Quotes about canon, page 4
What the Ghost of the Gambler Said
Where now the huts are empty,
Where never a camp-fire glows,
In an abandoned cañon,
A Gambler's Ghost arose.
He muttered there, "The moon's a sack
Of dust." His voice rose thin:
"I wish I knew the miner-man.
I'd play, and play to win.
In every game in Cripple-creek
Of old, when stakes were high,
I held my own. Now I would play
For that sack in the sky.
The sport would not be ended there.
'Twould rather be begun.
I'd bet my moon against his stars,
And gamble for the sun.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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The air was full of fire and sand
The night that I wished to be home
as the path we were on
lead to death
and not like the axiom to Rome
behind enemy lines
we called in the vultures of death
and the chill froze my breath
in clouds in the bright moonlight,
followed the mist from the river
penetrating ever deeper
into the enemy positions
we hid almost in their midst
and with the rising sun
eerie birds came screeching down
with flaming afterburners
dropping rockets and bombs
on enemy tanks,
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poem by Gert Strydom
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While the storm outside is quieting down [2]
While the storm outside is quieting down
the last lightning bolts falls slamming
sounding like canon shots,
you are busy peeling an orange
and from fright you hand stops still
while we listen to the voice of the God.
While the storm outside is quieting down
the last lightning bolts falls slamming,
I polish the my pair of glasses,
you are again peeling in thin orange strips
that folds around your hand when you remember something
as if something has walked over your grave you are shuddering
while the storm outside is quieting down.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The First Anniversary Sonnet
We stood and proclaimed 'I do' wedding wows
and the organ grinded
The Taco Bell Canon in D Major
and Chopin's Polonaise Mayonnaise in Egg Flat.
We dashed into the Sausalito Hotel
into the Queen Victoria room
sipping gold champagne, clicking crystals,
shedding our fig leaves...and multiplying.
Let's celebrate our Paper Anniversary at the Gypsy Cellar.
The candlelight steak dinner comes with a violinist
who will serenade us
to Leon Russell's ballad 'Song for You'.
Edna St. Vincent Millay sums up my glee:
'I only know that summer sings in me.'
poem by Bob Genevro
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Gossip
Shhh, come here
I want to tell you something.
It's about me, yes
it's really bad!
I can't look at myself
in the mirror, I'm guilt ridden.
The person I was has gone
and a stranger looks back.
I've the same face
same eyes, same voice
but on the inside, I've changed,
been messed up.
My mother would turn in her grave,
if she knew, I'm ashamed!
I've been bad, really bad
and now I've told you.
[...] Read more
poem by Ruth Walters
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Twinkle, Twinkle Little Hands
oh, I ponder of what is fun,
all above the hill of that is gone
in the morning flight the people
run
like a golden flame ups in the sky,
the teary eyes for everyone see
in the sand, even thou race is full
of mark in the hands
face up and down in the ground,
surrounded with barrel of the guns,
canon arm in the tank, the wall
capture the tears of an innocent
son
where, must be the reason, the wounds
bleeds the flesh, for everybody
calls for One, nothing left, but
hate not the heart in the sun
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poem by Antonio Liao
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Sonnet: War Ain’t The Solution
The troops of two nations stand either side
Of line of control, threat'ning each other;
And fire shells, missiles, canon-guns: hide;
Brother is pitted 'gainst his own brother.
One blames the other for this situation;
And die Jawans daily in more numbers;
United Nations advises 'caution';
The rest of world in selfishness slumbers.
A war could start between two good neighbors
Over the issue of a piece of land!
The war could rope in umptine new members;
Yet, Terrorists are taking upper hand.
Can Peace be ushered by confrontation?
Nay, War's a thing that’s worth condemnation
poem by John Celes
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The Temple Of Vishnu
Grand Cañon of Arizona
Vishnu, the gods of eld are dead. Long dead
Are Zeus, Astarte, and that lotus-flower,
Isis of Egypt. Unto each his hour.
Yet thou, silent within thy temple dread,
Locked against prayers, mounted above the tread
Of climbing feet, thou from thy purple tower
Contemplatest the stern inscrutable power
Whence all things come and whither all are led.
The day in splendor of lilac and clear blue
Visits thy mighty seat. The sapphire night
Broods in the abyss with darkness, and the rain
Veils thee with clouds, hails thee and bids adieu
In thunder. Steadfast on thy terraced height
Thou seest bold time besiege thy throne in vain.
poem by Harriet Monroe
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Art of Fiction
A story without a history
A good without a rule
An emotion without an act
A journey without an end
A world without a border
A love without a doubt
Futuristic SF or pure action
Witty drama or refreshing comedy
Romance story or phenomenal horror
Based on legend or fantasy adventure
Mind thriller or piece of biography
Cult or mainstream
Beloved or mocked
Best seller or unknown title
Copycat or canon
One shot or thousand long chapters
Words or motion
Light content or full of symbol
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poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Who Made Hell?
Who made hell
God has made the earth an other heaven
Beautiful land, mountain, rivers and ocean
Wonderful creatures, plants, birds, animals,
Day and night, air; to subsist lot of materials.
He created human, to protect this heaven,
Then why human is perturbing his creation?
Why he is making weapon, gun and canon?
Why creating hatred and killing the human?
To show power, forces others to succumb,
To fill own desire make few of them numb,
For own pleaser causes others to suffer,
For own richness he grabs wealth of others?
To answer the profound question, can you tell
It was a heaven, who made the earth hell?
(c) S.D. Tiwari
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poem by S.D. Tiwari
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