Quotes about puzzle, page 4
Poem: SATOR Squares
It’s very surprising that “SATOR Squares”
seem to appear everywhere
the mighty Roman army had gone;
can they together, really belong?
Can anyone else see
inside this puzzle’s mystery?
It’s been learned that it’s not a game
and a truth, always remains the same.
Known is the square’s earliest evidence –
Can it be a mere coincidence,
that it was found in a retired soldier’s home?
From one who had faithfully served Italy’s Rome.
The Naked Archeologist cracked this riddle,
by playing around with the letters of its middle.
Fairly revealing were some of its words,
whose interpretation were not fully obscured.
From analyzing all 5-lettered Latin palindromes,
it became clear; this particular grid stood alone.
The hidden phrases are now, no longer lost;
PATER NOSTER, “Our Father”, forms a cross;
[...] Read more
poem by Joseph James Breunig 3rd
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For Terry My Love
Being in love captivates not only
the heart but steals the soul.
The owner feels immobilized, motionless,
with the beauty of their lover.
The mind is possessed to staggering
heights. It can not function normally.
It wonders on plains of peace, soft
caresses, and a rich song soaring joy.
I have found such a love.
No words are sufficient to express
what I feel radiant within.
To be loved so, is the most precious
gift, any person can give to another.
No priceless earthly object can compare.
To go about your day, feeling this
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poem by Terence George Craddock
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0364 Poetry reads; poetry speaks
It’s like an adult version of a parlour game, isn’t it?
a sorta cross between a single-handed game of patience
and a crossword puzzle where the guy who set the puzzle
is always a step at least ahead of you dammit
and knows there’s a perfect solution
only known to him, or Him
so here I am, shuffling these black-and-white
(well, kinda browny-maroon on this site)
soundless things which are supposed to be
sounds in my ear and mind which
by mad optimism forever proved somewhat
or totally wrong in experience
are supposed to come out the other end
into your ear and mind in a vaguely
similar manner – allowing for the fact
that if you’re of a critical cast then
you’ll have a superior ear and mind
to mine anyway so that’s a mess for a start
and I suppose the same applies if
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poem by Michael Shepherd
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Still Uncertain
There are times in your life
When the puzzle pieces start to fit together
You think you understand
Can see part of the big picture
Unless
The picture changes
And something alters it
All together
There are times in your life
When you start to see
Dots forming lines
Lines coming together
Forming a picture
Unless
The picture changes
And something alters it
All together
Universes of understanding existing in
Bigger Universes
You knew the world was flat
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poem by Rabia Minhas
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Why it’s so only to me?
Why it’s so only to me
I was getting ready
To go to office
Dressed up
Reached dining table
For breakfast
I heard my wife
“The milk got spoilt
The bread got charred
Why it’s so only to me? ”
You were telling something
I asked my wife
“Just thinking something”
She said, making me realize
That I am now blessed
With the power of
Hearing what others think
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poem by Bashyam Narayanan
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Chinese Box
For years, the 'Muse of the Heavenly Gates'
Had stood in the shade of a country lane,
Quietly tending its residents there,
The old, the feeble, the stark insane.
The blurb said, here was a heaven on earth
For the old to pass their declining years,
It said they lived in a quiet content,
The truth was actually quite the reverse.
For Matron Margaret Parker-Lang was
A nun, expelled from the Carmelites,
'Too much of the world', they said of her,
When caught indulging in base delights.
The years had hardened, had turned her hair
An iron grey, and her eyes were cold,
She only smiled when the visitors came
To pay the fees for their aged, in gold.
She didn't encourage their visits, though:
'It's hard, you see, and they get upset,
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poem by David Lewis Paget
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The Transparent Man
I'm mighty glad to see you, Mrs. Curtis,
And thank you very kindly for this visit--
Especially now when all the others here
Are having holiday visitors, and I feel
A little conspicuous and in the way.
It's mainly because of Thanksgiving. All these mothers
And wives and husbands gaze at me soulfully
And feel they should break up their box of chocolates
For a donation, or hand me a chunk of fruitcake.
What they don't understand and never guess
Is that it's better for me without a family;
It's a great blessing. Though I mean no harm.
And as for visitors, why, I have you,
All cheerful, brisk and punctual every Sunday,
Like church, even if the aisles smell of phenol.
And you always bring even better gifts than any
On your book-trolley. Though they mean only good,
Families can become a sort of burden.
I've only got my father, and he won't come,
Poor man, because it would be too much for him.
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poem by Anthony Evan Hecht
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Hangman with the teacher
R_ T_ _E_
It was a Tuesday painted Friday
by wanton act of tragedy
When punctual Mr. Miller, laconically sat
Looking on his wards he silently wept
He sighed with contempt
of a lifetime of regret
Meditating sorrow in his morning Earl Grey tea
Looking through the window
at tears of rain rang from the pang
And the sky was mourning grey
A middle age man he was tall and rather fair
Angular face, with drawn pink cheeks
The formal decorum of accountant attire
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poem by Kevin Patrick
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Patterns
The night sets softly
With the hush of falling leaves,
Casting shivering shadows
On the houses through the trees,
And the light from a street lamp
Paints a pattern on my wall,
Like the pieces of a puzzle
Or a child's uneven scrawL
Up a narrow flight of stairs
In a narrow Little room,
As I lie upon my bed
In the early evening gloom.
Impaled on my wall
My eyes can dimly see
The pattern of my life
And the puzzle that is me.
>From the moment of my birth
To the instant of my death,
There are Patterns I must follow
Just as I must breathe each breath.
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song performed by Paul Simon
Added by Lucian Velea
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Patterns
The night sets softly
With the hush of falling leaves
Casting shivering shadows
On the houses through the trees
And the light from a street lamp
Paints a pattern on my wall
Like the pieces of a puzzle
Or a child's uneven scrawl
Up a narrow flight of stairs
In a narrow little room
As I lie upon my bed
In the early evening gloom
Impaled on my wall
My eyes can dimly see
The pattern of my life
And the puzzle that is me
From the moment of my birth
To the instant of my death
There are patterns I must follow
Just as I must breathe each breath
[...] Read more
song performed by Simon & Garfunkel
Added by Lucian Velea
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