Quotes about graven, page 3
Winter Tree
The winter tree
does not move.
Its wide trunk
plunges into graven earth,
unseen roots, grasping hands
feel deeply the living soil,
hold firm anchorage
against the coming storm,
but rising wood, thin
though strong enough
to paint slender lines,
trails into purer air,
gives shelter
to Christmas birds.
They hunch on stems, quietly
waiting to sing open
the dawn.
poem by Steven Federle
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Rejected
When Dr. Charles O'Donnell died
They sank a box with him inside.
The plate with his initials three
Was simply graven-'C.O.D.'
That night two demons of the Pit
Adown the coal-hole shunted it.
Ten million million leagues it fell,
Alighting at the gate of Hell.
Nick looked upon it with surprise,
A night-storm darkening his eyes.
'They've sent this rubbish, C.O.D.
I'll never pay a cent!' said he.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Graven Images
i took off all my clothes,
tore down the graven images
i'd made of myself!
threw away all my pretensions,
and gave away my few belongings.
learned to speak without moving my lips,
laid aside the well conceived lies.
laughed in the face of my fears,
walked to my enemy with an open hand....
only to find my enemy
was just another version of me....
and what i'd been afraid of
was the very truth that set me free!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Marie Bateson
You observe the carven hand
With the index finger pointing heavenward.
That is the direction, no doubt.
But how shall one follow it?
It is well to abstain from murder and lust,
To forgive, do good to others, worship God
Without graven images.
But these are external means after all
By which you chiefly do good to yourself.
The inner kernel is freedom,
It is light, purity --
I can no more,
Find the goal or lose it, according to your vision.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Winternight
This cold winter night is mirroring my heart,
restless deadlocked in a foreign life
ignoring people, looking for prickling suspense,
to escape this falsehood
This cold winter night is mirroring my heart,
graven image created to be cursed
pressing the gold on the thumping temple
stumbling thru tears
This cold winter night is mirroring my heart,
studiously hazard would degenerate me
apocalypse mood, careless
everthing will fade away.
poem by Chiara Bogner
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Tattoo
I am the criminal whose chest is tattooed with a poinard above which are graven the words 'mort aux bourgeois'. Let us each tattoo this on our hearts.
I am the soldier with a red mark on my nakedness-when in a frenzy of love the mark expands to spell Mad Queen. Let us each tattoo our Mad Queen on our heart.
I am the prophet from the land of the Sun whose back is tattooed in the design of a rising sun. Let us each tattoo a rising sun on our heart.
poem by Harry Crosby
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Rosen paa Kisten
See Sørgetoget gjennem Gyden gaaer,
Det er et deiligt Solskin, Lærken slaaer,
Paa Kistelaaget er en Rose lagt,
Den unge Brud til Graven bliver bragt.
I Gyden her, som Barn hun leged glad,
Ved Hyldetræet hist, som Brud hun sad,
Ved Stenten der de skiltes, da han gik,
Ved Stenten der om ham hun Dødsbud fik.
Hvad drømte Rosen vel i Knoppen nys,
Hvad drømte den ved Solens første Kys,
Og ved det sidste glødende Farvel,
Hvad drømmer den paa Kistens sorte Fjel.
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
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Grev Joachim Moltke-Bregentved
Tænk kun paa ham hvis Støv er Graven bragt,
Erindring, udfold heel din Blomsterpragt!
Et Smiil sad i hans Øie, om hans Mund,
Det lyste fra den rene Hjerte-Bund.
Husk Julens Glæder, naar han spøgte glad;
Saa rigt og stort er Hjertets Mindeblad.
Hos Eder lykkelig og glad han stod,
For Danmarks Sag, han Hjemmets Hjem forlod.
Den vaade Jord og Nattens kolde Vind,
Skjød Dødens Kugle i hans Hjerte ind.
Sit unge Liv han glad for Danmark gav.
De Runer vil' vi riste paa hans Grav!
poem by Hans Christian Andersen
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Cassius Hueffer
They have Chiseled on my stone the words:
'His life was gentle, and the elements so mixed in him
That nature might stand up and say to all the world,
This was a man.'
Those who knew me smile
As they read this empty rhetoric.
My epitaph should have been:
'Life was not gentle to him,
And the elements so mixed in him
That he made warfare on life,
In the which he was slain.'
While I lived I could not cope with slanderous tongues,
Now that I am dead I must submit to an epitaph
Graven by a fool!
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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A Happy Man
When these graven lines you see,
Traveller, do not pity me;
Though I be among the dead,
Let no mournful word be said.
Children that I leave behind,
And their children, all were kind;
Near to them and to my wife,
I was happy all my life.
My three sons I married right,
And their sons I rocked at night;
Death nor sorrow never brought
Cause for one unhappy thought.
Now, and with no need of tears,
Here they leave me, full of years,--
Leave me to my quiet rest
In the region of the blest.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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