Quotes about tether, page 10
Watch-Night
Midnight, musical and splendid,
And the Old Year's life is ended,
And the New, “born in the purple,” babe yet crowned, among us dwells;
While Creation's welcome swells,
Starlight all the heavens pervading,
And the whole world serenading
Him, at birth, with all its bells!
Round the cradle of the tender
Flows the music, shines the splendor;
It is early yet for counsel, but bethink how Hermes gave,
(While the Myths were bright and brave),
Thwarted Phoebus no small battle,
Seeking back his lifted cattle,
Hour-old Hermes, in his cave!
New Year, if thy youth should blind us
Thy swift feet, perchance, may find us
Sleeping in the dark, unguarded, as the sun-god's herds were found!
Lest, unready, on his round
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poem by Mary Hannay Foott
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Funeral for a Friend
The corona of the sun rolled
Into the steep ridges of the cliffs
Where the swaying of svelte legs
Still cast the black pendulums
Out-shadowing the anthem of the day
And as it flushed the slithering roads
Without a hiss, raising the skeptic head
Like the serpent that it was
Still, I traversed the valley valiantly
Shunning the venoms and fangs
Straight into the point blank demise
Of ephemeral times
I shall don my best guise
As I trample in my meander
And swallow the slivers
Of sequestered amenities
And I shall mount the granite legs
With the impetus of veracity
Detaching from the rail tracks
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poem by Norman Santos
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O Naughty Child..! [ Part- 9 ]
[ Part-9 ]
The moment the screaming creak
Of the old trunk waves out
As if in pain
You are on your twos
To the spot exact
And sit cross-legged
And wide-eyed
With a really innocent look!
O.. how disciplined and harmless
You sit beside!
A real treat to watch!
Yet so many 'whys '
Flit across my mind!
Though on guard
Assure myself-
' Perhaps no mischief now! '
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poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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Fond And Happy Memories
In the middle of February they always came to Annagloor
And parked their horse drawn vans by the by road the travelling Irish poor
They came for the March horse fair in Millstreet Town horses they bought and sold
And a beautiful Pinto to them was a horse worth more than gold.
The coldest part of the Winter is in mid February
And a cold wind blew across the sky in temperatures low as minus 3
Their horses they did not tether on the by road they ranged free
And though that was close to fity years ago those memories remain with me.
And though many Seasons have come and gone since then the memories remain evergreen
Around their camp fire they drunk their illicit booze the stuff known as poteen
And the accordionist played the old tunes and with him they sang along
And they were bound through their cultural links to music dance and song.
Their ancestors were the dispossessed that Cromwells's army had put on the road
That led them to the wandering life of the 'no fixed abode'
Their mothers gave them life in their horse drawn vans and in their horse drawn vans they died
And from birth till death they roamed around the Irish countryside
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poem by Francis Duggan
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Red Letter Today
Open a red letter an' read...
a life in words I attempt to freeze.
there are fine winds blowing,
heavenly sunset an' towering castles of cloud.
bird's chirping, hers breathing...
can hear them all with mine closed eyes.
welding in the back ground, lying here on the ground.
Many lives lived, sown into the earth...
lovers knot above some blue sky,
African soil where child plays.
a red letter tonight,
enclosed in an envelop delight...
count fingers I might,
grass greener inside.
the face of a beauty an' nature beside.
red letter in my pocket
scene of a match,
T-shirt and blue jeans,
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poem by Merlin Mwaura
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Red letter tonight...
Open a red letter an' read...
a life in words I attempt to freeze.
there are fine winds blowing,
heavenly sunset an' towering castles of cloud.
bird's chirping, hers breathing...
can hear them all with mine closed eyes.
welding in the back ground, lying here on the ground.
Many lives lived, sown into the earth...
lovers knot above some blue sky,
African soil where child plays.
a red letter tonight,
enclosed in an envelop delight...
count fingers I might,
grass greener inside.
the face of a beauty an' nature beside.
red letter in my pocket
scene of a match,
T-shirt and blue jeans,
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poem by Merlin Mwaura
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Donald MacGillavry
Donald's gane up the hill hard and hungry
Donald comes down the hill wild and angry
Donald will clear the gouk's nest cleverly
Here's tae the king and Donald Macgillavry
Come like a weigh-bauk, Donald Macgillavry
Come like a weigh-bauk, Donald Macgillavry
Balance them fair, and balance them cleverly
Off wi' the counterfeit, Donald Macgillavry
Donald's run o'er the hill but his tether, man
As he were wud, or stang'd wi' an ether, man
When he comes back, there's some will look merrily
Here's tae King James and Donald Macgillavry
Come like a weaver, Donald Macgillavry
Come like a weaver, Donald Macgillavry
Pack on your back, an elwand sae cleverly
Gie them full measure, my Donald Macgillavry
Donald has foughten wi' reif and roguery
Donald has dinner'd wi' banes and beggery
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poem by James Hogg
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England's Answer
Truly ye come of The Blood; slower to bless than to ban;
Little used to lie down at the bidding of any man.
Flesh of the flesh that I bred, bone of the bone that I bare;
Stark as your sons shall be -- stern as your fathers were.
Deeper than speech our love, stronger than life our tether,
But we do not fall on the neck nor kiss when we come together.
My arm is nothing weak, my strength is not gone by;
Sons, I have borne many sons, but my dugs are not dry.
Look, I have made ye a place and opened wide the doors,
That ye may talk together, your Barons and Councillors --
Wards of the Outer March, Lords of the Lower Seas,
Ay, talk to your gray mother that bore you on her knees! --
That ye may talk together, brother to brother's face --
Thus for the good of your peoples -- thus for the Pride of the Race.
Also, we will make promise. So long as The Blood endures,
I shall know that your good is mine: ye shall feel that my strength is yours:
In the day of Armageddon, at the last great fight of all,
That Our House stand together and the pillars do not fall.
Draw now the threefold knot firm on the ninefold bands,
And the Law that ye make shall be law after the rule of your lands.
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poem by Rudyard Kipling
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It Is Later Than You Think
Lone amid the cafe's cheer,
Sad of heart am I to-night;
Dolefully I drink my beer,
But no single line I write.
There's the wretched rent to pay,
Yet I glower at pen and ink:
Oh, inspire me, Muse, I pray,
It is later than you think!
Hello! there's a pregnant phrase.
Bravo! let me write it down;
Hold it with a hopeful gaze,
Gauge it with a fretful frown;
Tune it to my lyric lyre . . .
Ah! upon starvation's brink,
How the words are dark and dire:
It is later than you think.
Weigh them well. . . . Behold yon band,
Students drinking by the door,
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poem by Robert William Service
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The Woman With Too Many Teeth
The woman with too many teeth was accused of 'smiling too much'
In the office, on the phone
Even when she was on her own [as seen by cctv! ]
The woman with too many teeth would always hesitate and was
Losing weight,
And some got a hunch, that she could not eat her lunch
The woman with too many teeth could barely talk
She also had a funny walk
Due in part to her heavy jaw
She kept her head to the floor
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poem by Yvette Smith
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