Quotes about helen, page 7
Prettier Than Helen.
Janice you thought
prettier than Helen
more refined
whose voice
was softly spoken
as if her words
had been fresh baked
in an oven
in her mouth
and her hair fair
and well groomed
but Helen had
that down to earthiness
that brought her
closer to you
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poem by Terry Collett
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Helen of Tyre
What phantom is this that appears
Through the purple mist of the years,
Itself but a mist like these?
A woman of cloud and of fire;
It is she; it is Helen of Tyre,
The town in the midst of the seas.
O Tyre! in thy crowded streets
The phantom appears and retreats,
And the Israelites that sell
Thy lilies and lions of brass,
Look up as they see her pass,
And murmur "Jezebel!"
Then another phantom is seen
At her side, in a gray gabardine,
With beard that floats to his waist;
It is Simon Magus, the Seer;
He speaks, and she pauses to hear
The words he utters in haste.
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poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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An Angel's Touch
It was Wednesday morning service
in the church next to the school
and Helen sat next to you
in the old wooden pew
her eyes peering
behind her thick lens glasses
at you and she whispered
your mum's meeting my mum
in the street market after school
and then we're going to my house
for a cup of tea
and I can show you
my doll's house
that my dad made
out of an orange box
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poem by Terry Collett
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The Jew's Daughter
The rain rins doun through Mirry-land toune,
Sae dois it doune the Pa:
Sae dois the lads of Mirry-land toune,
Quhan they play at the ba'.
Than out and cam the Jewis dochter,
Said, 'Will ye cum in and dine?'
'I winnae cum in, I cannae cum in,
Without my play-feres nine.'
Scho powd an apple reid and white,
To intice the zong thing in:
Scho powd an apple white and reid,
And that the sweit bairne did win.
And scho has taine out a little penknife,
And low down by her gair;
Scho has twin'd the zong thing and his life;
A word he nevir spak mair.
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poem by Anonymous Olde English
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Peanut Butter: My Old Friend.....[Personal; Food]
I had a peanut butter sandwich today
which made me think of all the way....
sssss my life has been touched by that
stick-to-your-mouth sludge of peanut fat.
Not 'touched' in the sense that's it's shaped my life,
but when I open a jar and take up a knife
or a spoon, I can picture times of enjoy-
ment as an adult consumer and as a boy.
Of course I'm lucky in that I generally enjoy food
even if I'm in a rare bad mood.
I assume pb was a common snack in my childhood,
though I'm not sure it was. My memory is not that good.
But I do remember my Mom made cookies from it;
I helped her. And the first cooled cookie I'm sure I bit,
paying some attention to the crisscross pattern on top,
or the sometimes-present big chocolate drop.
And when I visited my childhood neighbor, Helen, it's a good bet
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poem by Bri Edwards
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An Epic Woman
Woman tell me your thoughts
Shall I be the fool and you the teacher?
Am I your Adonis, or do you see a toad.
Chivalry demands that I am your knight without reward,
For my kin is that of Beowulf and Lancelot,
Dragon slayers, so command me.
I am woman I need no gesture, for wisdom lies in
Raindrops hung out to dry on silken cobwebs.
And in the beggar who is happy, while his king sleeps in fear
For my kin, blessed me with a rare beauty,
My reflection rivals that of the queen Of Sheba
My thoughts entwined with the warrior queen Boadicea,
My tenderness lies in queen Amyitis and her Hanging gardens of Babylon
My passion is that of Cleopatra for Mark Anthony,
And my faith equals that of Mary
So beware young Jason, speak from the heart,
Or you will summon queen Kriemhides in me,
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poem by Steven Cooke
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Helen and You and the Bombed Out Factory
Ought we to go in there?
Helen asked
as you both stood outside
the bombed out factory
off Rockingham Street
sure we should
you said
but it's got
STAY OUT signs
on the big doors
she said
you looked at her
with her thick lens glasses
and her hair tied in plaits
nibbling her finger in anxiety
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poem by Terry Collett
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The Traveller And The Farm-Maiden
HE.
CANST thou give, oh fair and matchless maiden,
'Neath the shadow of the lindens yonder,--
Where I'd fain one moment cease to wander,--
Food and drink to one so heavy laden?
SHE.
Wouldst thou find refreshment, traveller weary,
Bread, ripe fruit and cream to meet thy wishes,--
None but Nature's plain and homely dishes,--
Near the spring may soothe thy wanderings dreary.
HE.
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poem by Johann Wolfgang von Goethe
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San Stefano
(A Ballad of the Bold Menelaus)
It was morning at St. Helen's, in the great and gallant days,
And the sea beneath the sun glittered wide,
When the frigate set her courses, all a-shimmer in the haze
And she hauled her cable home and took the tide.
She'd a right fighting company, three hundred men and more,
Nine and forty guns in tackle running free;
And they cheered her from the shore for her colours at the fore,
When the bold _Menelaus_ put to sea.
She'd a right fighting company, three hundred men and more,
Nine and forty guns in tackle running free;
And they cheered her from the shore for her colours at the fore,
When the bold _Menelaus_ put to sea.
She was clear of Monte Cristo, she was heading for the land,
When she spied a pennant red and white and blue;
They were foemen, and they knew it, and they'd half a league in hand,
But she flung aloft her royals, and she flew.
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poem by Sir Henry Newbolt
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Five Poems From “Helen: A Revision”
Nothing is known about Helen but her voice
Strange glittering sparks
Lighting no fires but what is reechoed
Rechorded, set on the icy sea.
All history is one, as all the North Pole is one
Magnetic, music to play with, ice
That has had to do with vision
And each one of us, naked.
Partners. Naked.
* * *
Helen: A Revision
ZEUS: It is to be assumed that I do not exist while most people in the vision assume that I do exist. This is to be one of the extents of meaning between the players and the audience. I have to talk like this because I am the lord of both kinds of sky—and I don't mean your sky and their sky because they are signs, I mean the bright sky and the burning sky. I have no intention of showing you my limits. The players in this poem are players. They have taken their parts not to deceive you [or me for that matter] but because they have been paid in love or coin to be players. I have known for a long time that there is not a fourth wall in a play. I am called Zeus and I know this.
THERSITES: [Running out on the construction of the stage.] The fourth wall is not as important as you think it is.
ZEUS: [Disturbed but carrying it off like a good Master of Ceremonial.] Thersites is involuntary. [He puts his arm around him.] I could not play a part if I were not a player.
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poem by Jack Spicer
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