew she had a history
of existential tonsillitis
whatever that means
he did not ask and she did not elaborate
their marriage sailed on
like Titanic, but unlike it, it did not sink
there is no boasting somehow
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poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Jaloppy Joy
Past ash cans and alley cats,
Fetid. overflowing gutters,
Leprous lines of rancid flats
Where the frowsy linen flutters;
With a rattle and a jar,
hark! I sing a happy ditty,
As I speed my Master far
From the poison of the City.
Speed him to the sportive sea,
Watch him walloping the briny,
Light his pipe and brew his tea
In a little wood that's piny;
Haven him to peace of mind.
Drowsy dreams in pleasant places,
Where the woman's eyes are kind,
And the men have ruddy faces.
Just a jaloppy am I,
But he's always been my lover,
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poem by Robert William Service
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The Eve Of Christmas
Gazing from picture window of my still home,
Summers pleasant panoramic view now gone,
Powered with whitish of snow a view serene,
Holly berries silhouetted by leaves of green,
In the street horse drawn sleigh ring and clang,
From dripping roof icicles now clingingly hang,
The gentle breeze builds drifts of powder snow,
Playful youth make snow angels; quite a show,
All over every thing outside wears a white lace,
Dusk comes with inside warmth from fireplace,
In the quiet stillness of the full moon lit night,
The glistening snowy white; a delightful sight,
My mind’s eye drifts and turns back the clock,
Catching visions of shepherds tending a flock,
As angles come into view to declare and sing,
News filled with peace and joy they did bring,
The Messiah coming as a babe by virgin birth,
As the King of all that I am coming to the earth,
As a sacrificial lamb to die, Yet all is not dim,
His Kingdom will be here when He comes again!
poem by Joseph Blitch
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Paradise: In A Symbol
Golden-winged, silver-winged,
Winged with flashing flame,
Such a flight of birds I saw,
Birds without a name:
Singing songs in their own tongue
(Song of songs) they came.
One to another calling,
Each answering each,
One to another calling
In their proper speech:
High above my head they wheeled,
Far out of reach.
On wings of flame they went and came
With a cadenced clang,
Their silver wings tinkled,
Their golden wings rang,
The wind it whistled through their wings
Where in Heaven they sang.
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poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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