Quotes about unruly, page 6
Fragment at Tunbridge-Wells
FOR He, that made, must new create us,
Ere Seneca, or Epictetus,
With all their serious Admonitions,
Can, for the Spleen, prove good Physicians.
The Heart's unruly Palpitation
Will not be laid by a Quotation;
Nor will the Spirits move the lighter
For the most celebrated Writer.
Sweats, Swoonings, and convulsive Motions
Will not be cur'd by Words, and Notions.
Then live, old Brown! with thy Chalybeats,
Which keep us from becoming Idiots.
At Tunbridge let us still be Drinking,
Though 'tis the Antipodes to Thinking:
Such Hurry, whilst the Spirit's flying,
Such Stupefaction, when 'tis dying;
Yet these, and not sententious Papers,
Must brighten Life, and cure the Vapours
poem by Anne Kingsmill Finch
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Affliction (III)
My heart did heave, and there came forth, 'O God'!
By that I knew that thou wast in the grief,
To guide and govern it to my relief,
Making a sceptre of the rod:
Hadst thou not had thy part,
Sure the unruly sigh had broke my heart.
But since thy breath gave me both life and shape,
Thou know'st my tallies; and when there's assigned
So much breath to a sigh, what's then behind?
Or if some years with it escape,
The sigh then only is
A gale to bring me sooner to my bliss.
Thy life on earth was grief, and thou art still
Constant unto it, making it to be
A point of honour now to grieve in me,
And in thy members suffer ill.
They who lament one cross,
Thou dying daily, praise thee to thy loss.
poem by George Herbert
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We Can Finally Have that Peace
Perhaps it is a blessing,
Their racist ways have separated them.
At least it is clear...
Once they completely remove themselves,
From that which they find insignificant.
We can finally have that peace,
That will not be 'disturbed'
By their perfectness...
Others do not project,
By the marketing of values based on standards
Corrupt and void of respect.
We will then also not be succumbed,
By the pouting of their unruly children
Refusing to snack on milk and cookies dispatched
Because they have been unlatched from a hatching...
With concepts that led them to believe
Life is to be lived ther way!
Regardless of who bleeds.
Gone will be ALL spoiled tantrums.
And divisions of sick and slick politics!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Faustus
The spell was broken. All that evil lay in shards
on the floor: unseasonable scarves
shed, unruly, along the backs of furnitures
Once-fiery little stones cooled and quenched underwater
each incantation unsung, each
dance undanced as if they'd never been
danced and sung. Exhortations
into the river flung
while on the banks the reeds
hiss-dress and kiss like departing lovers. Va!
Bards, dear, are not to be taken so easily.
Goodness has finally won
at the cost of so much sweat and candle-sheen;
from this known cosmos everywhere withdrawn
the keening demons of yore-never to return.
Never? Then why that path of stars
sowed, conveniently, to guide back tired feet-
those wailing demons that disdain defeat.
poem by Morgan Michaels
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My Hero Bares His Nerves
My hero bares his nerves along my wrist
That rules from wrist to shoulder,
Unpacks the head that, like a sleepy ghost,
Leans on my mortal ruler,
The proud spine spurning turn and twist.
And these poor nerves so wired to the skull
Ache on the lovelorn paper
I hug to love with my unruly scrawl
That utters all love hunger
And tells the page the empty ill.
My hero bares my side and sees his heart
Tread; like a naked Venus,
The beach of flesh, and wind her bloodred plait;
Stripping my loin of promise,
He promises a secret heat.
He holds the wire from this box of nerves
Praising the mortal error
[...] Read more
poem by Dylan Thomas
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This is what summer means to me
A warm summer day
without a cloud in sight
A baby bird
Taking its first flight
This is what summer means to me
Trees full of leaves
Giving me shade
My dad and I
Fishing in the glade
This is what summer means to me
Watching my daughter
Play on her slide
And how She will never
Want to come inside
This is what summer means to me
See how she enjoys the day
Until the very last
[...] Read more
poem by Jim Milks
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Blanket
Let not vanish the oversea service
With wool soft,
As the flash of fire-worms.
On the blue blanket,
‘Made in Korea’ printed,
Made Korean hands immortal,
But ‘SHEEP’ written nowhere.
As December threatened with mist,
Blanket kept me warm.
My soul shuddered a night,
Shaken by the fever storm,
And I crept tired,
Under blanket refugee like,
Then a Paracetamol pill lulled me.
Under the woolly blanket,
Bloom dreams amorous
At silvered fragrant night:
Entangled tender branches,
[...] Read more
poem by Fabiyas M V
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A Youth of Janice Bronwyn Linden era and of 1976
The difference between a youth of Janice Bronwyn Linden era
And the youth of 1976
1976 Their daily bread was not yet sovereignty
And singing not yet uhuru
They heard a smell of injustice in old uniform
Rebellious against it everywhere and anywere!
They fought injustice with their lives
they fought every inhuman out of human
A youth of Janice Bronwyn Linden era
They sing not yet developed
And they have a freedom in their lifetime.
The streets are as they where in 1976
And the dust is still unsettled.
I sense a feeling of corruption, maqhabane!
Unruly against all those championing liberation
And defy them against all odds!
[...] Read more
poem by Jacques Sprenkie Mateya
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A brain or brainless
A battle of brain is never won
it has weighted as heavy ton
it can't be wasted or simple gone
it is to be kept in mind or borne
A brainy child can shine from the beginning
it is long and powerful inning
There will be equal morning and evening
colorful life with bright shining
There is nothing to hide and seek
it is unpardonable weapon of the weak
A person has no power to speak
he can't ride a ladder and reach to the peak
Honey bees and butterflies too work very hard
it is job of brain to look always forward
what brainless can do other than to polish
he has nothing to as he is already finished
[...] Read more
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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The Benefits of Remaining Patient
Accustomed to doing everything at the last minute,
May work for those choosing to make an impression...
Of showing an appearance,
But not necessarily interested in the event...
With a participating effort to promote it from the beginning.
These kinds of people just want to show up and bow.
And the ones approaching a crisis occurring around them,
In the same manner...
May find themselves running from a flashmob,
Of unruly children...
Caring less about the new playground to appease them.
Or the hotdogs and hip hop music,
Thrown together to unify the neighborhood to have that picnic.
They've grown sick of watching the shuffling of feet.
Especially from those with no backbone to lead.
And no minutes left to explain the benefits,
Of remaining patient.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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