Quotes about applause, page 4

Praying That It Stays

There is nothing like witnessing to experience,
A people living in an environment who have been convinced...
Ignorance and subservience is theirs to defend.
With an advocating of it that will not see an end.
And praying that it stays to forever exist the way it is.

There is nothing like listening to a sermon delivered,
From a pulpit where a minister behind it sits...
After preaching to receive applause and lots of it.
To remind those who sat but now on their feet...
How remaining down to Earth to 'him' this pleases.

There is nothing like witnessing to experience,
A people living in an environment who have been convinced...
Ignorance and subservience is theirs to defend.
And many wishing to be 'Back Home' again.
To walk those rural roads bare foot to visit neighbors.

There is nothing like listening to a sermon delivered,
From a pulpit where a minister behind it sits...

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Open Up Your Wallets...

I appreciate the participation,
However...
Why do you find it neccessary,
To interrupt my reading.

'It's not poetry.
It's some form of a narrative.
At least that's what I was taught at Harvard.'

I see.
And were you also taught at Harvard,
To be disrespectful, insidious and a flaming fool?

'That's what I mean...
This delivery is a narrative.'

IF I am stretching my creative expression,
To incorporate the evolution of humanity...
With my interpretations,
By keeping up to date....

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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Inner Recognition Awakens Idyllic Nirvana Eternal

Inevitable reunion affords important, necessary encounter
Impetus reincarnate allies indivisible nexus evermore.
Imbrication - reciprocal approach - increases nobility ensuring
intimacy, - regenerative applause inspiring nectar enduring.

Instantaneous recall awakens inner neurones experiencing
idyll remembered as iteration's new edition.
Incredible Revelation, awesome, is now evident
in reality after implicit needs expressed
intuitively reveal awareness identifying Nirvana euphoric.
Inviolate renewal - affection/intelligence now eliminate
indecision. Rising aspirations intimate networking effect
invisibly restoring all interwoven natural equilibrium.
Identification read and integrated, - no error.
Imagination roused after impotent numbness expands
infinite recognition, allows interplay naturally eternal
intertwining rare ambiance, intensely nurtured empathy.

Interaction rescinds abuse, ignorance, neglect, egocentricity.

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poem by Jonathan Robin
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Iteration

Inscribed reunion affords important, necessary encounter -
inevitable rebirth attesting initiation, nascent energy,
infinite release as imprisoned needs emerge
intact, resurgence adding ineffable nova ethereal.
Impetus reincarnate allies indivisible nexus evermore.
Imbrication - reciprocal approach - increases nobility ensuring
intimacy, - regenerative applause inspiring nectar enduring.

[...] Read more

poem by Jonathan Robin
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The Interloper

The Honourable TORYPHAT addressed the meeting: 'Hem!
(Prolonged applause.) Ah - Mistah Chairman, gentlemen. To stem
The tide of Socialism - rabid Socialism, sir
Which threatens to engulf us, hez - ah - always been - um - er
Hez always been ouah object in the past, and Ai may say,
We hev succeeded, somewhat, in - er - standing in the way.
We hev been firm, sir, in the past, and fought without - ah - feah
Foah the Empiah and the - ah - the uppah classes, sir. (Heah. heah.)

In ouah endeavahs to - um - ah - promote the public good
It hez always been - that is to say - been - ah - been understood.
Bai the people - bai the - um - ha - people, sir, of this - er - land
That we and the Empiah, so to speak, are hand in hand.
The British - er - authorities, at all times, hev been glad
To listen - ah - to any - er - suggestions thet we had.
We hev been the Empiah's mouthplece, in - ah - this benighted land,
And hitherto the Empiah was the - aw - best card in ouah hand.

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poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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The Frog and The Nightingale

Once upon a time a frog
Croaked away in Bingle Bog
Every night from dusk to dawn
He croaked awn and awn and awn
Other creatures loathed his voice,
But, alas, they had no choice,
And the crass cacophony
Blared out from the sumac tree
At whose foot the frog each night
Minstrelled on till morning night

Neither stones nor prayers nor sticks.
Insults or complaints or bricks
Stilled the frogs determination
To display his heart's elation.
But one night a nightingale
In the moonlight cold and pale
Perched upon the sumac tree
Casting forth her melody
Dumbstruck sat the gaping frog

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poem by Vikram Seth
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The Faithful Few: An Ode

While Pow'r triumphant bears unrival'd Sway,
Propt by the Aid of all-prevailing Gold;
While bold Corruption blasts the Face of Day,
And Men, in Herds, are offer'd to be sold;
Select, Urania, from the venal Throng,
The Faithful Few, to grace the deathless Song!

To thee, chaste Nymph, by Jove and Fate, is giv'n
The sacred Charge of the Celestial Bays;
Thou raisest Heroes to their native Heav'n,
And point'st the Objects of eternal Praise.
And in thy Records, dear to future Fame,
Each Son of Liberty inscribes his Name.

When o'er a Nation Fraud and Guilt prevail,
And, fafe, all Question and Enquiry shun,
Thine is the impartial Sword,-and thine the Scale
To weigh the Crime, and make the Actors known:

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poem by William Hamilton
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Tasso Dying

What festival is ancient Rome preparing?
Where flow the crowds in noisy waves?
Why these aromas, myrrh's sweet smoke
And censers all around abrim with fragrant herbs?
From Capitoline Hill to Tiber's waves,
Above universal city's streets,
Why are the priceless rugs and purple stuffs
Spread among garlands, laurels?
Why all this noise? The crash and thump of timpani?
Are these heralds of joy or triumph?
Why wearing the miter hastes the holy father
With gonfalon to the prayer house?
For whom doth thankful Rome's most valued gift,
The crown, in his hands shimmer?
For whom this triumph? - 'tis for you, o blessed bard!
For you this gift... Jerusalem's bard!
And now the joyful noise has reached the cell,
Where Death joins battle with Torquatto,
Where death's winged spirit swoops
Above the sufferer's blessed head.

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poem by Konstantin Nikolaevich Batiushkov
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The Centerarian's Story

GIVE me your hand, old Revolutionary;
The hill-top is nigh--but a few steps, (make room, gentlemen;)
Up the path you have follow'd me well, spite of your hundred and
extra years;
You can walk, old man, though your eyes are almost done;
Your faculties serve you, and presently I must have them serve me.

Rest, while I tell what the crowd around us means;
On the plain below, recruits are drilling and exercising;
There is the camp--one regiment departs to-morrow;
Do you hear the officers giving the orders?
Do you hear the clank of the muskets? 10

Why, what comes over you now, old man?
Why do you tremble, and clutch my hand so convulsively?
The troops are but drilling--they are yet surrounded with smiles;
Around them, at hand, the well-drest friends, and the women;
While splendid and warm the afternoon sun shines down;
Green the midsummer verdure, and fresh blows the dallying breeze,
O'er proud and peaceful cities, and arm of the sea between.

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poem by Walt Whitman
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The House Of Dust: Part 04: 06: Cinema

As evening falls,
The walls grow luminous and warm, the walls
Tremble and glow with the lives within them moving,
Moving like music, secret and rich and warm.
How shall we live to-night, where shall we turn?
To what new light or darkness yearn?
A thousand winding stairs lead down before us;
And one by one in myriads we descend
By lamplit flowered walls, long balustrades,
Through half-lit halls which reach no end. . . .

Take my arm, then, you or you or you,
And let us walk abroad on the solid air:
Look how the organist's head, in silhouette,
Leans to the lamplit music's orange square! . . .
The dim-globed lamps illumine rows of faces,
Rows of hands and arms and hungry eyes,
They have hurried down from a myriad secret places,
From windy chambers next to the skies. . . .
The music comes upon us. . . .it shakes the darkness,

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poem by Conrad Potter Aiken
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