Caesar: Cowards die many times before their deaths; the valiant never taste of death but once.
line from The Tragedy of Julius Caesar, Act II, Scene 2, script by William Shakespeare (1599)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Related quotes
Cowards die many times before their actual deaths.
quote by Julius Caesar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heaven is a space in the heart
He could see
He could sense
He could desire
Compassion.
He came for love
Finding those deserving-
tell me, why does an angel suffer?
Was God really too high above?
With the stomach of immortalism, the Supreme intellect precedes action
'Cowards die a thousand deaths but the valiant taste of death, but once'- Shakespeare.
That human senses
Is what the enemy wants
Without the reign of will.
Many having seen the night
That they have seen
Could do with some superhuman, Kryptonite.
May God take back the senses
Nothing rightly leftover
Sight, sound, taste, smell and taste
And else worthy, of his sense.
Heaven is a space in the heart.
poem by Kamini Arichandran
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The Law
Test the spirits to see whether they are of Yahweh,
And love out of a pure heart.
Do not be cowards in doing what is right,
For cowards die many times before their death.
Deceivableness of sin,
The law is not only laid down for a righteous person but,
Also for the lawless and disobedient
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Caesar: Of all the wonders that I yet have heard, it seems to me most strange that men should fear; seeing that death, a necessary end, will come when it will come.
line from The Tragedy of Julius Caesar, Act II, Scene 2, script by William Shakespeare (1599)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Coward
Only cowards are
residing here.
The cowards only
does not say anything.
The cowards are
not there to take
any decision at
any point of time.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Caesar: Et tu, Brute? — Then fall, Caesar!
line from The Tragedy of Julius Caesar, Act III, Scene 1, script by William Shakespeare (1599)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Father Death Blues
Hey Father Death, I'm flying home
Hey poor man, you're all alone
Hey old daddy, I know where I'm going
Father Death, Don't cry any more
Mama's there, underneath the floor
Brother Death, please mind the store
Old Aunty Death Don't hide your bones
Old Uncle Death I hear your groans
O Sister Death how sweet your moans
O Children Deaths go breathe your breaths
Sobbing breasts'll ease your Deaths
Pain is gone, tears take the rest
Genius Death your art is done
Lover Death your body's gone
Father Death I'm coming home
Guru Death your words are true
Teacher Death I do thank you
For inspiring me to sing this Blues
Buddha Death, I wake with you
Dharma Death, your mind is new
Sangha Death, we'll work it through
Suffering is what was born
Ignorance made me forlorn
Tearful truths I cannot scorn
Father Breath once more farewell
Birth you gave was no thing ill
My heart is still, as time will tell.
poem by Allen Ginsberg
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Death
Death is a gift from heavens above,
Death is something you can not run from,
Death is something you can not regret,
Death is a wish,
A wish you might soon to regret,
Death can scare you,
You can not cheat death's design,
Death is not a game,
Death is something you might not win,
When you number is called you know death is calling for you,
Theres no pain, No more regrets, No more broken hearts,
Someday soon we all will die in deaths arms.
poem by Jennifer Rondeau
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Man and God
Men die; dogs die; flies die; germs die.
They die but duration varies.
News dies, songs die and fashions die.
They die but at different spells.
God makes creatures and their deaths.
God is not sorry for such deaths.
Man made creations and not for their deaths.
Man is nervous for such deaths.
07.06.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Motor Car
The motor car is sullen, like a thing that should not be;
The motor car is master of Smart Society.
’Twas born of sweated genius and collared by a clown;
’Twas planned by Retribution to ride its riders down.
And straight for Caesar’s Column,
It runs to Caesar’s Column,
Last section, Caesar’s Column
To ride its riders down!
The motor car is shame-struck, for greed and misery,
For mad and hopeless self-lust, and the sins that need not be.
The motor car is vicious, for its conscience makes it so,
It aye would smash the victims while it runs the riders low.
And straight for Caesar’s Column,
Its goal is Caesar’s Column,
It longs for Caesar’s Column
To lay its riders low.
The motor car is maddened like a horse that’s had a fright,
The shameful day behind it and the Coming of the Night!
It flees across the country and it flees back to the town
And straight for Caesar’s Column to run its riders down.
And straight for Caesar’s Column,
What ho! for Caesar’s Column!
Hurrah! for Caesar’s Column!
To seal its riders down.
The motor car is reckless like a gambler losing fast;
The motor car’s in terror of the Future—and the Past;
The motor car is worn out and has passed Sin’s boundary by,
And is bound for Caesar’s Column where to pile its riders high.
It’s bound for Caesar’s Column
And marked for Caesar’s Column,
And doomed for Caesar’s Column
To pile its riders high.
The motor car is brainless, and scornful of all tears,
Its dust is in our faces, its giggle in our ears,
Its harsh laugh is the last laugh of the last lost soul alone,
’Tis nearing Caesar’s Column to set self-damned in stone.
Change here for Caesar’s Column!
All out for Caesar’s Column!
Past Hope—and Caesar’s Column
To lodge self-damned in stone.
I don’t know how ’twill happen, or when ’twill come to pass,
But folk shall yet pass sanely by river, tree and grass;
By homesteads and farm wagons, they’ll ride each pleasant mile,
And back from Caesar’s Column where the world went mad awhile.
And back from Caesar’s Column
With lessons from the Column;
Grown sane at Caesar’s Column
To save the world awhile.
poem by Henry Lawson
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50 Times
5o times i have wailed
as if i have been impaled
now i can see
that its really me
lying on a stick and rope yet this is just a dream a horrid one dang you rope
dirty and devoid of hope
dead with festering wounds and cut
caught in a blood soiled rut
a trench i dug for myself now i lie in it myself
and the trap i laid and put my heart out to shrivel on shelf i now lie in both
o the fey imbroglio namely life so fey
forgive me if i inveigh
in verse and rhyme
but i do such things all the time
more then the fifty deaths imparted unto to me
yes seven, some deaths i accepted happily...
(God saved me from this rut and this living torture and i no longer die a single death nor did i ever actually died i fooled myself)
poem by David Knox
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Caesar
Pop/schermerhorn
People of america
I bring you a great army
To preserve peace
In our empire
Throw them to the lions
Darling, let us go to the banouet hall...
There will be a great feast tonight!
Who are these christians?
What is this strange religion?
I ve heard it said they turn the other cheek
Ha ha ha ha
Throw them to the lions
Throw them to the lions
Throw them to the lions
Thumbs down
10 pieces of gold for every man
Hail caesar hail caesar
Grapes from sicily
Silks from asia minor
All the tea in china
Throw them to the lions
Throw them to the lions
Throw them to the lions
Who are these christians?
Turn the other cheek...
Ha ha ha ha ha
Two thumbs down
The christians are restless
Why not let them worship their god?
No one believes in the old gods
How tiresome...attending the rituals
Paying lip service to the portents
Burning incense at their shrine
No one believes in the old gods
Throw them to the lions
Throw them to the lions
Throw them to the lions
Hahahahahaha
The roman empire the glory of rome
Hail all hail
Caesar...caesar...beware beware the ides of march
Who is this man?
Caesar...he is but a soothsayer...he is old
And his brain is addled... pay him no mind!
Throw him to the lions! ha ha ha ha ha ha
Hail caesar! emperor of rome hail caesar!
Caesar...caesar...beware the ides of march
Eh? ! who is this man?
Caesar...he is but an old soothsayer...addled in his brain
Pay him no mind
Throw him to the lions! ha ha ha ha
Throw him to the lions!
No one believes in the old gods...
The empire is tired...caesar will rest now.
We depart for my chambers
Come darling
Yes caesar
Caesar will rest now
Hail rome hail caesar hail
Put him in the fiery pit
Ha ha ha ha!
song performed by by Iggy Pop
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sadness Of These Deaths
THE SADNESS OF THESE DEATHS
The sadness of these deaths
These are not my deaths
But they are deaths
The sadness of these deaths
Oh God What is this world for
All these people gone
The sadness of these deaths
poem by Shalom Freedman
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To The Funeral
I came home to the funeral,
Liking the battles of weeping,
For the burial had no impulse,
A little man was about to see us.
He altered the scene for times
That altered us as people of death,
The death was supposed to be wrong,
That death altered the pleasure.
May we see black colours
And then white colours of surrender,
The matter was to sympathise with,
Starting to last for a decade.
Let his return be to our eyes,
And let the kitchen come for food;
The whole battle with the deaths
Brought a doctrine of belief.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Death' is when 'You' milk 'It
'Death' is when 'You' milk 'It' and milk it, milked
and you drive it, forever and ever,
upward and upward and never down ward, insane.
Death is two silky hands covered in hot burning oil,
that start at the base and death loves to covers each lamp.
While the flame burns inside the brown paper bag exposed.
Pushing death deep without compassion through the pale
full moon, as death walks around, ignoring your cries.
Heaven for death and coming so close to death you find.
Death makes you come over to your friends house once
again, in your mind while those pearls in the bag,
are laid up on the shelf that you share, with deaths pink pig.
Death moves both horns closer, driven unforgiving together,
one here and one there, ever closer, untiring you are laid out as art.
Death knows when the sky is on fire, say it again and again.
Death and truth, death is like an epileptic seizure,
when more than those silky soft hands,
never moved all the way down,
and a river of hot molten 'death' sprays,
in your hair each black day.
Death is as proud..and as proud of you, Death is,
as you splash it around, all about town,
Death and 'Death's' protein mask so tight, you peel it off.
Death was just the tip of the ice burg and death melted it,
with death's thick and full, red buried, unyielding lips.
'You' love to have your fun with death, as you milk it over
and over, the milk never expires, death never tires,
and many,
many are deaths executions from death's weepy milked eye.
poem by Is It Poetry
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When You Speak In Whispers
when you speak
in whispers
to me
like some
kind
of vespers
like some
code
of the cicadas
i have
actually
second
thoughts
listeni ng
i am
afraid
i always
remember
the kind
of deaths
fit
for my
godfather
lots of
little deaths
and i
ask, which
one
which one
is the
happy death?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I'll be knocking at deaths door
I will be knocking on the door
Knock knock knock
Knocking at deaths door
Begging to be let in.
I'm near to deaths door
An overdose
And slit wrists
Along besides me.
Knock knock
Please let me in
deaths door
Please open
Please let me in
I hate my life
I cant cope
I'm desperate
plase let me in
Deaths door has opened
Now I've left it all behind
I'm in deaths world
Im gone
Im free
poem by Amy Louise Kerswell
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Innocent Times
By eric clapton and marcy levy
I was a child born so free;
It seems that time has put age on me.
And when I grow old, will I once again find
All of those sweet, innocent times?
I was a child born without fear;
It seems that time has placed me here.
With no freedom to laugh, theres more reason to cry.
I really miss those innocent times.
I used to feel joy in my soul,
But now my sorrow has taken control.
As I look around I pray, lord be kind;
Just one more taste of those innocent times.
As I look around I pray, lord be kind;
Just one more taste of those innocent times,
Just one more taste of those innocent times.
song performed by by Eric Clapton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Life
I made a posie, while the day ran by:
Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie
My life within this band.
But time did becken to the flowers, and they
By noon most cunningly did steal away
And wither'd in my hand.
My hand was next to them, and then my heart:
I took, without more thinking, in good part
Times gentle admonition:
Who did so sweetly deaths sad taste convey
Making my minde to smell my fatall day;
Yet sugring the suspicion.
Farewell deare flowers, sweetly your time ye spent,
Fit, while ye liv'd, for smell or ornament,
And after death for cures.
I follow straight without complaints or grief,
Since if my sent be good, I care not, if
It be as short as yours.
poem by George Herbert
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