Quotes about satire, page 14
Ripples in spine
Many years have passed since then
You were insisting to join me often
It used to send me ripples in spine
But I was comfortable and feeling fine
My heart beats used to rise alarmingly
I was not in sad state but felt warmly
You had deep sense of pride and honor
I was unable to stand even on floor
Yet I was very much dreaming
She was like home coming
I never thought she may vanish all of sudden
I had no slightest idea even
I did not dare to open my mind
I could see lines on her face and find
It revealed me untold truth
It needed no words or proof
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The Ninth Ode of the Third Book of Horace Imitated
1736. Donec gratus eram tibi.
SIR ROBERT WALPOLE.
Whilst in each of my schemes you most heartily join'd,
And help'd the worst jobs that I ever design'd,
In pamphlets, in ballads, in senate, at table,
Thy satire was witty, thy counsel was able.
WILLIAM PULTENEY.
Whilst with me you divided both profit and care,
And the plunder and glory did equally share;
Assur'd of his place, if my fat friend should die,
The Prince of Wales was not so happy as I.
SIR ROBERT WALPOLE.
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poem by Lady Mary Wortley Montagu
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Shifting Images
Remember when mean spirited people,
Told their ethnic jokes.
And those within listening distance,
Would repeat them and laughed...
As they undermined and disrespected,
While poking at those 'other' folks.
And remember those days,
People felt safe to offend others.
As if they were entitled,
To proclaim publicly their druthers.
As some around them quietly endured,
And suffered.
Remember when people were hired to window dress?
To give an impression an acceptance was 'allowed'...
Although uncomfortably addressed.
And remember when it was expected,
Those with their noses turned up in the air...
Would climb on their high horses,
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Are Dear to Us
Why old memories are so dear to us?
Why do we believe in it and trust?
Do we think we were truly associated/?
Was our action at that time stood related?
These all factors drive us to the conclusion
Some of them may find true inclusions
Some of them may speak very badly
We may rethink over it and feel sadly
It is just rewinding of film reel
You have only to recollect and feel
You may look fool and expect some pity
Yet you laughed it out on your ability
It is village, town and even your friends
They all played important part to make the ways to mend
You were afraid of loosing honor in village
As people were pardoning you because of age
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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To A Blank Sheet Of Paper
WAN-VISAGED thing! thy virgin leaf
To me looks more than deadly pale,
Unknowing what may stain thee yet,--
A poem or a tale.
Who can thy unborn meaning scan?
Can Seer or Sibyl read thee now?
No,--seek to trace the fate of man
Writ on his infant brow.
Love may light on thy snowy cheek,
And shake his Eden-breathing plumes;
Then shalt thou tell how Lelia smiles,
Or Angelina blooms.
Satire may lift his bearded lance,
Forestalling Time's slow-moving scythe,
And, scattered on thy little field,
Disjointed bards may writhe.
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poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Tamara Princess of Satira
I walk; carry the weight of the sands, dust particles of gold
Beneath, lay the tomb, resurrected in chamber of seven
Headed snake, guarding the abandoned soul of Princess Tamara
From Hanaring, the city of guardian angel
Her eyes full of killer’s instinct, bewildered with terror
Her walk creates the sound of ancient Jazz, symphonized
By the ruthless pharaohs, costumed in satire silk
When the moon shines on her flawless black hair,
An unwanted eclipse, overshadows every man’s heart
Zanatic climbs on every mind that sleeps
With velvet dream, wet by salty lips
The beat of drums, summoned by rushes of adrenalin
Ruins mellow hearts, starving for infinite orgasms
Hurricane halts, as Tamara blows her exile away
And drifting right to the laps of Prince Charming
City of Hanaring, once again echoed with satirical harp
That trounces and trances the lost souls, drown
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poem by Sulaiman Mohd Yusof
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Above Sixty.. Part One
Not all people can face it bravely
But some do it exceptionally
Utilize time for own happiness
And bring joy for all on faces
World is not limited to youngsters alone
Lot more is to be done on wider screen
World has become so small and come quite near
I find nothing wrong if you see it without fear
Why age should bother it at all?
Lot many troubled people are around to call
Same interest but having no solution
How to ask and where to ask is only confusion
If you literary person then heaven is on flank
Your water can flow on both the banks
You can love any one you like at ease
You have lot more to explain and release
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poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Above sixty..part one
Not all people can face it bravely
But some do it exceptionally
Utilize time for own happiness
And bring joy for all on faces
World is not limited to youngsters alone
Lot more is to be done on wider screen
World has become so small and come quite near
I find nothing wrong if you see it without fear
Why age should bother it at all?
Lot many troubled people are around to call
Same interest but having no solution
How to ask and where to ask is only confusion
If you literary person then heaven is on flank
Your water can flow on both the banks
You can love any one you like at ease
You have lot more to explain and release
[...] Read more
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The Space Heater
On the then-below-zero day, it was on,
near the patients' chair, the old heater
kept by the analyst's couch, at the end,
like the infant's headstone that was added near the foot
of my father's grave. And it was hot, with the almost
laughing satire of a fire's heat,
the little coils like hairs in Hell.
And it was making a group of sick noises-
I wanted the doctor to turn it off
but I couldn't seem to ask, so I just
stared, but it did not budge. The doctor
turned his heavy, soft palm
outward, toward me, inviting me to speak, I
said, "If you're cold-are you cold? But if it's on
for me..." He held his palm out toward me,
I tried to ask, but I only muttered,
but he said, "Of course," as if I had asked,
and he stood up and approached the heater, and then
stood on one foot, and threw himself
toward the wall with one hand, and with the other hand
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poem by Sharon Olds
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A myth may better be than truth
Stripping Santa Clause of the crown of God
Would scarce him a lesser-loved old man make,
Nor faulting Truth Fairy to face vile fraud,
They are not they are for mere title's sake;
Some myths that motivate, inspiring youths,
Far better be than fire-betested truths.
Armstrong was always strong, doping or not,
He has done to the world a world of good,
Rekindling hearts of those by cancer wrought,
That they fight, life cured of old attitude;
Starved is the world of such role models rare,
O to challenge hard truths with unique dare.
Scarce is the world at war with fairness creams,
Hair transplants, nor cosmetic skin routine—
To look nigh better yon natural means,
Nor is seeding by tube satanic sin;
The world's fine with photo-shopped touch-up look,
Images cooked ere loaded on Facebook.
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poem by Aniruddha Pathak
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