Not everyone who sits in the seat of honor is master.
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Lord of the Flies
Oh Master my Master
Oh where have you been
I wallowed in filth and
I drowned in sin
Oh Master my Master
It's my rotten luck
To swim in the decay
And swallow the muck
Oh Master my Master
I stand in the fires
Surrounded by murderers
Thieves, cheaters, and liars
Oh Master my Master
the earth has turned red
Fluid with blood
Of the recently dead
Oh Master my Master
What's wrong with the world
The blackness unfolds
Like a flag that's unfurled
Oh Master my Master
You ignore my cries
And now I'm quite sure
You're the Lord of the Flies
poem by Anonymous Ghurl
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And I promise to reserve a seat for my lonesome Master
Still I am going to school and nobody sits in the class.
Peeled walls look so sad like an old fresco
And I think of my old friends.
A piece of chalk and the duster
Still remain in a corner on the rack below the blackboard.
Some letters were missing in the old essays but readable.
Before I step down I hear the echoes of music teacher's melancholy voice
And I never thought a chalk could speak like a parrot.
'Hey! Master I watched your regrets and I want to tell you that some of your friends already stuck in a home for the elders.
Your favorite teacher was retired and she collects her last pension it seems.
But it's glad to see still you look as a student's charisma with your old haversack.
Please come another day after the refurbishment of the school
Then you could see the new students and teachers
And I promise to reserve a seat for my lonesome Master.'
* To Sandra Fowler in gratitude.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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Lover Man
Babys in the back seat, its so real
Gotta love the feel of the automobile
You get a certain style when youre so mobile
And responsibility you can avoid that trial
Walkin on the wild side
Lookin at the down side
Just a little crazy
Got a kind of strange pride
Standin at the back door, mercy me
Aint no place for the man to be
Its a private love, no publicity
And the woman that hes waitin for is bad news, hell see
Goin to a go-go
Slippin to a life low
Goin for the fake tan
Dreamin up a fashion plan
loverman
Hes a very superficial man
He likes the girls that go there
Hes a dude with a master plan
So young but why should he care?
Drivin into downtown right on time
Smokin like a pistol aimed on line
Waitin for the tingles in his back
All those dangerous feelings getting ready to attack
Walkin on the barbed wire
Playin with desire
Goin for the night plan
Breakin any heart he can
loverman
Hes a very superficial man
He likes the girls that go there
Hes a dude with a master plan
So young but why should he care?
Babys in the back seat
Gotta love the feel
Babys in the back seat
Gotta love the feel
Hes a very superficial man
He likes the girls that go there
Hes a dude with a master plan
So young but why should he care?
Hes a very superficial man
He likes the girls that go there
Hes a dude with a master plan
So young but why should he care?
Hes a very superficial man
His suit is ten years older than his last flame
Hes the dude with the master plan
Hes a very superficial man
He likes the girls that go there
Hes a dude with a master plan
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If you sit on a seat, and that seat is a comfortable seat, sit on that seat, and do not leave that seat.
A Corn-Song
ON the wide veranda white,
In the purple failing light,
Sits the master while the sun is lowly burning;
And his dreamy thoughts are drowned
In the softly flowing sound
Of the corn-songs of the field-hands slow returning.
Oh, we hoe de co'n
Since de ehly mo'n;
Now de sinkin' sun
Says de day is done.
O'er the fields with heavy tread,
Light of heart and high of head,
Though the halting steps be labored, slow, and weary;
Still the spirits brave and strong
Find a comforter in song,
And their corn-song rises ever loud and cheery.
Oh, we hoe de co'n
Since de ehly mo'n;
Now de sinkin' sun
Says de day is done.
To the master in his seat,
Comes the burden, full and sweet,
Of the mellow minor music growing clearer,
As the toilers raise the hymn,
Thro' the silence dusk and dim,
To the cabin's restful shelter drawing nearer.
Oh, we hoe de co'n
Since de ehly mo'n;
Now de sinkin' sun
Says de day is done.
And a tear is in the eye
Of the master sitting by,
As he listens to the echoes low-replying
To the music's fading calls
As it faints away and falls
Into silence, deep within the cabin dying.
Oh, we hoe de co'n
Since de ehly mo'n;
Now de sinkin' sun
Says de day is done.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Teachers Honor
If you think they're places I won't go your sadly mistaken.
If you think I'm afraid to offend I'm not.
Intentions are blurred by a cascade of words.
Everyone more heart wrenching then the next.
I will confess to the world of my secrets, embarrassing moments, and just outright wrong things I've done.
I will be equal in the humiliation, just so you can see it is not meant to get you angry but teach.
I've always been awe inspired by those who are barely noticed except when your a kid.
Every weekday you listen their sermon as they preach, some more fun then others.
They should all be on a plaque the same place our war time vets name sits.
They deserve as much honor if not more.
They are both the creators of good and evil.
The devil and angel sits on child shoulders, and it is their job to point them in the right direction.
And with so much grey area it is sometimes so hard to tell what is right.
Still decision are made with true guidance.
And when one makes a mistake their treated with the utmost hate no matter how frivolous it might seem.
Why because that is our kids.
A mother bear will destroy with razor sharp claws and giant paws.
So where is the honor, where is the respect? ? ?
These questions I ask because I went to school and since I have left I haven't seen their names once no where mentioned.
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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A/C Luxury bus
A/C Luxury bus,
Got seat to sit,
Window seat!
A/C Luxury bus,
Exorbitant charges,
No seat to sit!
Air-conditioned Luxury bus,
Very high bus ticket fare,
Comfortable seat!
poem by V.K. Kanniappan
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Master
Master went a-hunting,
When the leaves were falling;
We saw him on the bridle path,
We heard him gaily calling.
'Oh master, master, come you back,
For I have dreamed a dream so black!'
A glint of steel from bit and heel,
The chestnut cantered faster;
A red flash seen amid the green,
And so good-bye to master.
Master came from hunting,
Two silent comrades bore him;
His eyes were dim, his face was white,
The mare was led before him.
'Oh, master, master, is it thus
That you have come again to us?'
I held my lady's ice-cold hand,
They bore the hurdle past her;
Why should they go so soft and slow?
It matters not to master.
poem by Arthur Conan Doyle
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I Know What My Master Does
I know where my Master lives.
I need no invitation to visit where He is.
I know where my Master lives.
I know what my Master does.
I witness this on a daily basis.
And not with eyes fixed on skies above.
My Master is available whenever I call.
My Master is everything and to me my all.
My Master has seen me stumble and fall,
To get up off my knees to again walk tall.
And if it wasn't for my Master I'd be left to crawl.
I am aware ot this.
I know where my Master lives.
I need no invitation to visit where He is.
I know where my Master lives.
I know what my Master does.
I witness this on a daily basis.
And not with eyes fixed on skies above.
I know what my Master does,
Can do...
And has done for me.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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From the biography of an unknown woman: IX
One fine morning
While negotiating
The snow clad peaks
She found herself
Surrounded by a
Thick snow fall from
All directions…
She sits there patiently
At the mercy of the mountains
Struggling for breath
And in imagined warmth…
‘The snow will disappear
The sun will appear
Leave not your faith
Abandon not your prayer…’
So spoke her master’s voice
In dogged perseverance
She still sits there
Waiting for a
Resplendent silence
To dawn on her
27apr2010
09.25hrs
poem by Indira Babbellapati
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To the Master's honor all must turn, each in its track, without a sound, forever tracing Newton's ground.
quote by Albert Einstein
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sonnet XLVII: Read In My Face
Read in my face a volume of despairs,
The wailing Iliads of my tragic woe,
Drawn with my blood and printed with my cares
Wrought by her hand, that I have honor'd so.
Who, whilst I burn, she sings at my soul's wrack,
Looking aloft from turret of her pride;
There my soul's tyrant joys her in the sack
Of her own seat, whereof I made her guide.
There do these smokes that from affliction rise,
Serve as an incense to a cruel Dame;
A sacrifice thrice grateful to her eyes,
Because their power serve to exact the same.
Thus ruins she, to satisfy her will,
The Temple where her name was honor'd still.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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Sabrina
The Young Girl behind me
Curious yet very bold
Sits in the second row in the second seat
Very close to noon
Her education is very important to her yet she finds time to poke me
poem by Xavier Rogers
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The Bench and the Blonde in Black
His Honor walked into the shop
For of shopping his Honor was fond.
Did she blush? Did her eyes indicate shy surprise
In that slim little, trim little blonde?
Did his bachelor heart miss a beat?
Did she flash him a smile as she turned?
Did his Honor smile back at this vision in black?
Said his Honor, 'The case is adjourned.'
His Honor walked into his court.
Said the advocate, 'Shop-ladies lack
Much appeal, I submit, when these dark frocks they fit -'
Said his Honor, 'I like 'em in black.
Yes, I like 'em in black when they're blonde.
And I am not concerned with the cost.
It's a question of taste; and I've no time to waste.'
Said his Honor, 'Your action is lost.'
His Honor walked into the church.
'I will,' breathed his Honor, and beamed
On his blonde who, alack, was no longer in black,
For in ivory satin she gleamed.
Said the clergyman, 'Say after me -'
Said his Honor, 'My true wedded wife. . .
Er - at - sickness and health....and - er - all worldly wealth....'
Said his Honor, 'The sentence is life.'
His Honor walked up and walked down,
Sobbed the blonde, 'But you don't seem to care!
Why, my grey, pink and green are not fit to be seen;
And I haven't a rag fit to wear!
And you always did say I looked nice
In black suits? Twenty guineas? What fun!'
Then she smiled, kissed his neck, as he wrote out the cheque.
Sighed his Honor, 'Your suit, dear, is won.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Fait accompli
the plane took off
i realized i did not like the aisle seat
i transferred to the window seat
and the stewardess said
'excuse me, sir! ' trying to stop me
for doing so,
i pretended i heard no one
moved as fast a i can towards the window seat
fastened my seat belt
and put my head
well rested on the
beside the window
below the clouds flew
past me
on a deceiving speed
the mountains spread
benumbing
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Secret
the knight in full
armor
sits by the side
of the window
facing the
dawning of his
time
his honor at stake
as the morning sun
peeps at the
black shadows of the
mountain
must he tell her now?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Dog Mumbo (a horror story)
Dog Mumbo
lives alone
since his master disappeared
in the corner house
in Suburb Bumbo
Mumbo stands with
his head at the window
paws on the sills
and when Stranger Whoever's
heart is touched
"O that poor thing,
so so sweet"
and comes in to pat the dog
Dog Mumbo invites
Stranger Whoever
to the master's seat
and closes the door;
and when Dog Mumbo turns round
to Stranger Whoever
it's no longer that poor thing,
so so sweet thing
For it goes straight for the heart
And so it lives alone
and feeds itself
same way its Master fed it
And I believe, you discerning reader,
have a name
so remember it well
and do not fancy yourself ever to be
Stranger Whoever
poem by Raj Arumugam
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The Way That Honor Is
Honor, gold and praised
highlight of life
given to those raised
Honor struts about with the chest puffed out.
All of the achievements won
these past memories recalled and sway
Honor remembers what fun.
How fun it was to win the cause
to beat the challenge.
poem by Ryan Collins
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All Alone
SHE SITS THERE ALL ALONE
HER CHILDREN GROWN
WITH FAMILY OF THEIR OWN
SHE WONDERS WHAT HAPPEN
CHILDREN ALL OF THREE
THEY HAVE GROWN LIKE FRUIT UPON THE TREES
GRANDCHILDREN SHE HAS SIX
GETTING HARDER TO REMEMBER THEIR NAMES
SHE SITS THERE ALL ALONE
NO ONE COMES TO VISIT
HER GRANDCHILDREN DOESN, T KNOW HER
HER CHILDREN HAS FORSAKEN HER
SHE WONDERS WHY
SHE SITS THERE ALL ALONE
SHE LOVED HER CHILDREN DEARLY
WANTED NOTHING BUT THE BEST
WORKED HARD AND WENT WITHOUT
HER CHILDREN SHE WOULD DIE FOR
SHE SITS THERE ALL ALONE
SHE WONDERS WHY
SHE THOUGHT THEY WOULD BE AROUND HER
LIKE ALL MOTHERS DO
GET TOGETHERS ON SUNDAYS
SEE A MOVIE OR TWO
SHE SITS THERE ALL ALONE
SHE REEKS HER BRAIN
WONDERS WHAT DID SHE EVER DO
TO GET SUCH COLD TREATMENT
FROM THE BABIES SHE ONCE KNEW
SHE SITS THERE ALL ALONE
THE ANGELS CAME AND CARRIED HER HOME
poem by Verna Ralph
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At his own cost
Perfection sits on a heap of wastage.
Discipline sits on a pack of stresses.
Promptness sits on a sack of neglects.
One thus satisfies others at one’s cost.
20.08.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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