Quotes about manner, page 7
Shooting pigeon
Can any one think of shooting pigeon or sparrow?
With any of the edged weapon or pointed arrow?
Would you ever think of throwing stone at house of neighbor?
Do you think it worthwhile to make futile labor?
No one attempts at anything without any purpose
Why don’t you send red stones instead of roses?
Why do we dislike displeasure and raise the eye brow with nose?
Threats must be instantly eliminated before they are likely to pose
We can’t afford to be off the guard
Immediate steps to take position to ward it off
It is human nature not to remain even little sluggish
Humble approach to any of the work and not to talk rubbish
Are we creating environment so impossible to live?
Do we not aim higher for betterment and believe?
If answer is in yes then think of always good
No retaliation of any sort even if beaten with by wood
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The Fortunes of Grandison Lee
Now Percival Gregory Grandison-Lee
He came of a fine old stock.
His sire was an eminent K.C.B,
But Percival never appeared to be
A chip off that shrewd old block.
In spite of the strain
He was weak of brain,
Though a jolly good fellow was he.
And, to tell the truth,
In his gilded youth
His manner of living was free.
Now Percival's father, the elder Lee,
Aspired to the House of Lords;
So he earnestly sought for the £ s. d.
Becoming a prominent guinea-pig, he
Was chairman of numerous Boards.
But the game was rash,
And there came a smash,
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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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My friend in mirror
I was shocked and almost remained frozen
When saw reflection in mirror with faces in dozens
All bore deserted look remained barren
It frightened me as if I had descended from foreign
I never found myself in fix
The faces were there as each of them were made as remix
All were representing one side of dark
As if black dogs around and ready to bark
I somehow succeeded here to mushroom and grow
I tried to live with great pomp and show
Had criminal back ground but managed to live with respect
People never looked at me with suspicion and took me as suspect
I preferred to remain isolation which was shrouded with mystery
All activities contrary to what it looked and created history
I earned great fame and people took me as hero for their cause
I too worked relentlessly by sparing full time without making pause
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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A Mam Walks The Streets
That old man near the traffic light
Was expelled from home at midnight.
He walked away steady on his feet.
And made his home on Delhi streets.
My driver whispered in a resigned tone.
I looked up putting down my mobile phone.
He carried on his shoulder a jute bag,
And in his hand a clean yellow rag.
As the traffic light blushed red,
The driver to stop compelled.
The old man near the traffic light,
Asked the driver –may I wipe?
He had a gentle voice and even stride,
Erect back and manner polite and mild.
Now this was his new means of livelihood,
He hoped to be paid to pay for some food.
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poem by Mamta Agarwal
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The Shoemakers
Ho! workers of the old time styled
The Gentle Craft of Leather!
Young brothers of the ancient guild,
Stand forth once more together!
Call out again your long array,
In the olden merry manner!
Once more, on gay St. Crispin's day,
Fling out your blazoned banner!
Rap, rap! upon the well-worn stone
How falls the polished hammer!
Rap, rap! the measured sound has grown
A quick and merry clamor.
Now shape the sole! now deftly curl
The glossy vamp around it,
And bless the while the bright-eyed girl
Whose gentle fingers bound it!
For you, along the Spanish main
A hundred keels are ploughing;
For you, the Indian on the plain
His lasso-coil is throwing;
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poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Homage To Sextus Propertius - V
1
Now if ever it is time to cleanse Helicon;
to lead Emathian horses afield,
And to name over the census of my chiefs in the Roman camp.
If I have not the faculty, 'The bare attempt would be praise-worthy.'
'In the things of similar magnitude
the mere will to act is sufficient.'
The primitive ages sang Venus,
the last sings of a tumult,
And I also will sing war when this matter of a girl is exhausted.
I with my beak hauled ashore would proceed in a more stately manner,
My Muse is eager to instruct me in a new gamut, or gambetto,
Up, up my soul, from your lowly cantilation,
put on a timely vigour.
Oh august Pierides! Now for a large-mouthed product.
Thus:
'The Euphrates denies its protection to the Parthian and
apologizes for Crassus,'
And 'It is, I think, India which now gives necks to your triumph,'
And so forth, Augustus. 'Virgin Arabia shakes in her inmost dwelling.'
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poem by Ezra Pound
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A Visit From Wisdom
In the stillness of night Wisdom came and stood
By my bed. She gazed upon me like a tender mother
And wiped away my tears, and said : 'I have heard
The cry of your spirit and I am come to comfort it.
Open your heart to me and I shall fill it with light.
Ask of me and I shall show you the way of truth.'
And I said : 'Who am I, Wisdom, and how came
I to this frightening place? What manner of things
Are these mighty hopes and these many books and
Strange patterns ? What are these thoughts that pass
As doves in flight? And these words composed by
Desire and sung by delight, what are they? What are
These conclusions, grievous and joyous, that embrace
My spirit and envelop my heart? And those
Eyes which look at me seeing into my depths and
Fleeing from my sorrows ? And those voices mourning
My days and chanting my littleness, what are they ?
'What is this youth that plays with my desires
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poem by Khalil Gibran
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Hiawatha's Photographing
From his shoulder Hiawatha
Took the camera of rosewood,
Made of sliding, folding rosewood;
Neatly put it all together.
In its case it lay compactly,
Folded into nearly nothing;
But he opened out the hinges,
Pushed and pulled the joints and hinges,
Till it looked all squares and oblongs,
Like a complicated figure
In the Second Book of Euclid.
This he perched upon a tripod -
Crouched beneath its dusky cover -
Stretched his hand, enforcing silence -
Said, "Be motionless, I beg you!"
Mystic, awful was the process.
All the family in order
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poem by Lewis Carroll
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Hiawatga's Photographing
FROM his shoulder Hiawatha
Took the camera of rosewood,
Made of sliding, folding rosewood;
Neatly put it all together.
In its case it lay compactly,
Folded into nearly nothing;
But he opened out the hinges,
Pushed and pulled the joints and hinges,
Till it looked all squares and oblongs,
Like a complicated figure
In the Second Book of Euclid.
This he perched upon a tripod -
Crouched beneath its dusky cover -
Stretched his hand, enforcing silence -
Said, "Be motionless, I beg you!"
Mystic, awful was the process.
All the family in order
[...] Read more
poem by Lewis Carroll from Phantasmagoria and Other Poems
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After All The Endless Longing To Be Who We Are
IN THE MANNER OF BORGES I WRITE POEMS IN MY OLD AGE
In the manner of Borges I write poems in my old age
And dream that they are not only imitations
Of poems written by others
When we all were young.
Instead I go on now in the darkness of the night
Because the fear of what will be
Is always so deep in me
It does not need Poetry or Happiness or any other Meaning
Outside itself.
We are small sands drifting on the edge of stars
Lesser beings of a time we will never know
All that we have done comes back to us over and over again
As if we never were
I don’t believe I will ever write Borges lines
He wrote them in his own imagined words
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poem by Shalom Freedman
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