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Great boast and small roast makes unsavory mouths.
The Pan Of Sorrows
I will give you the grain of tears,
Roast my sorrows in your pan,
O, tender of the fire.
Tender of the fire, branch of magnolia,
Roast my sorrows in your pan.
I am late already,
The shadows are fading,
The cattle have returned,
From the forest.
The birds have raised their clamor.
Roast my sorrows in your pan,
Tender of the fire.
Hurry, be quick,
I have far to go,
To the place
Where my companions have gone.
I have heard the road to that town is difficult
Roast my sorrows in your pan.
Tender of the fire.
When my turn comes,
Your bale of kindling is damp.
Why has your earthen pan
Become flaccid?
What has gone wrong with your fire?
Roast my sorrows in your pan.
Tender of the fire.
Mine is just a handful of grains,
Roast them, and let me go on my way,
Don't leave them raw,
Roast them well.
I beg you, bring an end to this wrangling,
Roast my sorrows in your pan.
Tender of the fire.
The wind has dropped,
Its mournful weeping ended.
A sweet heat
Is rising in the stars.
My breaths are like a marriage procession
Whose bridegroom is displeased.
Roast my sorrows in your pan.
O tender of the fire.
Tender of the fire, branch of magnolia,
Roast my sorrows in your pan.
poem by Shiv Kumar Batalvi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Chosen Virgins
These are the virgins who have been chosen to meet you,
But the Great Message will be on the Sea of Glass!
For your love was seen among them.
3 out of 4 and 5 out of 6!
Roast, toast, boast, coast;
And like the cats and the dogs playing in your garden,
But it sounded like a male voice in the burning bush of love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Savant
Slice the roast as we toast the savant.
Sip the wine and let's dine with cresçents.
A special honor is bestowed upon him.
The one with chosen 'gifts' within.
No clue he leaves he believes himself great!
But we must show him we at least appreciate...
The patience he has shown for the waste,
Average men like us create!
Slice this roast as we toast the savant!
Sip the wine and let us dine
With cresçents all we want!
A special honor comes to him...
He with unlimited patience
To allow us to feed,
From the treasures upon us he descends!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Singing songs like 'The Man I Love' or 'Porgy' is no more work than sitting down and eating Chinese roast duck, and I love roast duck.
quote by Billie Holiday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Next In Line, Please
You see,
I think you and I are not communica...
'Will that be light, medium or dark roast? '
...ting!
You see,
I am not like the others.
And I am see...
'Would you like light, medium or dark roast? '
...king something not so tart.
Less bitter with a more swee...
'Light! Medium or...
Dark roast.
That's it!
No if's ands or others.'
...tened taste. I don't like your attitude one bit.
I demand to see your supervisor.
Immediately.
'No problem.
Would you like 'your' truth...
Dark, light or medium? '
You did absolutely nothing but change hats.
'And guess what?
You either take that truth light, medium OR dark.
And...
Where is your authorization to stand in this line? '
I need no 'authorization'.
My name is...
'Next in line, please.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The revelations of great men
If you do something good in return,
You aren’t good; you settled a due.
If you do something good intently,
You aren’t good; you simply invested.
If you ask pardon for a fevour,
You aren’t great; it’s a strategy.
If you give pardon to one mightier,
You aren’t great with no alternatives.
If you speak truth when comfortable
And be honest when convenient
You cannot boast of yourself as great
As any mean one could do them at ease.
You aren’t great being just in matters
Where being otherwise of no advantage.
You aren’t great with the veil you’ve made
Of good deeds to hide the ill gotten.
You aren’t great with philanthropy
From the undue or unfair wealth got.
But for few, all great men may forgive me
For the revelations made of them.
19.10.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hung
Today...
Hung has a new meaning,
For men of huge balls
That have stalled the lives of those innocent!
But death to seeds returned to Earth...
Does not result in a peace that increases!
One tyrant quickly deceased,
Does not lay dust on the gallows!
Or marshmellows to roast,
For men who may boast...
Yet still bear arms!
With missions to destruct,
At campfires where no one is heard rejoicing!
There are weapons to clean and reload...
To patrol misunderstandings undefined!
Hanging on threads of hope,
Answers will come forth to make sense...
To acts that have yet produced any!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Meeting
Hidden by old age awhile
In masker's cloak and hood,
Each hating what the other loved,
Face to face we stood:
'That I have met with such,' said he,
'Bodes me little good.'
'Let others boast their fill,' said I,
'But never dare to boast
That such as I had such a man
For lover in the past;
Say that of living men I hate
Such a man the most.'
'A loony'd boast of such a love,'
He in his rage declared:
But such as he for such as me --
Could we both discard
This beggarly habiliment --
Had found a sweeter word.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Great And Unsearchable Things
How great is He, the Lord of Lords
And Cosmic King of Kings,
His treasure trove filled with rewards,
Great unsearchable things!
With wonders and with prophecies
And miracles sublime...
How great is He, the One who sees
How each child spends their time...
How great is He, the Holy One,
Creator of us all,
Who sacrificed His only Son,
To save us, great or small...
With grace bestowed right here on Earth
We must be born again...
No more to boast of our own worth
When Christ died there and then...
How great is He, our God divine,
In granting Paradise,
A home that could be yours and mine
If we would just be wise...
That's why the Bible tells us straight
The wonders yet to be
Will be so perfect and so great
They'll last eternity!
Denis Martindale, copyright, July 2012.
We can hear the word of the Lord on
Revelation TV on UK Sky Digital 581
as well as the WATCH NOW link on
the revelationtv-dot-com website...
poem by Denis Martindale
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Don't Forget who is your Father
God is Great
He created you and me so ladies and gentleman
he is the only person to praise and pray
Cause some of us we pray Alan people you pray him
who is him God is the one who created us
so guys help me to Thank him every time i'm sick i call him cause
he is the hiller the killer of diseases in the world
Help me to sing.
How great is our God sing with me how great is our God
all we sing is how great is our God age to age praise his
Great great great great great
great great great great great great great
great great great great great great great
great great great great great great great great great great great
GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD GOD..
Thank you Help me pliz.
poem by Ruvimbo Daisy Matsika
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I have often noticed that ancestors never boast of the descendants who boast of ancestors. I would rather start a family than finish one. Blood will tell, but often it tells too much.
quote by Don Marquis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wellington
Great captain if you will! great Duke! great Slave!
Great minion of the crown! - but a great man
He was not! He? the iron instrument
Of mere authority! the atheist
Of a conventional and most earthy duty!
To whom the powers that be were simply not
Of God-but in His stead! Shall we belie
All righteous instinct and profane all truth,
By calling great a man without a soul?
One who, apart from the despotic wills
Of crowned oppressors, knew no right, no wrong.
No faith, no country, and no brotherhood?
If such a man were great, may God most High
Spare henceforth to our universal race
All greatness, seeing it may sometimes be
A rigid, kindiess battlement of Power
Self throned and sanctioned only by the sword.
And if' as Englishmen are proud to boast,
He was their greatest countryman-alas!
For England's national sterility!
But they who thus belaud him, lie, as all
True patriots most feelingly perceive.
Besides, he was not England's son at all:
He was an Irishman, with whom the name
Of Ireland was a scoff! An Irishman,
Who for a hireling's meed and ministry,
Could tear away from his inhuman heart
The pleading image of his native land.
poem by Charles Harpur
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Song Of Lovely Women
Third day, third month festival,
and the air fresh with spring;
beside Serpentine Lake in Chang'an,
many lovely women stroll.
Their appearance is elegant,
their thoughts lofty and refined,
their complexions delicate,
figures in perfect proportion.
Their embroidered silk gowns
glisten with spring light;
golden peacocks and beasts of silver
strut upon the fabric.
What is it that they wear
upon their heads?
Jeweled headbands with kingfisher feathers,
dangling to their hairlines.
And what is it that we see
upon their backs?
Pearl-studded overskirts
drawn tight at the waist.
Among them are kin of the Pepper-flower Chamber with its cloud-patterned curtains-
the Duchesses of Guo and Qin,
honored with the names of nations!
A great roast of purple camel hump
rises from a green cauldron,
and crystal plates gleam
with heaps of white-scaled fish.
But the rhinoceros horn chopsticks,
long-sated, are slow to descend,
and the belled knife-handles
dance vainly above the roast.
The flying steeds of the eunuchs
hardly stir the dust,
as they bear in eight exotic dishes
from the Imperial Kitchens.
Merit is tonic
I beheld her to behold me; she did.
I loved her to love me; she did.
I wanted her to want me; she did.
Beyond that she didn’t step in; I lost
Beyond that I couldn’t get in; she left.
I pine and pine in such love and I wane.
I boast and boast of such love and I waste.
I pride myself on my worth, and I last.
13.03.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sunday Morning
Sunday morning silence, curtain stay closed late
No one thinks of kitchens mornings in a filthy state
Dishes cups and beer stains, ashtrays on the floor
Sunday morning papers are left outside the front door
Sunday school and sunday roast
Sunday papers sunday post
Sunday morning sunday rest
Sunday sermon sunday best
(sunday, bloody sunday rest)
Glass of fizzy water helps to start the day
Sit and listen to sunday silence, problems fade away
Sunday cars and drivers break the morning air
Uncollected milk outside reveals theres no one there
Sunday school and sunday roast
Sunday papers sunday post
Sunday morning sunday rest
Sunday sermon sunday best
Sunday school and sunday roast
Sunday papers sunday post
Sunday morning sunday rest
Sunday sermon sunday best
Bathrobes hang in waiting, windows steaming up
Somewhere in the sink downstairs lies an unwashed cup
Tea and toast for breakfast clear away the plates
Wash-up prepare for cooking sunday lunch awaits
Sunday lunch awaits
Sunday lunch awaits
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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SONNET: God Watches us all
You can do just few things in life, may be;
The things you do is like the ice-berg’s tip;
The rest seem unattainable, spooky;
How much can you from Fountain of Life, sip?
The truly great remain very quiet;
Some ones who do a little, boast so much;
This world suits men with dishonesty, yet;
For righteous ones, the Creator doth vouch.
This world’s a stage with God as Host and guest;
How well we play our roles, He will decide;
Nevertheless, we ought to show our best;
By rules He hath put forth, we must abide.
Not all can be yet successful in life;
But God’s with us no matter how great strife!
poem by John Celes
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