Citatepedia^®.com

Artist or Hurt(ist)

Artists have special tastes
They display their talents
To please the
Audience, if direct
Viewers, readers, if away

Their creations never meant
To hurt others
Their works invariably trigger an
Excitement among their fans
And in less artful general public
A wonder at the marvel outcome of
An extraordinary imagination and
Its delighting display

Artful creators invade the hearts
Of all, cutting across region or religion
A tasteful art form
Penetrates hearts of people
Of even less learned level
Cartoonists too fall in the category
Despite their spicy displays for their
Demonstration of wit
And extended interpretation
Of a personality or an event

Art touches the hearts
Cleanses it off ill feelings
And some creations
Educate and enlighten

Real art is one, which has common appeal
And even after a snap-shot exposure to it
People fall in love with the creation

There is no hidden intension in an art
There is no vulgarity in an art
There is no belittling of some person/sect nor a faith in an art

Artistic creation
Loses its status
If found to have hurting elements
To be depicting biased versions of reality
And to have been created of bad taste
With a seemingly draw-attention intent

Despite the excellence and the social acclaim of the artist,
Creator of such arts
Does not deserve to be called an artist
But, yes

[...] Read more

poem by Bashyam Narayanan
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Trigger Happy

Got an ak-47, well you know it makes me feel alright
Got an uzi by my pillow, helps me sleep a little better at night
Theres no feeling any greter
Than to shoot first and ask questions later
Now Im trigger happy, trigger happy every day
Well, you cant take my guns away, I got a constitutional right
Yeah, I gotta be ready if the commies attack us tonight
Ill blow their brains out with my smith and wesson
That ought to teach them all a darn good lesson
Now Im trigger happy, trigger happy every day
(oh yeah, Im)trigger, trigger happy
Yes Im trigger, trigger happy
(oh baby, Im)trigger, trigger happy
Yes Im trigger, trigger happy
(oh Im so)trigger, trigger happy
Yes Im trigger, trigger happy
Better watch out, punk, or Im gonna have to blow you away
Oh, I accidently shot daddy last night in the den
I mistook him in the dark for a drug-crazed nazi again
Now whyd you have to get so mad?
It was just a lousy flesh wound, dad
You know, Im trigger happy, trigger happy every day
Oh, I still havent figured out the safety on my rifle yet
Little fluffy took a round, better take him to the vet
I filled that kitty cat so full of lead
Well have to use him for a pencil instead
Well, Im so trigger happy, trigger happy every day
(oh yeah, Im)trigger, trigger happy
Yes Im trigger, trigger happy
(oh baby, Im)trigger, trigger happy
Yes Im trigger, trigger happy
(oh Im so)trigger, trigger happy
Yes Im trigger, trigger happy
Better watch out, punk, or Im gonna have to blow you away
Come on and grab your ammo
What have you got to lose?
Well all get liquored up
And shoot at anything that moves
Got a brand new semi-automatic weapon with a laser sight
Oh, Im prayin somebody tries to break in here tonight
I always keep a magnum in my trunk
You better ask yourself, do you feel lucky, punk?
Because Im trigger happy, trigger happy every day
(oh yeah, Im)trigger, trigger happy
Yes Im trigger, trigger happy
(oh baby, Im)trigger, trigger happy
Yes Im trigger, trigger happy
(oh Im so)trigger, trigger happy
Yes Im trigger, trigger happy
Better watch out, punk, or Im gonna have to blow you away

song performed by Weird Al Yankovic
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Through the eyes of a Field Coronet (Epic)

Introduction

In the kaki coloured tent in Umbilo he writes
his life’s story while women, children and babies are dying,
slowly but surely are obliterated, he see how his nation is suffering
while the events are notched into his mind.

Lying even heavier on him is the treason
of some other Afrikaners who for own gain
have delivered him, to imprisonment in this place of hatred
and thoughts go through him to write a book.

Prologue

The Afrikaner nation sprouted
from Dutchmen,
who fought decades without defeat
against the super power Spain

mixed with French Huguenots
who left their homes and belongings,
with the revocation of the Edict of Nantes.
Associate this then with the fact

that these people fought formidable
for seven generations
against every onslaught that they got
from savages en wild animals

becoming marksmen, riding
and taming wild horses
with one bullet per day
to hunt a wild antelope,

who migrated right across the country
over hills in mass protest
and then you have
the most formidable adversary
and then let them fight

in a natural wilderness
where the hunter,
the sniper and horseman excels
and any enemy is at a lost.

Let them then also be patriotic
into their souls,
believe in and read
out of the word of God

[...] Read more

poem by Gert Strydom
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Tale XXI

The Learned Boy

An honest man was Farmer Jones, and true;
He did by all as all by him should do;
Grave, cautious, careful, fond of gain was he,
Yet famed for rustic hospitality:
Left with his children in a widow'd state,
The quiet man submitted to his fate;
Though prudent matrons waited for his call,
With cool forbearance he avoided all;
Though each profess'd a pure maternal joy,
By kind attention to his feeble boy;
And though a friendly Widow knew no rest,
Whilst neighbour Jones was lonely and distress'd;
Nay, though the maidens spoke in tender tone
Their hearts' concern to see him left alone,
Jones still persisted in that cheerless life,
As if 'twere sin to take a second wife.
Oh! 'tis a precious thing, when wives are dead,
To find such numbers who will serve instead;
And in whatever state a man be thrown,
'Tis that precisely they would wish their own;
Left the departed infants--then their joy
Is to sustain each lovely girl and boy:
Whatever calling his, whatever trade,
To that their chief attention has been paid;
His happy taste in all things they approve,
His friends they honour, and his food they love;
His wish for order, prudence in affairs,
An equal temper (thank their stars!), are theirs;
In fact, it seem'd to be a thing decreed,
And fix'd as fate, that marriage must succeed:
Yet some, like Jones, with stubborn hearts and

hard,
Can hear such claims and show them no regard.
Soon as our Farmer, like a general, found
By what strong foes he was encompass'd round,
Engage he dared not, and he could not fly,
But saw his hope in gentle parley lie;
With looks of kindness then, and trembling heart,
He met the foe, and art opposed to art.
Now spoke that foe insidious--gentle tones,
And gentle looks, assumed for Farmer Jones:
'Three girls,' the Widow cried, 'a lively three
To govern well--indeed it cannot be.'
'Yes,' he replied, 'it calls for pains and care:
But I must bear it.'--'Sir, you cannot bear;
Your son is weak, and asks a mother's eye:'
'That, my kind friend, a father's may supply.'

[...] Read more

poem by George Crabbe
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Man Is Especially Special!

Man is something special,
Man has something special!
Man thinks special,
And finds something special,

His smile and laugh are special
And this made him more social.

Man's heart is special,
And always feels special!
Man feels pain and happiness,
Not only of him, but also of others

Man acts and does something special!
So he learnt to fly high, live simple,
Think high
and dive deep

Man is potential,
as he is learner,
Man is potential and can be good teacher!

Man is inventor,
Man is discoverer!
Man is developer,
And man is engineer!

Man is special, as he is a dreamer,
Man is special because,
He can correct himself!

Man became more a man
As he more and more became human,
Man is special, as he is social and cultural,

Man is an artist,
as he able to express
Man is special, as he can understand,
Man can Play, plays and games,
Man is special, as man can be sportive!

Man is special, as man can discuss
Man can be channel
For flow of knowledge.

Man is special, always curious to learn,
Man is special in imaginations!

Man is special, he looked far into space,
Man is special, he looks deep into his own!

[...] Read more

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Prince Hohenstiel-Schwangau, Saviour of Society

Epigraph

Υδραν φονεύσας, μυρίων τ᾽ ἄλλων πόνων
διῆλθον ἀγέλας . . .
τὸ λοίσθιον δὲ τόνδ᾽ ἔτλην τάλας πόνον,
. . . δῶμα θριγκῶσαι κακοῖς.

I slew the Hydra, and from labour pass'd
To labour — tribes of labours! Till, at last,
Attempting one more labour, in a trice,
Alack, with ills I crowned the edifice.

You have seen better days, dear? So have I —
And worse too, for they brought no such bud-mouth
As yours to lisp "You wish you knew me!" Well,
Wise men, 't is said, have sometimes wished the same,
And wished and had their trouble for their pains.
Suppose my Œdipus should lurk at last
Under a pork-pie hat and crinoline,
And, latish, pounce on Sphynx in Leicester Square?
Or likelier, what if Sphynx in wise old age,
Grown sick of snapping foolish people's heads,
And jealous for her riddle's proper rede, —
Jealous that the good trick which served the turn
Have justice rendered it, nor class one day
With friend Home's stilts and tongs and medium-ware,—
What if the once redoubted Sphynx, I say,
(Because night draws on, and the sands increase,
And desert-whispers grow a prophecy)
Tell all to Corinth of her own accord.
Bright Corinth, not dull Thebes, for Lais' sake,
Who finds me hardly grey, and likes my nose,
And thinks a man of sixty at the prime?
Good! It shall be! Revealment of myself!
But listen, for we must co-operate;
I don't drink tea: permit me the cigar!
First, how to make the matter plain, of course —
What was the law by which I lived. Let 's see:
Ay, we must take one instant of my life
Spent sitting by your side in this neat room:
Watch well the way I use it, and don't laugh!
Here's paper on the table, pen and ink:
Give me the soiled bit — not the pretty rose!
See! having sat an hour, I'm rested now,
Therefore want work: and spy no better work
For eye and hand and mind that guides them both,
During this instant, than to draw my pen
From blot One — thus — up, up to blot Two — thus —
Which I at last reach, thus, and here's my line
Five inches long and tolerably straight:

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning (1871)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Peace Proposal

Said General Clay to General Gore really must we fight this silly war
To kill and die in such a bore I quite agree said General Gore
Said General Gore to General Clay we could go to the beach today
And have some icecream on the way a grand idea said General Clay
Said General Clay to General Gore we'll build sand castles on the shore
Said General Gore we'll splash and play let's leave right now said General Clay
Said General Gore to General Clay but what if the sea's closed today
And what if the sand's been blown away the dreadful thought said General Clay
Said General Gore to General Clay I've always feared the ocean's spray
And we may drown it's true we may it chills my blood said General Clay
Said General Clay to General Gore my bathin' suit is slightly tore
We better go on with our war I quite agree said General Gore
The General Clay chanrged General Gore as bullets flew and cannons roared
And now at last there is no more of General Clay or General Gore

poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Stream Line Consciousness

Big brother voyeur blimps unidentified spies
uncle sam peeping toms patrolling skies
bird brain police intelligence
remote viewing homeland pest control
pentagon private eye monitoring the public's every move
mass produced micro chips intercepting prayers patrolling citizens from heaven
Bentham's Panopticon NSA
super computer surveillance cameras
world police spying Manhattan streets

'Athens plummets Euro death spiral
suicide rates soar deepening into despair'

haaretz..the post.. the times
blogs tribunes dailies all in a mad gab
headlong headline attention grabbing scramble

'Yugoslavia - Iraq - Egypt - Yemen - Iran - Syria - United States'
bilderberg building blocks New American Century post apocalyptic prophecy

'foreign mercenaries …national guard...DOD
homeland security to amass covert munitions stockpile
Americans on guard anxieties mounting surrounding
the stripping of amendments 1st if you swing to your left
2nd if you stand on the right
whispers of martial law circulate Anarchical reverberations
emanate from internet Alt culture epicenters
bottle necking global tensions'

'common feeling of deepening disappointment...
heightened expectations...
people expecting an explosive situation over the
next few weeks'

...riot police respond 'to preserve public order'
public roads barricaded to 'protect security of citizens'

'blatant act of censorship
western mainstream media staying away
from Myanmar massacres of Mohammedan Angels
further showing strong anti Muslim bias'

'Media blackout Burmese army
seeking coverage under propaganda blankets'

from the middle east throughout the western world
planet consciousness blurring lines between conspiracy/reality
conflicting global network narratives multiply violent scenarios daily
Victims in a world wide scramble
Government Banking Military

[...] Read more

poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Interpretation of Nature and

I.

MAN, being the servant and interpreter of Nature, can do and understand so much and so much only as he has observed in fact or in thought of the course of nature: beyond this he neither knows anything nor can do anything.


II.

Neither the naked hand nor the understanding left to itself can effect much. It is by instruments and helps that the work is done, which are as much wanted for the understanding as for the hand. And as the instruments of the hand either give motion or guide it, so the instruments of the mind supply either suggestions for the understanding or cautions.

III.

Human knowledge and human power meet in one; for where the cause is not known the effect cannot be produced. Nature to be commanded must be obeyed; and that which in contemplation is as the cause is in operation as the rule.

IV.

Towards the effecting of works, all that man can do is to put together or put asunder natural bodies. The rest is done by nature working within.

V.

The study of nature with a view to works is engaged in by the mechanic, the mathematician, the physician, the alchemist, and the magician; but by all (as things now are) with slight endeavour and scanty success.

VI.

It would be an unsound fancy and self-contradictory to expect that things which have never yet been done can be done except by means which have never yet been tried.

VII.

The productions of the mind and hand seem very numerous in books and manufactures. But all this variety lies in an exquisite subtlety and derivations from a few things already known; not in the number of axioms.

VIII.

Moreover the works already known are due to chance and experiment rather than to sciences; for the sciences we now possess are merely systems for the nice ordering and setting forth of things already invented; not methods of invention or directions for new works.

IX.

The cause and root of nearly all evils in the sciences is this -- that while we falsely admire and extol the powers of the human mind we neglect to seek for its true helps.

X.

The subtlety of nature is greater many times over than the subtlety of the senses and understanding; so that all those specious meditations, speculations, and glosses in which men indulge are quite from the purpose, only there is no one by to observe it.

XI.

As the sciences which we now have do not help us in finding out new works, so neither does the logic which we now have help us in finding out new sciences.

XII.

The logic now in use serves rather to fix and give stability to the errors which have their foundation in commonly received notions than to help the search after truth. So it does more harm than good.

XIII.

[...] Read more

poem by Sir Francis Bacon
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Talents Die Easily In Africa!

Oh talents, oh talents!
Talents do die easily in Africa;
But, talents are special gifts which,
Money cannot buy.
It is a special gift,
It is in you,
You don't even need a Higher Degree for them;
Talents are everywhere on this earth.

The talents of Africa do die very often,
Who is even ready to listen to them?
The true talents of the Africans go to the drain.
Like a rain on a train,
Like an early wake up call without a view;
Life is really so strange over here in Africa.

I have a dream!
But, who will listen?
My brain is with various talents but,
Who will help me with my dreams?
Talents, talents, talents! !
Africa turns to regress in this field while,
Others do progress!

Our talents can be useful,
It's time we give a helping hand;
Oh talents, oh talents!
It's time we listen to those who have them;
Cos', we are the world.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Annus Mirabilis, The Year Of Wonders, 1666

1
In thriving arts long time had Holland grown,
Crouching at home and cruel when abroad:
Scarce leaving us the means to claim our own;
Our King they courted, and our merchants awed.

2
Trade, which, like blood, should circularly flow,
Stopp'd in their channels, found its freedom lost:
Thither the wealth of all the world did go,
And seem'd but shipwreck'd on so base a coast.

3
For them alone the heavens had kindly heat;
In eastern quarries ripening precious dew:
For them the Idumaean balm did sweat,
And in hot Ceylon spicy forests grew.

4
The sun but seem'd the labourer of the year;
Each waxing moon supplied her watery store,
To swell those tides, which from the line did bear
Their brimful vessels to the Belgian shore.

5
Thus mighty in her ships, stood Carthage long,
And swept the riches of the world from far;
Yet stoop'd to Rome, less wealthy, but more strong:
And this may prove our second Punic war.

6
What peace can be, where both to one pretend?
(But they more diligent, and we more strong)
Or if a peace, it soon must have an end;
For they would grow too powerful, were it long.

7
Behold two nations, then, engaged so far
That each seven years the fit must shake each land:
Where France will side to weaken us by war,
Who only can his vast designs withstand.

8
See how he feeds the Iberian with delays,
To render us his timely friendship vain:
And while his secret soul on Flanders preys,
He rocks the cradle of the babe of Spain.

9
Such deep designs of empire does he lay

[...] Read more

poem by John Dryden
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

English Bards and Scotch Reviewers: A Satire

'I had rather be a kitten, and cry mew!
Than one of these same metre ballad-mongers'~Shakespeare

'Such shameless bards we have; and yet 'tis true,
There are as mad, abandon'd critics too,'~Pope.

Still must I hear? -- shall hoarse Fitzgerald bawl
His creaking couplets in a tavern hall,
And I not sing, lest, haply, Scotch reviews
Should dub me scribbler, and denounce my muse?
Prepare for rhyme -- I'll publish, right or wrong:
Fools are my theme, let satire be my song.

O nature's noblest gift -- my grey goose-quill!
Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will,
Torn from thy parent bird to form a pen,
That mighty instrument of little men!
The pen! foredoom'd to aid the mental throes
Of brains that labour, big with verse or prose,
Though nymphs forsake, and critics may deride,
The lover's solace, and the author's pride.
What wits, what poets dost thou daily raise!
How frequent is thy use, how small thy praise!
Condemn'd at length to be forgotten quite,
With all the pages which 'twas thine to write.
But thou, at least, mine own especial pen!
Once laid aside, but now assumed again,
Our task complete, like Hamet's shall be free;
Though spurn'd by others, yet beloved by me:
Then let us soar today, no common theme,
No eastern vision, no distemper'd dream
Inspires -- our path, though full of thorns, is plain;
Smooth be the verse, and easy be the strain.

When Vice triumphant holds her sov'reign sway,
Obey'd by all who nought beside obey;
When Folly, frequent harbinger of crime,
Bedecks her cap with bells of every clime;
When knaves and fools combined o'er all prevail,
And weigh their justice in a golden scale;
E'en then the boldest start from public sneers,
Afraid of shame, unknown to other fears,
More darkly sin, by satire kept in awe,
And shrink from ridicule, though not from law.

Such is the force of wit! but not belong
To me the arrows of satiric song;
The royal vices of our age demand
A keener weapon, and a mightier hand.

[...] Read more

poem by Byron
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

I. The Ring and the Book

Do you see this Ring?
'T is Rome-work, made to match
(By Castellani's imitative craft)
Etrurian circlets found, some happy morn,
After a dropping April; found alive
Spark-like 'mid unearthed slope-side figtree-roots
That roof old tombs at Chiusi: soft, you see,
Yet crisp as jewel-cutting. There's one trick,
(Craftsmen instruct me) one approved device
And but one, fits such slivers of pure gold
As this was,—such mere oozings from the mine,
Virgin as oval tawny pendent tear
At beehive-edge when ripened combs o'erflow,—
To bear the file's tooth and the hammer's tap:
Since hammer needs must widen out the round,
And file emboss it fine with lily-flowers,
Ere the stuff grow a ring-thing right to wear.
That trick is, the artificer melts up wax
With honey, so to speak; he mingles gold
With gold's alloy, and, duly tempering both,
Effects a manageable mass, then works:
But his work ended, once the thing a ring,
Oh, there's repristination! Just a spirt
O' the proper fiery acid o'er its face,
And forth the alloy unfastened flies in fume;
While, self-sufficient now, the shape remains,
The rondure brave, the lilied loveliness,
Gold as it was, is, shall be evermore:
Prime nature with an added artistry—
No carat lost, and you have gained a ring.
What of it? 'T is a figure, a symbol, say;
A thing's sign: now for the thing signified.

Do you see this square old yellow Book, I toss
I' the air, and catch again, and twirl about
By the crumpled vellum covers,—pure crude fact
Secreted from man's life when hearts beat hard,
And brains, high-blooded, ticked two centuries since?
Examine it yourselves! I found this book,
Gave a lira for it, eightpence English just,
(Mark the predestination!) when a Hand,
Always above my shoulder, pushed me once,
One day still fierce 'mid many a day struck calm,
Across a Square in Florence, crammed with booths,
Buzzing and blaze, noontide and market-time,
Toward Baccio's marble,—ay, the basement-ledge
O' the pedestal where sits and menaces
John of the Black Bands with the upright spear,
'Twixt palace and church,—Riccardi where they lived,
His race, and San Lorenzo where they lie.

[...] Read more

poem by Robert Browning from The Ring and the Book
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

The Generals

Said General Clay to General Gore,
'Oh must we fight this silly war?
To kill and die is such a bore.'
'I quite agree,' said General Gore.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'We could go to the beach today
And have some ice cream on the way.'
'A grand idea,' said General Clay.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'But what if the sea is closed today?
And what if the sand's been blown away?'
'A dreadful thought,' said General Clay.
Said General Gore to General Clay,
'I've always feared the ocean's spray,
And we may drown!' 'It's true, we may.
It chills my blood,' said General Clay.
Said General Clay to General Gore,
'My bathing suit is slightly tore.
We'd better go on with our war.'
'I quite agree,' said General Gore.
Then General Clay charged General Gore
As bullets flew and cannons roared.
And now, alas! there is no more
Of General Clay or General Gore.

poem by Sheldon Allan Silverstein
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Of Public Spirit In Regard To Public Works: An Epistle, To His Royal Highness Frederick Prince of Wa

Great Hope of Britain!-Here the Muse essays
A theme, which, to attempt alone, is praise.
Be Her's a zeal of Public Spirit known!
A princely zeal!-a spirit all your own!

Where never science beam'd a friendly ray,
Where one vast blank neglected Nature lay;
From Public Spirit there, by arts employ'd,
Creation, varying, glads the cheerless void.
Hail arts, where safety, treasure and delight,
On land, on wave, in wond'rous works unite!
Those wond'rous works, O Muse, successive raise,
And point their worth, their dignity and praise!

What tho' no streams, magnificently play'd,
Rise a proud column, fall a grand cascade;
Thro' nether pipes, which nobler use renowns,
Lo! ductile riv'lets visit distant towns!
Now vanish fens, whence vapours rise no more,
Whose agueish influence tainted heav'n before.
The solid isthmus sinks a wat'ry space,
And wonders, in new state, at naval grace.
Where the flood, deep'ning, rolls, or wide extends,
From road to road, yon arch, connective, bends.
Where ports were choak'd where mounds, in vain, arose;
There harbours open, and there breaches close;
To keels, obedient, spreads each liquid plain,
And bulwark moles repel the bost'rous main.
When the sunk sun no homeward sail befriends,
On the rock's brow the light-house kind ascends,
And from the shoaly, o'er the gulfy way,
Points to the pilot's eye the warning ray.

Count still, my Muse (to count what Muse can cease?)
The works of Public Spirit, freedom, peace!
By the mshall plants, in forests, reach the skies;
Then lose their leafy pride, and navies rise:
(Navies, which to invasive foes explain,
Heav'n throws not round us rocks and seas in vain,)
The sail of commerce in each sky aspires,
And property assures what toil acquires.

Who digs the mine or quarry, digs with glee;
No slave!-His option and his gain are free:
Him the same laws the same protection yield,
Who plows the furrow, as who owns the field.

[...] Read more

poem by Richard Savage
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Existence Loves Equally All Loving Creators and Creations Eternally

Inequality amasses amongst the masses
when our worlds wealth wasted on
self vain worship and war
when those creators at the top
get sick kicks watching the struggle
of the sick starving and poor

Equality is born when loving beings take stand
deciding to buy in to divisive games no more
heal the inner evils within oneself
promote peace admonish war
turn to existence the one true loving god
from which all creators and creations are born

hateful creators be not Gods
but idol self worshipers
creators are not God's
only Agents of existence
Existence embraces eternal all
beings who embrace all love

True God never pits human against human
man vs nature man vs. woman

Existence loves equally
Creators and creations
all variations with free will
embracing equal love

Love existence love
Loving Creators and creations
in all existent loving forms and variations

poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Giving Of The Time That You've Got

When you get to pick and eat it,
It tastes so good.
Even giving it a minute,
It tastes so good.
Licking lips and fingertips,
It tastes so good.
With a taste only you,
Believed it would.

When you get to pick and eat it,
It tastes so good.
Even giving it a minute,
It tastes so good.
Licking lips and fingertips,
It tastes so good.
With a taste only you,
Believed it would.

And...
Giving it the time that you've got.
Want and needed.
Giving it the time that you've got.
Want and needed.
You're giving it the time you've got.
Want AND needed...
You're giving it the time you've got.

When you get to pick and eat it,
It tastes so good.
Even giving it a minute,
It tastes so good.
Licking lips and fingertips,
It tastes so good.
With a taste only you,
Believed it would.

And-you-are...
Giving it the time that you've got.
Want and needed.
Giving it the time that you've got.
Want and needed.
Giving it the time that you've got.
Want and needed.
Giving it the time that you've got.

When you get to pick and eat it,
It tastes so good.
With a giving of the time that you've got.
Want and needed.
Giving of the time that you've got.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Who Hurts Whom?

Hurt, is that lesson of life,
Perfect pool of Imperfects,

A kid may get hurt
Or may hurt its parents too
its parents may hurt
Or may hurt their kid too,

A brother may get hurt,
or he may hurt brothers and sisters too,
Sister gets hurt
Or she may hurt her brothers and sisters too,

Mother gets hurt or she my may hurt father too.
Father may get hurt Or may hurt mother too,

A friend gets hurt
Or may hurt his friend too!
A lover get hurts, or may hurt one's lover too,

Teacher may gets hurt
Or may hurt student too
Student gets hurt Or he may hurt his teacher too,

Life is a pool of Imperfects
And only Imperfects can perfect life,
And life is that greatest class room,
Where the greatest and perfect teacher teaches perfect lessons,

But life when teaches, we just close the chapter,
'saying it is our fate! '

Is it true that one has to hurt others to make his living?
Living a life, and make a Living aren't the differ?

People are determined to build life than live a life,
Where one may hurt others,

This the story of Buddha asking kisa Gouthami ' I will save your child, but bring handful of mustard from a home where death not entered! '

This is the story,
'I will heal your hurts, if you can bring some dust of a man's feet, whoever neither got hurt nor hurt others! '

Life a that teaches and hurt is that lesson,
Which shows the one who hurts is Imperfect than who gets hurt,
Both are still imperfect,
The one got hurt is more imperfect,
And he is the one who hurts himself,
by his desires and expectations,
He is the one who gives chance to others to hurt,

[...] Read more

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Tale V

THE PATRON.

A Borough-Bailiff, who to law was train'd,
A wife and sons in decent state maintain'd,
He had his way in life's rough ocean steer'd
And many a rock and coast of danger clear'd;
He saw where others fail'd, and care had he,
Others in him should not such feelings see:
His sons in various busy states were placed,
And all began the sweets of gain to taste,
Save John, the younger, who, of sprightly parts,
Felt not a love for money-making arts:
In childhood feeble, he, for country air,
Had long resided with a rustic pair;
All round whose room were doleful ballads, songs,
Of lovers' sufferings and of ladies' wrongs;
Of peevish ghosts who came at dark midnight,
For breach of promise, guilty men to fright;
Love, marriage, murder, were the themes, with

these,
All that on idle, ardent spirits seize;
Robbers at land and pirates on the main,
Enchanters foil'd, spells broken, giants slain;
Legends of love, with tales of halls and bowers,
Choice of rare songs, and garlands of choice

flowers,
And all the hungry mind without a choice devours.
From village-children kept apart by pride,
With such enjoyments, and without a guide,
Inspired by feelings all such works infused,
John snatch'd a pen, and wrote as he perused:
With the like fancy he could make his knight
Slay half a host, and put the rest to flight;
With the like knowledge he could make him ride
From isle to isle at Parthenissa's side;
And with a heart yet free, no busy brain
Form'd wilder notions of delight and pain,
The raptures smiles create, the anguish of disdain.
Such were the fruits of John's poetic toil -
Weeds, but still proofs of vigour in the soil:
He nothing purposed but with vast delight,
Let Fancy loose, and wonder'd at her flight:
His notions of poetic worth were high,
And of his own still-hoarded poetry; -
These to his father's house he bore with pride,
A miser's treasure, in his room to hide;
Till spurr'd by glory, to a reading friend,
He kindly show'd the sonnets he had penn'd:

[...] Read more

poem by George Crabbe
Added by Poetry Lover
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Fifth Book

AURORA LEIGH, be humble. Shall I hope
To speak my poems in mysterious tune
With man and nature,–with the lava-lymph
That trickles from successive galaxies
Still drop by drop adown the finger of God,
In still new worlds?–with summer-days in this,
That scarce dare breathe, they are so beautiful?–
With spring's delicious trouble in the ground
Tormented by the quickened blood of roots.
And softly pricked by golden crocus-sheaves
In token of the harvest-time of flowers?–
With winters and with autumns,–and beyond,
With the human heart's large seasons,–when it hopes
And fears, joys, grieves, and loves?–with all that strain
Of sexual passion, which devours the flesh
In a sacrament of souls? with mother's breasts,
Which, round the new made creatures hanging there,
Throb luminous and harmonious like pure spheres?–
With multitudinous life, and finally
With the great out-goings of ecstatic souls,
Who, in a rush of too long prisoned flame,
Their radiant faces upward, burn away
This dark of the body, issuing on a world
Beyond our mortal?–can I speak my verse
So plainly in tune to these things and the rest,
That men shall feel it catch them on the quick,
As having the same warrant over them
To hold and move them, if they will or no,
Alike imperious as the primal rhythm
Of that theurgic nature? I must fail,
Who fail at the beginning to hold and move
One man,–and he my cousin, and he my friend,
And he born tender, made intelligent,
Inclined to ponder the precipitous sides
Of difficult questions; yet, obtuse to me,–
Of me, incurious! likes me very well,
And wishes me a paradise of good,
Good looks, good means, and good digestion!–ay,
But otherwise evades me, puts me off
With kindness, with a tolerant gentleness,–
Too light a book for a grave man's reading! Go,
Aurora Leigh: be humble.
There it is;
We women are too apt to look to one,
Which proves a certain impotence in art.
We strain our natures at doing something great,
Far less because it's something great to do,
Than, haply, that we, so, commend ourselves
As being not small, and more appreciable
To some one friend. We must have mediators

[...] Read more

poem by Elizabeth Barrett Browning from Aurora Leigh (1856)
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!

Love Is In Control

(finger on the trigger)
(Ive) hung around with big shots
Never knew love was in the sights
I guess I missed the target
Caught up in a different line of fire
But I know since Ive been aiming
For the sweetness in your soul
Your name is on the bullet
And its gettin ready to explode
Theres been a change inside my life
And I just wanna let you know
Ive got my finger on the trigger
Love is in control
Ive got my finger on the trigger
I aint lettin go
Bass line:
Baby, lets have some fun
A wont cha be my, my
Number one
Mama used to tell me
Girl, you better load your gun up right
She said ya, ya gotta come out smokin
Hit it with your best shot every time
Well I didnt understand her
til you walked right into range
I saw your love at twenty paces
And I new Id won the game
You better raise your heart up high
Or love will blow you right away
Ive got my finger on the trigger
Love is in control
Ive got my finger on the trigger
I aint lettin go
Ive got my finger on the trigger
Love is in control
Ive got my finger on the trigger
I aint lettin go
Leave off that safety catch
There aint no risk
Were gonna have some fun
Ive got cha, loves begun
So stay with me
Until the mornin sun
Youre superbullet number one
Bass line:
Baby, lets have some fun
A wont cha be my, my
Number one
Theres been a change inside
My life

[...] Read more

song performed by Donna Summer
Added by Lucian Velea
Comment! | Vote! | Copy!