As the wound inflames the finger, so the thought inflames the mind.
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As the wound inflames the finger, so thought inflames the mind.
Poet’s House Disorderly
What inflames a poet’s mind?
Sullied notion or inspiration?
Diverse thought or like kind?
Poetic soul asks no vacation!
poem by Ray Lucero
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Music inflames temperament.
quote by Jim Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Opposition always inflames the enthusiast, never converts him.
quote by Friedrich Schiller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Absence cools moderate passions but inflames violent ones.
Liar, Liar Pants On Fire
Liar, liar we see the fire
coming from your mouth each day.
The fire that burns the truth
as we struggle along our way,
the fire that inflames the heart of those
that are tired of the words you speak.
So many deceptions that come our way
day after day, week after week.
Liar, liar, pants on fire
what will it take to see you on a burning pyre?
Never a trustworthy thought do you keep.
How can you close your eyes and sleep?
It has become your way of living.
You say nothing that's worth forgiving.
For you're a liar, liar
with your pants on fire.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Words Not Enough
I can sit and write and write,
sit and write all night.
And none of my words can convey to you
my feelings of delight.
For love is centered right in my heart
and inflames my sense of you.
And the pen and words are insufficient
for only expressions are in view.
For I'd gladly lay my pen aside
and let my fingers touch your hand.
And all of the writing I have done
could never be as grand.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Fire, Fire
Fire, Fire
in hell do they burn?
Fire, Fire
here's my concern.
I cannot think
of hell right now,
only of the fire
that burns somehow
inside my brain
that inflames my senses
and heats up
seeing all pretenses
that prevail in this world,
Not the fires
of the underworld.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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She Is Not Charming But..!
She is not charming
but has a very kindly heart;
sows seeds of love in my heart
but yearns for the flower,
that is my heart.
I have no mind
to receive her golden heart;
nor any design to present
my unworthy heart to her;
I told her, 'you are my sibling! '
She left all broken.
Another girl with no grandeur of heart
but with glitter and sparkle all over her body,
with a condescending look
goes avoiding me, twitching her face;
I run after her;
Think of holding fast her legs;
'The sibling' philosophy
conveniently I set aside!
Enslave myself to external charms
that batters my reason to numbness
and inflames my lust to furious fires!
O God..tell me-
Why have you left in men
such a flimsy ungraceful heart?
poem by Sundaram Chandrakalaadhar
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Blue Sky
There is a blue sky that shudders
And turns black after exhaustion;
The fires are on, in the childhood,
Many of these days are like fountains.
Loathing the men of mathematical qualities
Is nearly making me shudder,
For the shunning of the sun is huge.
Underneath the sky of the star is a planet,
And the soil is an open field of commerce.
Let the black mountains outshine others
In their blackness, so that fire of igneous rocks
Inflames our heart and speaks mathematically high.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Civil War- Still Alive
I see the rebel flag
flyin' high in the air.
For the south's still fightin' the civil war
most everywhere.
The heart of Dixie
is still ensconced
in bigotry and inequality.
It inflames my senses and sensibility.
Sure there are sweet magnolias
and southern hospitality.
But right up the street from that
lives inherited bigotry.
They live side by side
and try their best to hide
built up resentment from so long ago.
Will they ever take those flags down
or continue with the old banjo
playin' songs for the white as snow?
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The beauty of my mind
there is nobody beautiful like you in the whole heaven
Noone can make me crazy in way like you,
i want everything change if i could back reverse again
i want to love you, i do not want to anathematize you,
only you can kill me the single finger that is my mind
only you can heal the wound that I have in mind,
perhaps, if i do not see you. i will lose you
someone of my dream O! someone of my mind,
MaryanGeta
poem by Khushi throne
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Agenda's of the journey
Agenda's of the Journey
Dust dominates the horizon,
Seldom to the season have I withered under the morning star?
The bridge of hope stands firm today,
My chest fills with air!
The path cracks, gash, wounded over time,
If I was to have know the outcome,
I would prefer to journey the bottom of the sea,
Yet,
She inflames the currents,
Thrusting back waves on a raft,
Against the ocean, against the outcome, under the morning star,
She causes my face to invade with a smile
Progressive Girls
We read the progressive testament
promoting the cause of the feminist.
Hatred bites males back black rage
inflames from every inflamed page.
A retaliatory war waged
on half of gender humanity.
Is ravenous spite philosophy
taught by no wisely saged.
Although when we review
sickening crimes silently sadly female suffered;
by docile domesticated new
housewives. We sympathize with feminist raged.
This is the time the moment the due age
to dispose of all violence inherited rage.
poem by Terence George Craddock
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If Only
I cut my finger when you left the room,
The wound has healed long since then.
But the finger keeps bleeding, keeps bleeding
For reasons unknown to me.
I heard me stutter when you left the room,
The wound has healed long since then.
But my mind keeps stuttering, keeps stuttering
For reasons unknown to me.
If only I could remember
The tune I was whistling that day,
If only I could remember
The streets I had walked that day,
If only I could remember
If only, if only.
I saw me crying when you left the room,
The wound has healed long since then.
But my soul keeps crying, keeps crying
For reasons unknown to me.
If only you could tell me
Why Im smoking myself to death,
If only you could tell me
Why Im working myself to death,
If only you could tell me,
If only, if only.
song performed by by Yoko Ono
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I cannot sufficiently admire the divine tact of thus training the chosen race for centuries in religion before even hinting the shining secret of eternal life. He behaves like the rich lover in a romance who woos the maiden on his own merits, disguised as a poor man, and only when he has won her reveals that he has a throne and palace to offer. For I cannot help thinking that any religion which begins with a thirst for immortality is damned, as a religion, from the outset. Until a certain spiritual level has been reached, the promise of immortality will always operate as a bribe which vitiates the whole religion and infinitely inflames those very self-regards which religion must cut down and uproot.
C.S. Lewis in The Grand Miracle
Submitted by Rebeca Bucur
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Wrapped Around Your Finger
You consider me the young apprentice
Caught between the Scylla and Charibdes.
Hypnotized by you if I should linger
Staring at the ring around your finger.
I have only come here seeking knowledge,
Things they would not teach me of in college.
I cant see the best in me
That you saw
I'll be wrapped around your finger.
I'll be wrapped around your finger.
Mephistopheles is not your name,
But I know what you're up to just the same.
I will listen hard to your tuition,
And you will see it come to it's fruition.
I'll be wrapped around your finger.
I'll be wrapped around your finger.
Devil and the deep blue sea behind me
Vanish in the air you'll never find me.
I will turn your face to alabaster,
Then you'll find your servant is your master,
And you'll be wrapped around my finger.
I'll be wrapped around your finger.
You'll be wrapped around my finger.
I'll be wrapped around your finger
song performed by by Underoath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Quintetto
[To the tune of "Turning, turning, turning, as wheel goes round."]
RECITATIVE. MR. PAPERSTAMP:
Jack Horner's CHRISTMAS PIE my learned nurse
Interpreted to mean the public purse.
From thence a plum he drew. O happy Horner!
Who would not be ensconced in thy snug corner
THE FIVE:
While round the public board all eagerly we linger,
for what we can get we will try, try, try:
And we'll all have a finger, a finger, a finger,
We'll all have a finger in the CHRISTMAS PIE.
MR. FEATHERNEST:
By my own poetic laws, I'm a dealer in applause
For those who don't deserve it, but will buy, buy
So round the court I linger, and thus I get a finget
A finger, finger, finger in the CHRISTMAS PIE.
THE FIVE:
And we'll all have a finger, a finger, a finger,
We'll all have a finger in the CHRISTMAS PIE.
MR. VAMP:
My share of pie to win, I will dash through thick and thin
And philosophy and liberty shall fly, fly, fly:
And truth and taste shall know, that their eve Iasting foe
Has a finger, finger, finger in the CHRISTMAS PIE.
THE FIVE:
And we'll all have a finger, a finger, a finger,
We'll all have a finger in the CHRISTMAS PIE.
MR. KILLTHEDEAD:
I'll make my verses rattle with the din of war and battle,
For war doth increase sa-la-ry, ry, ry:
And I'll shake the public ears with the triumph of Algiers,
And thus I ll get a finger in the CHRISTMAS PIE.
THE FIVE:
And we'll all have a finger, a finger, a finger,
We'll all have a finger in the CHRISTMAS PIE.
MR. PAPERSTAMP:
And while you thrive by ranting, I'll try my luck at canting,
And scribble verse and prose all so dry, dry, dry:
And Mystic's patent smoke public intellect shall choke,
Arld we ll all have a finger in the CHRISTMAS PIE.
THE FIVE:
We'll all have a finger, a finger, a finger,
We'll all have a finger in the CHRISTMAS PIE.
MR. ANYSIDE ANTIJACK:
My tailor is so clever, that my coat will turn for ever,
And take any colour you can dye, dye, dye:
For all my earthly wishes are among the loaves and fishes,
And to have my little finger in the CHRISTMAS PIE.
THE FIVE:
And we'll all have a finger, a finger, a finger,
We'll all have a finger in the CHRISTMAS PIE.
poem by Thomas Love Peacock
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Burnt Out Is Now My Misery
Burnt out is now my misery--
love's yearning
No more unspeakably torments my heart,
Yet bearable alone through thee, my being--
All thou art not is idle, stale and dying,
Colourless, withered, dead,--save where thou art!
If I no more through false suspicion trouble
Thy happiness,--nor more my blood inflames my veins,
It is not turned to ice 'neath snowy cover,
But free from jealousy, to thee thy lover
Always with soul of ardour true remains.
So in their rapid fury mountain torrents
That hurl them off their moss-grown altars steep,
Seeking the flood with tossing, foaming riot--
Here in the vale are bound in the old currents,
To stream in future calm and clear and deep!
poem by Aleksey Konstantinovich Tolstoy
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To Giusue Carducci
O RICH and splendid soul that overflowest
With light and fire caught from thy native skies!—
Whose latent storm is lurid in thine eyes
When with august and bended brows thou throwest
Thy Jove-like bolt upon the world below.
Woe, woe the wretch—that ever he was born!
Whom once the fierce sirocco of thy scorn
Encircles, deadly, withering,—Ah woe!
But thrice-blest She, whom with one golden word
Thou settest in the firmament of heaven,
A happy, deathless star;—a wonder given
To awe-eyed mortals while thy voice is heard.
And she—ah me!—her name is—ITALY!
Most glorious and most woful of all names!
Whose sweet sound the whole world’s vast heart inflames
So chanted by her last great son—by thee
poem by George William Lewis Marshall-Hall
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