Quotes about twins, page 3
Sunday The 13th Of November
A rum for a ram and a sheep fopr a ship,
Sunday the 13th of November to remember!
Like the male lambs of the first year when,
The blood started to flow.
One young bull and one male lamb,
One big ram and one male goat,
But one is destroyed out of the twins expected;
It come out as blood on Sunday the 13th of November.
Of a spanteneous reaction,
And this blood flow is the evidence;
But our faith will always lead us on,
Like life in the wilderness of Sinai.
Sunday the 13th of November,
Like the old blood in a clay pot;
Sunday the 13th of November,
Like the synchroneous act of sadness;
There we lost our appetite.
What is sweet is now soar,
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poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Homer's Hymn To Castor And Pollux
Ye wild-eyed Muses, sing the Twins of Jove,
Whom the fair-ankled Leda, mixed in love
With mighty Saturn’s Heaven-obscuring Child,
On Taygetus, that lofty mountain wild,
Brought forth in joy: mild Pollux, void of blame,
And steed-subduing Castor, heirs of fame.
These are the Powers who earth-born mortals save
And ships, whose flight is swift along the wave.
When wintry tempests o’er the savage sea
Are raging, and the sailors tremblingly
Call on the Twins of Jove with prayer and vow,
Gathered in fear upon the lofty prow,
And sacrifice with snow-white lambs,--the wind
And the huge billow bursting close behind,
Even then beneath the weltering waters bear
The staggering ship--they suddenly appear,
On yellow wings rushing athwart the sky,
And lull the blasts in mute tranquillity,
And strew the waves on the white Ocean’s bed,
Fair omen of the voyage; from toil and dread
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poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Africa, I were the one you killed
In those misery-days;
Those days when happiness of birth cried;
-with an oversized echo;
Africa, when your gods roared in their wooden-cages
I were the twins you unjustly killed;
-Just to appease your gods
Again when darkness fell on the skin of your sky
-and gave it ugly spot;
I were the lamp-lights you held;
to walk on the blood-shed roads,
when your furious deities are thirsty and in full rage,
-in their desert homes.
My bloods you gave, to turn away their anger.
Africa, when you killed your'today'
Tell me what would your tomorrow be?
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poem by Adesitimi Taiwo
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Incite Insight
INCITE INSIGHT
Can candlelight melt icy start,
incandescence stem descent,
incite renaissance, shared assent
discovering dream's counterpart?
May heart to heart though far apart
heartache soothe to circumvent
walls beyond walls which represent
apparent obstacles - impart
ardour surpassing Richter chart,
gift elan confident, lament
layers in lairs where hermit spent
temptation torment playing part?
Tenderness twins thoughts to teach
touch formal frontiers may outreach.
10 June 1996 revised 20 November 2008
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Jekyll and Hyde
JEKYLL AND HYDE
Nature in her wisdom has created
a set of twins that wars within one mind.
Here, surface grace, there peerless smile some find,
yet never poet those charms celebrated.
Superficial gloss deceives. As stated,
above, fair features mask Hyde hid behind,
foiling heart, whose coils seem serpentined,
motives murky, joy soon dissipated.
Reflect on shine whose light seems calculated
to serve as shield behind an iron blind,
unsated floe on salt sea floats unkind.
Drawn is this portrait, equal loved and hated.
Captivated, some serve both, but why
are some men, pawns, ensnared by mirage eye?
20 April 1991 revised 3 January 2009
robi03_0304_robi03_0000 SXX_JLX
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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Mole On My Thigh
Sitting on a sandy beach,
under a tropical sun,
watching the palm trees sway.
While someone with a romantic guitar,
serenades a couple of sweethearts,
locked in a loving embrace there.
I look around at the empty space,
there beside me,
wishing you were here with me.
Instead of a thousand miles away,
in the rain with someone else.
It takes two to start an argument,
both are guilty, not just one.
You walked away from my arms,
straight into his waiting there.
His smile looked more like a callous grin,
he had won and I had lost,
or at least that is what I thought.
Then came the telegram this morning,
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poem by David Harris
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For any wrong happening, do not run to your gods, blame yourself
A childhood friend of mine
Seemingly very much devoted
To the faith his family belonged
Never missed a day
To visit the places of worship
In our big town
Never missed a day
To complete the
Daily rituals with which
He was baptized long back
Fled the town overnight
In search of earning opportunities
Went abroad
Got a job
Things did not end there
Convenience and comfort made him
Change his faith
Got married to a woman
Of a different faith
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poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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A Hand
First Love's Touch,
mutual gathering was only through them,
our Hands.
We poets celebrate
Hearts and Souls;
Love too wields magic,
but neglect too often
those stalwart two-
the human hands-
we're birth'd with.
Entwined most
in our Corporeal Destinies
yet hands occupy
in the Pantheon of Graces
a position lower than should be.
Consider birth's first
is a touching hand.
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poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Linoz Isidoz
Lo! I lament. Fallen is the sixfold Star:
Slain is Asar.
O twinned with me in the womb of Night!
O son of my bowels to the Lord of Light!
O man of mine that hast covered me
From the shame of my virginity!
Where art thou? Is it not Apep thy brother,
The snake in my womb that am thy mother,
That hath slain thee by violence girt with guile,
And scattered thy limbs on the Nile?
Lo! I lament. I have forged a whirling Star:
I seek Asar.
O Nepti, sister! Arise in the dusk
From thy chamber of mystery and musk!
Come with me, though weary the way,
To bring back his life to the rended clay!
See! are not these the hands that wove
Delight, and these the arms that strove
With me? And these the feet, the thighs
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poem by Aleister Crowley
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Le Flambeau Vivant (The Living Torch)
Ils marchent devant moi, ces Yeux pleins de lumières,
Qu'un Ange très savant a sans doute aimantés
Ils marchent, ces divins frères qui sont mes frères,
Secouant dans mes yeux leurs feux diamantés.
Me sauvant de tout piège et de tout péché grave,
Ils conduisent mes pas dans la route du Beau
Ils sont mes serviteurs et je suis leur esclave
Tout mon être obéit à ce vivant flambeau.
Charmants Yeux, vous brillez de la clarté mystique
Qu'ont les cierges brûlant en plein jour; le soleil
Rougit, mais n'éteint pas leur flamme fantastique;
Ils célèbrent la Mort, vous chantez le Réveil
Vous marchez en chantant le réveil de mon âme,
Astres dont nul soleil ne peut flétrir la flamme!
The Living Torch
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poem by Charles Baudelaire
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