Quotes about heave, page 8
Cherry Stones for Kate
Tinker, Windsor castle,
Tailor, Savile Row,
Soldier, head of regiment,
Sailor, Heave-ho.
Rich man - very rich man,
Poor man - more's the pity.
Beggar man, beggars belief,
which of you will be the thief?
Tinker Tailor Soldier Sailor
Every marriage is a failure
yet marriage is a common fate.
These are cherry stones for Kate.
Poemcatcher Royal Wedding book, poem collected at StAnza in St Andrews
poem by Sally Evans
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These Things
these things that we support most well
have nothing to do with up,
and we do with them
out of boredom or fear or money
or cracked intelligence;
our circle and our candle of light
being small,
so small we cannot bear it,
we heave out with Idea
and lose the Center:
all wax without the wick,
and we see names that once meant
wisdom,
like signs into ghost towns,
and only the graves are real.
Anonymous submission.
poem by Charles Bukowski
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Why Are You In Heaven?
Why are you in heaven?
Because it was time for me to go
Can you see that I am happy in heaven?
Yes I can see that you are happy in heaven
And I am so jealous that you are in heaven
Why you are in heave?
Because my life ended here on earth
And when I lived on earth I lived a misery of life because I was always Sick
Every single day
And cancer destroyed me and ate me away very fast
That I even died very fast
Without any mercy
poem by Aldo Kraas
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Joy of a baby
Baby girls and baby boys
All they do is make a noise
Waking mothers up at night
Father wakes up in a fright
Then they see the baby cry
Both the parents heave a sigh
They give the baby milk to drink
And down with it they come to think
If only babies could sleep alright
And not wake up in the mid of the night
Daddy would then bring some day
Sweets for baby when at play
Mummy would then sing a song
For the joy of a baby how she longed.
poem by Meena Mustafa
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At the War Office, London.
I
Last year I called this world of gain-givings
The darkest thinkable, and questioned sadly
If my own land could heave its pulse less gladly,
So charged it seemed with circumstance whence springs
The tragedy of things.
II
Yet at that censured time no heart was rent
Or feature blanched of parent, wife, or daughter
By hourly blazoned sheets of listed slaughter;
Death waited Nature's wont; Peace smiled unshent
From Ind to Occident.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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Crack Up A Track to Point a Nowhere
Oh this cool lonely road to nowhere
heave a trapping underneath my skin
it shooves no wrinkle upon rocky thorns
like bluish armament in subtle aims.
Oh this cool lonely trail to nowhere
brings up my feet in tracking still
my feet have anchored so much pain
in place of anger over the chain.
Oh this cool lonely path to nowhere
I see better than a sublime walk upon it
neither the hallowed ground can make a trail
to a lonely man like me walking in ambush keel.
poem by Gil Gregorio
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Builders
They dig and dig to excavate
All their wet hopes... then
To heave their comforts of bricky dreams
Step by step upping... then
To untie their turbanned head
Spread to recline and lunch... then
To chat and sing to the transistor hopefully
Joking for an Ambassador car... then
To complete the stair-flight back with their tools
Heaving their hopes in air for a month or so... then
The mason back to his bungalow
His family back to next excavate hopes and Ambassador car
poem by Indira Renganathan
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I owe all to her
I owe, I owe all to my stirring, blushing lady;
To her tacit eyes, to her lips that savour of thirst;
Her palm, whose sweat my hand lowered to wipe;
Her lean arms, that are captive of my lorn eyes;
Her sturdy and slender waist promising me a nest;
Her love borne thought nudging its way to my path.
I heave in my soul when she hides her warmth.
If at all I live, it is for her, by her and due to her.
She is not the cause of my birth but can be for my death.
01.01.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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At the War Office, London (Affixing the Lists of Killed and Wounded: December, 1899)
I
Last year I called this world of gain-givings
The darkest thinkable, and questioned sadly
If my own land could heave its pulse less gladly,
So charged it seemed with circumstance whence springs
The tragedy of things.
II
Yet at that censured time no heart was rent
Or feature blanched of parent, wife, or daughter
By hourly blazoned sheets of listed slaughter;
Death waited Nature's wont; Peace smiled unshent
From Ind to Occident.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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We Just Know
Central to the nose
Line down
Lips
Tip the balance
Upon red
My own settle
Build
Internal tides
Heave
Flood in
Thermal swathes
Tuning intumescence
Hands firm
Soft eyes mist
Blinding out reality
[...] Read more
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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