Pompeii
The giant slept, and pigmies at his feet,
Like children moulding monuments of snow,
Piled stone on stone, mapped market-place and street,
And saw their temples column-girdled grow:
And, slowly as the gradual glaciers grope
Their way resistless, so Pompeii crept,
Year by long year, across the shelving slope
Toward the sea:—and still the giant slept.
Belted with gardens, where the shivered glass
Of falling fountains broke the pools’ repose,
As they had been asleep upon the grass,
A myriad villas stretched themselves and rose:
And down her streets, grown long and longer still,
Grooving the new-laid stones, the chariots swept,
And of a sudden burst upon the hill
Vast amphitheatres. Still the giant slept.
With liquid comment of the wooing doves,
With wanton flowers, sun-conjured from the loam,
Grew the white city of illicit loves,
Hostess of all the infamy of Rome!
A marble harlot, scornful, pale, and proud,
Her Circean court on ruin’s brink she kept,
Lulled by the adoration of the crowd
To lethal stupor. Still the giant slept.
Incense-encircled, pacing day by day
Through temple-courts reëchoant with song,
Sin-stunned and impercipient, on her way
She dragged her languid loveliness along.
With lips whereon a dear damnation hung,
With dark, dream-clouded eyes that never wept,
Flawlessly fair, the faulty fair among,
She kissed and cursed:—and still the giant slept.
Here, for a mute reminder of her shame,
Her ruins gape out baldly from their tomb;
A city naked, shorn of all but name,
Blinking and blind from all her years of gloom:
A beldam who was beauty, crying alms
With leprous lips that mouthe their prayers in vain;
Her deaf destroyer to her outstretched palms
Respondeth not. The giant sleeps again!
poem by Guy Wetmore Carryl from The Garden of Years and Other Poems (1900)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
America is embarrassed
Neither this nor that by race but mixed,
Neither this nor that by faith but mixed,
What else must the giant be to keep peace?
The giant’s been crowned; the giant’s been reined.
(The Nobel Prize for the world peace for year 2009 went to Mr. Obama, President of the U.S.A.; an Indian’s view)
15.10.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Giant and the Monster
Come to think about the time I was a young rant;
The universe: all seemed far away, big and wide,
That made me like a foot in the crowd on my side,
Holding the man's hand, my father was a giant.
Then an old man that I'd never met came for a visit;
Wore a wrinkled skin, as he trembled to hold his wicker;
At fifty-six then; I wished I would to die at fifty-six;
Once a toothless smile posed Grandpa was a monster.
My existence in to this world at the age of sixteen;
All seemed right; I'd never been wrong back then;
Than that little mind of mine who knew bit to scorn;
So as to the giant and to the monster, I grew a horn.
This one quote 'What comes around, it goes around'
Has come to haunt me as the giant or a monster bound;
In their likeness, I'm now the purest mirror of my sin,
And mystified no more than watching where I have been.
On the same road, long time ago, it gotten nearer;
I passed fifty-six and I wished to live much longer,
Than the monster, but God forbids, I wish to be sane;
Or equal to the giant, who went to sleep at eighty-seven.
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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Heartbeat
Only mouths are we. Who sings the distant heart
which safely exists in the center of all things?
His giant heartbeat is diverted in us
into little pulses. And his giant grief
is, like his giant jubilation, far too
great for us. And so we tear ourselves away
from him time after time, remaining only
mouths. But unexepectedly and secretly
the giant heartbeat enters our being,
so that we scream ----,
and are transformed in being and in countenance.
Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming
poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
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The Miniature Woman
The Blue-Eyed Giant, the Miniature Woman
and the Honeysuckle
He was a blue-eyed giant,
He loved a miniature woman.
The woman's dream was of a miniature house
with a garden where honeysuckle grows
in a riot of colours
that sort of house.
The giant loved like a giant,
and his hands were used to such big things
that the giant could not
make the building,
could not knock on the door
of the garden where the honeysuckle grows
in a riot of colours
at that house.
He was a blue-eyed giant,
he loved a miniature woman,
a mini miniature woman.
The woman was hungry for comfort
and tired of the giant's long strides.
And bye bye off she went to the embraces of a rich dwarf with a garden where the honeysuckle grows
in a riot of colours
that sort of house.
Now the blue-eyed giant realizes,
a giant isn't even a graveyard for love:
in the garden where the honeysuckle grows
in a riot of colours
that sort of house...
poem by Nazim Hikmet
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Giant of Africa
Blessed thy be
among the contries
so great and powerful
rich in culture
and natural endowment
truly, you are the giant of Africa
Hm! giant of Africa
you should be ashamed
for been called the giant of Africa
Isn't our flag green white green?
while green stand for food
and white for peace?
but now, green stand for famine
and white for war
Giant of Africa
heh heh heh
visa now becomes your lord
the land where
nigerian love to live
still, the tomtom of revolution
beats in our heart
for our ancestor to judge
both the good and the evil.
poem by Mimiko moruf oluwakayode
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A Dream, After Reading Dante's Episode Of Paolo And Francesca
As Hermes once took to his feathers light,
When lulled Argus, baffled, swooned and slept,
So on a Delphic reed, my idle spright
So played, so charmed, so conquered, so bereft
The dragon-world of all its hundred eyes;
And seeing it asleep, so fled away,
Not to pure Ida with its snow-cold skies,
Nor unto Tempe, where Jove grieved a day;
But to that second circle of sad Hell,
Where in the gust, the whirlwind, and the flaw
Of rain and hail-stones, lovers need not tell
Their sorrows. Pale were the sweet lips I saw,
Pale were the lips I kissed, and fair the form
I floated with, about that melancholy storm.
poem by John Keats
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Sonnet. A Dream, After Reading Dante's Episode Of Paulo And Francesca
As Hermes once took to his feathers light,
When lulled Argus, baffled, swooned and slept,
So on a Delphic reed, my idle spright
So played, so charmed, so conquered, so bereft
The dragon-world of all its hundred eyes;
And seeing it asleep, so fled away--
Not to pure Ida with its snow-cold skies,
Nor unto Tempe, where Jove grieved a day;
But to that second circle of sad Hell,
Where in the gust, the whirlwind, and the flaw
Of rain and hail-stones, lovers need not tell
Their sorrows. Pale were the sweet lips I saw,
Pale were the lips I kissed, and fair the form
I floated with, about that melancholy storm.
poem by John Keats
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Livin In The City
Slam blam glam, squeaky jam.
Ram, blam, slam, about a gram, sketchy scam.Police ma'am.
Make a livin to be dyin in the city.
Hand to hand, Wham bam, Super Cam, Euber damned. sticky jam.
Make a livin to be dyin in this giant, cold hard, here's my card,
ain't nothin but a glass shard, city.
What a pity, not lookin all too pretty, down to the nitty gritty.
Ain't a livin to be dyin in the city.
You're flyin blind, two steps behind, you're in a bind, no peace of mind, done lost your mind, it's a pity. in this daily grind. Make your livin to be dyin in this giant
city.
Glam, slam, scam, Superman, Stan The Man, sleazy Sam, Flim flam sham.
Ain't a livin to be dyin in this giant, hot shot, what sup,
great Scott, burnt up, city.
poem by Buddy Bee Anthony
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On A Dream
As Hermes once took to his feathers light
When lulled Argus, baffled, swoon'd and slept,
So on a Delphic reed my idle spright
So play'd, so charm'd, so conquer'd, so bereft
The dragon-world of all its hundred eyes,
And, seeing it asleep, so fled away:
Not to pure Ida with its snow-cold skies,
Nor unto Tempe where Jove griev'd a day;
But to that second circle of sad hell,
Where 'mid the gust, the whirlwind, and the flaw
Of rain and hail-stones, lovers need not tell
Their sorrows. Pale were the sweet lips I saw,
Pale were the lips I kiss'd, and fair the form
I floated with, about that melancholy storm.
poem by John Keats
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A dwarf standing on the shoulders of a giant may see farther than a giant himself.
quote by Robert Burton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bible Bob
Bible Bob in his bib overalls
and his mid-chest beard
his bible and flag
went to preach to the prospectors of gold
he rode on the shoulders of a giant named Jerimiah
who with one arm conquered all arms at Petaluma
and Bible Bob scolded the gold diggers
the lillies who passed through the field
with short skirts and too much make-up
for which they were sure to hell damned
and through the megaphone crisply
his fire and brim stone drew laughter
as the giant let him down to earth
for as he rode on the shoulders of a giant
his union flap remained insecure
and one full buttock of Bob's
was exposed to the crowd he had drawn
and Jerimiah held the megaphone
while Bible Bob buttoned his flap
poem by George Murdock
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He was definitely a father figure for all of us. Once you were a Giant, you were always a Giant.
quote by George Martin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Post festum
A man in coat of ice arrayed
Stood up once by the Arctic Ocean;
The whole earth shook with proud emotion
And honor to the giant paid.
A king came, to him climbing up,
An Order in his one hand bearing:
'Who great become, this sign are wearing.'
-The growling giant said but 'Stop!'
The frightened king fell down again,
Began to weep with features ashen:
'My Order is in this rude fashion
Refused by just the greatest men.
'My dear man, take it, 't is but fit,
Of your king's honor be the warder;
On your breast greater grows the Order,
And we who bear it, too, by it.'-
The Arctic giant was too good,-
A foible oft ascribed to giants,
Who foolish trust in little clients,-
He took it,-while we mocking stood.
But all the kings crept to him then,
And each his Order brought, to know it
Thereby renewed and greater, so it
Gave rank to needy noblemen.
Honi soit
… and all the rest;
Soon Orders covered all his breast.
But oh! they greater grew no tittle,
And he grew so confounded little.
poem by Bjørnstjerne Bjørnson
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0127 A Poem About Gertrude Stein
a poem slept
the poem slept
nobody knew it slept
it did not know itself that it slept
it slept like a baby
and that was refreshing
it refreshed itself before it was born
as babies do
it did not then know itself that it slept
but when it woke up it knew that it had slept
while it slept this poem had a dream
it was a good dream
it did not know that it was a dream
it dreamed itself awake
but when it woke up it remembered
that it had had a dream
it remembered that it was a dream
when it was awake
when it woke up
it remembered itself
and dressed appropriately
and told itself to friends and strangers
it told itself the same way to friends and strangers
that was its duty because it was
it did not mind whether they were friends or strangers
because it was a poem
I know
I know this
I know this because
I know this because there is a because
I know this because the poem told me
I know this because the poem told me it had a name
A poem about Gertrude Stein
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Modern Love I: By This He Knew She Wept
By this he knew she wept with waking eyes:
That, at his hand's light quiver by her head,
The strange low sobs that shook their common bed
Were called into her with a sharp surprise,
And strangled mute, like little gaping snakes,
Dreadfully venomous to him. She lay
Stone-still, and the long darkness flowed away
With muffled pulses. Then, as midnight makes
Her giant heart of Memory and Tears
Drink the pale drug of silence, and so beat
Sleep's heavy measure, they from head to feet
Were moveless, looking through their dead black years,
By vain regret scrawled over the blank wall.
Like sculptured effigies they might be seen
Upon their marriage-tomb, the sword between;
Each wishing for the sword that severs all.
poem by George Meredith
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The Dorchester Giant
THERE was a giant in time of old,
A mighty one was he;
He had a wife, but she was a scold,
So he kept her shut in his mammoth fold;
And he had children three.
It happened to be an election day,
And the giants were choosing a king;
The people were not democrats then,
They did not talk of the rights of men,
And all that sort of thing.
Then the giant took his children three,
And fastened them in the pen;
The children roared; quoth the giant, "Be still!"
And Dorchester Heights and Milton Hill
Rolled back the sound again.
Then he brought them a pudding stuffed with plums,
As big as the State-House dome;
Quoth he, "There's something for you to eat;
So stop your mouths with your 'lection treat,
And wait till your dad comes home."
So the giant pulled him a chestnut stout,
And whittled the boughs away;
The boys and their mother set up a shout.
Said he, "You're in, and you can't get out,
Bellow as loud as you may."
Off he went, and he growled a tune
As he strode the fields along
'Tis said a buffalo fainted away,
And fell as cold as a lump of clay,
When he heard the giant's song.
But whether the story's true or not,
It isn't for me to show;
There's many a thing that's twice as queer
In somebody's lectures that we hear,
And those are true, you know.
. . . . . .
What are those lone ones doing now,
The wife and the children sad?
Oh, they are in a terrible rout,
Screaming, and throwing their pudding about,
Acting as they were mad.
They flung it over to Roxbury hills,
They flung it over the plain,
And all over Milton and Dorchester too
Great lumps of pudding the giants threw;
They tumbled as thick as rain.
. . . . .
Giant and mammoth have passed away,
For ages have floated by;
The suet is hard as a marrow-bone,
And every plum is turned to a stone,
But there the puddings lie.
And if, some pleasant afternoon,
You'll ask me out to ride,
The whole of the story I will tell,
And you shall see where the puddings fell,
And pay for the punch beside.
poem by Oliver Wendell Holmes
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Ocean Park Hongkong
it was not the Panda
or that giant jellyfish glowing with it stings inside that giant aquarium,
no, no, not the dancing dolphins
not the friendly sea lions,
not the thrill of the gigantic hot air balloon,
i must admit it was you who was not there with me.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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While You Were Sleeping
Last Night while you were sleeping,
Did you know that I was wide awake,
On my side, at your side
Waiting for morning to break.
I watched as you slept,
As the dreams enter in your soul
Then through my eyes, I realized
That truly, I love you so.
Last night, while you were sleeping.
Last Night while you were asleep
Did you know too, that I was there
On your bed, also laid my head
Along with my soul and prayer.
Lying quietly at your side
As I have done the nights before
To be with you, my love so true
Could any man ask for any more.
Last Night while you were asleep.
Last night while you slept,
As waiting for morning to come,
While at your side, I laid that night
While dreading the coming of the sun.
As always with you I was there
Even when morning began to arise
But then again it came, as so did the pain
As I said goodbye to another night.
Last night while you slept.
Last night while you did sleep
You never knew that you weren't alone,
As when you awoke not one word did I spoke
As on the couch I slept from which I never roamed.
Upon my side there I solemnly laid
Being so still, and quite as a mouse
Not to make a sound that might give my secret away,
I wandered; did you too feel lonely in this house.
Last night while you had slept.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
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7/11 Mumbai
in the deep recess
far away from the light
lives a neanderthral.
a giant in size,
mind firmly lent
to the nether of ideas
and morals,
the neanderthral
was
but human in shape.
the neanderthral
got envious of a tiny
tree,
'lop it i must',
he said to himself.
tree and i cannot
stay together.
so decided
he took an oversized
sword,
aimed at the tree
and cut it into two.
but
of
the smart tree,
the felled part raised itself
and
the same tree stood again.
surprised,
but
angrier
the neanderthral
second time
dealt a mightier swipe.
again
cut but again
re-joined,
the giant was confused,
dismayed.
twice
repeated the murder,
up
again rose the tree,
livelier, more vibrant
and
challenging the ogre
for another swoop.
disheartened,
but
nevertheless
wising
upto the situation
the giant
conceding defeat
named the tree
Mumbai.
the city that refuses
to call it quits.
poem by Samyak Jain
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A Tale Of Winter
A Tale Of Winter
my wings of ice
flutter twice
the snow yet so white
my gleaming sun hovering at great height
silver birds gliding gently
icy snow flakes falling silently
my giant wings of frost
a frozen pond that once was lost
frozen plants shining in the sun
snow balls flying, oh what fun
a giant snowman standing in the wood
children playing like good friends should
a coal fire burning bright
a red robin about to take flight
my new sledge with only one splinter
i will never forget my beautiful tale of winter
poem by James Chaplin
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