Quotes about grasp, page 5
Hymn To Apollo
GOD of the golden bow,
And of the golden lyre,
And of the golden hair,
And of the golden fire,
Charioteer
Of the patient year,
Where---where slept thine ire,
When like a blank idiot I put on thy wreath,
Thy laurel, thy glory,
The light of thy story,
Or was I a worm---too low crawling for death?
O Delphic Apollo!
The Thunderer grasp'd and grasp'd,
The Thunderer frown'd and frown'd;
The eagle's feathery mane
For wrath became stiffen'd---the sound
Of breeding thunder
Went drowsily under,
Muttering to be unbound.
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poem by John Keats
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Time That's Given To You Quickly Goes
Speeding up to catch on fast,
What has long slipped from your grasp...
Is like playing ping pong,
In those yesterdays gone.
You left your saddle to collect upon it dust.
And that boat you use to paddle has rust.
Now...
You believe that you can just float.
And...
You believe that you can just mope.
But...
Time that's given to you isn't slowed,
No...
Time that's given to you quickly goes.
So...
There's no boat for you to slow row.
No!
Time that's given to you quickly goes.
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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My Lady Amaranth
My Lady Amaranth
By: Adam M. Snow
My Lady Amaranth who hides thy face so dear;
such beauty shrouds such mystery-
be it only by fear, fear of thy morning glory.
But it not be a dream to guide thee.
But it be a dream to guide me.
A song sought after thy voice my Lady
thus it be thy eternity sought after.
To grasp thy brokenness, to grasp thy longing;
to wake thyself from mongering.
My Amaranth, my flower which grows in many shades;
be ye my Amaranth that never fades.
Thy voice which echoes my name by night,
thy beauty like starry clusters bright;
my Lady shrouds of mystery and light
be my love, my longing life.
But it's a life that cannot be
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poem by Adam M. Snow
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The Hunt within
I,
Smile, to my audience
Bow before my pain.
Sing the song of loneliness
mask it with a laugh in vain.
If only you could see; this pain does not have to be.
The hands I feel grasp my chest,
The piercing screams inside,
I know that I'm just prey walking in the hunters grasp, asking for the pain.
But although I feel my strain I know it is not in vain,
So I,
Smile, to my audience
Bow before my pain.
Sing the song of loneliness
Mask it with a laugh in vain.
I feel myself slipping, evil greed poisoning the good; maybe I'm just blind.
I'm the hunter in the dark
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poem by April Swan
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No rejection
‘I love cow.’ said I to her
for its feminineness.
‘I too, for its piousness.’ said she.
‘I love doe’s eyes.’ said I further,
intending her own eyes.
‘Yes, for its innocence.’ was her reply.
I averred, ‘I love jasmine.’
Meaning its sexy odour.
She replied, ‘I offer it to the God.’
Desperate in my attempts,
I said, ‘I love women.’
‘Yes, for her motherhood.’
I was greatly confused
If she pretends or prevent,
If she evades or avoids.
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poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Reflections on the Television Set
You can catch her staring at the television glares.
Painting pictures in her mind.
Trying to grasp what a sight she would be
If she were beautiful,
Like them.
[Strayed fingerprints speckle the screen, outlined by a thin layer of dust]
*You can catch her sitting by the ocean.
Keeping rhythm with the ebb, breathing out as it flows.
Big dark brown eyes, a strong contrast to her powdery skin.
A slender waist, forming a perfect figure down to her toes.
All accented by her long dark hair.
Falling below her shoulders, above her waist.,
With light curls forming shadows against the moonlight.
She reaches out to feel the ocean,
Her fingers stopped by glass,
Where a girl can be caught staring at her through the glares.
The screen begins to rot,
Colors fade to black.
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poem by Gabriella Mendoza
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There Is a Dawning to Be Reaped
It is unfolding,
The disclosure...
Of the coming of a new plateau.
And on minds imposing with a showing,
It is time for that grasp of the past to let go.
It is unfolding and unloading,
That which comes to bestow...
A revealing,
Of a new plateau...
To behold for all to know.
And we who live are in the midst of it.
Here to adjust,
And witness this.
It is unfolding...
The disclosure of a new plateau.
It is unfolding to expose,
Those old beliefs to let go.
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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It's Reality That's Making People Real Mad
Status quoters on the ropes with hopes...
They could pull times long passed,
Back to have them in their grasp.
Since realities created,
Slips quickly and fast.
Status quoters on the ropes with hopes...
For a return of conditions,
When they had control of it!
And now they see no benefit,
To pick from empty pockets.
Elected politicians seem to dismiss all their wishes.
And people who had missions to keep all their interests fixed...
Thought paying politicians would keep business as it is.
Oooooooo remember when a hoopla was favored?
Oooooooo remember when this hoopla had flavor,
To savor!
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poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Notting Hill
A beauty queen of silver screen
Of Hollywood came down to London.
Anna by name, in love she had fallen
At first sight with a guy of London,
When she went to his bookstall.
It is not her maiden love.
But it is his; he was in blush.
It was she who kissed him first.
It was she who initiated him.
They had their love and love making.
A scandal spread and she fled.
Anna repaired for an Oscar Award.
She went to see him of her own accord.
She in high pedestal, far to grasp,
He was rational to reject her grasp.
Anna was in terrible pain
From the unexpected slain.
‘Famous though she is,
She too is a girl
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poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Reality
These things alone endure;
'They are the solid facts,' that we may grasp,
Leading us on and upward if we clasp
And hold them firm and sure.
In a wise fable old,
A hero sought a god who could at will
Assume all figures, and the hero still
Loosed not his steadfast hold,
For image foul or fair,
For soft-eyed nymph, who wept with pain and shame,
For threatening fiend or loathsome beast or flame,
For menace or for prayer.
Until the god, outbraved,
Took his own shape divine; not wrathfully,
But wondering, to the hero gave reply,
The knowledge that he craved.
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poem by Emma Lazarus
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