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Towering genius disdains a beaten path. It seeks regions hitherto unexplored.
quote by Abraham Lincoln
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I was brought up in the great tradition of the late nineteenth century: that a writer never complains, never explains and never disdains.
quote by James A. Michener
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Moon Rhyme
In letters red
Whispers are shed
Of blood stained tears
And skin born paths
In letters red
The whispers bled
Deathbed fears
Aftermaths
Don’t cry at the Moon
Companion boon
Of travellers’ passing word
In distant planes
The light disdains
The dirge forever unheard
And hides the caves
Like tokens shed
The wall that craves
The words unsaid
To bury them deep inside
In whispers rushing tide
Don’t cry at the Moon
Companion boon
Across the sky born glide
In distant planes
The light disdains
The darkness hidden inside
And hides the face
Like a token shed
The silent trace
The words unsaid
To find a well so deep
Their place in death to sleep
poem by Miroslava Odalovic
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A Lament
My thoughts hold mortal strife;
I do detest my life,
And with lamenting cries
Peace to my soul to bring
Oft call that prince which here doth monarchize:
But he, grim grinning King,
Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprise,
Late having decked with beauty's rose his tomb,
Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come.
poem by William Henry Drummond
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Facebook prompts me to share
My status to update
On these pages to bare
My thoughts and disdains
So i adorn my funny gear
Hide my silly jitters
Tell the world its alright.
And then i think
When was it last, i gave you a call
Heard your laughter and
Shared gossip afresh
Felt a hug, tug as we said goodbyes
So this once, i will let facebook pass
Its time i gave you a call
poem by Kiran Prasad
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A Paraphrase, Circa 1715
Since Chloe is so monstrous fair,
With such an eye and such an air,
What wonder that the world complains
When she each am'rous suit disdains?
Close to her mother's side she clings,
And mocks the death her folly brings
To gentle swains that feel the smarts
Her eyes inflict upon their hearts.
Whilst thus the years of youth go by,
Shall Colin languish, Strephon die?
Nay, cruel nymph! come, choose a mate,
And choose him ere it be too late!
poem by Eugene Field
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Inexorable
MY thoughts hold mortal strife;
I do detest my life,
And with lamenting cries
Peace to my soul to bring
Oft call that prince which here doth monarchise:
--But he, grim-grinning King,
Who caitiffs scorns, and doth the blest surprise,
Late having deck'd with beauty's rose his tomb,
Disdains to crop a weed, and will not come.
poem by William Henry Drummond
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Psalm 93
Clothed with state, and girt with might,
Monarch-like Jehovah reigns,
He who earth's foundation pight -
Pight at first, and yet sustains;
He whose stable throne disdains
Motions shock and age's flight;
He who endless one remains
One, the same, in changeless plight.
Rivers, - yea though the rivers roar,
Roaring though sea-billows rise,
Vex the deep, and break the shore, -
Stronger art thou, Lord of skies!
Firm and true thy promise lies
Now and still as heretofore:
Holy worship never dies
In thy house where we adore.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Sonnet XLV: Muses, Which Sadly Sit
Muses, which sadly sit about my chair,
Drown'd in the tears extorted by my lines,
With heavy sighs whilst thus I break the air,
Painting my passions in these sad designs,
Since she disdains to bless my happy verse,
The strong-built trophies to her living fame,
Ever henceforth my bosom be your hearse,
Wherein the world shall now entomb her name.
Enclose my music, you poor senseless walls,
Since she is deaf and will not hear my moans,
Soften yourselves with every tear that falls,
Whilst I, like Orpheus, sing to trees and stones,
Which with my plaint seem yet with pity mov'd,
Kinder than she whom I so long have lov'd.
poem by Michael Drayton
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A New Life
In the circumference of my life,
Mother nature's laws I can't defy...
I must move forward to a new level
Without becoming a fool or a rebel...
When I die, I want to leave a legacy behind.
Dying with a clear heart and mind...
A heart broken but a pride still untarnished...
Why worry about a love already vanished...?
In trying to reach my ultimate goal,
I buried a past I couldn't have foretold...
Now, my new love is just for humanity,
Living humble without disdains or vanity...
It is a new me! Yes, indeed!
Of shadow and pain, I have been freed...
No more tears or feeling lonely,
Since I became, 'The One and Only'...
©All Rights Reserved-2010
poem by Romeo Della Valle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sonnet XVIII: Since the First Look
Since the first look that led me to this error,
To this thought's-maze, to my confusion tending,
Still have I liv'd in grief, in hope, in terror,
The circle of my sorrows never ending.
Yet cannot leave her love that holds me hateful;
Her eyes exact it, though her heart disdains me;
See what reward he hath that serves th'ungrateful;
So true and loyal love no favors gains me.
Still must I whet my young desires abated,
Upon the flint of such a heart rebelling;
And all in vain, her pride is so innated,
She yields no place at all for pity's dwelling.
Oft have I told her that my soul did love her,
And that with tears, yet all this will not move her.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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She-male
the problem with she-men
in whatever categories is still the men -
they are gagged, wrapped, and subjugated
to a corner fit only for scorn
from the she he owns
and the world 'she' thinks she owns
the result is a man in whatever
little percentage there is
fighting for a way out
he fails and 'she' takes over
he is as good as dead
a corpse she gladly carries
for pleasure
the disdains and chidings
she excuses herself
usually by not giving them
even a thought
go to any abode of a she man
you would get at very doorstep
a rancid smell that like the
man seems muffled, bound,
a smell that fails to hit
the apex of its offensivenes
a smell that escpaes
from a repression
that shuttles between pleasure,
self denials and sometimes
a frightening guilt
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Sonnet 60: When My Good Angel Guides Me
When my good angel guides me to the place,
Where all my good I do in Stella see,
That heav'n of joys throws only down on me
Thunder'd disdains and lightnings of disgrace:
But when the rugg'st step of Fortune's race
Makes me fall from her sight, then sweetly she
With words, wherein the Muses' treasures be,
Shows love and pity to my absent case.
Now I, wit-beaten long by hardest Fate,
So dull am, that I cannot look into
The ground of this fierce Love and lovely hate:
Then some good body tell me how I do,
Whose presence absence, absence presence is;
Blist in my curse, and cursed in my bliss.
poem by Philip Sidney
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Delia VI: Fair is my love, and cruel as she's fair
VI
Fair is my love, and cruel as she's fair:
Her brow shades frowns although her eyes are sunny,
Her smiles are lightning though her pride despair,
And her disdains are gall, her favours honey;
A modest maid, deck'd with a blush of honour,
Whose feet do tread green paths of youth and love,
The wonder of all eyes that look upon her:
Sacred on earth, design'd a saint above.
Chastity and beauty, which were deadly foes,
Live reconciled friends within her brow;
And had she pity to conjoin with those,
Then who had heard the plaints I utter now?
For had she not been fair and thus unkind,
My muse had slept, and none had known my mind.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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Sonnet VI: Fair Is My Love
Fair is my love, and cruel as she's fair;
Her brow shades frowns, although her eyes are sunny;
Her smiles are lightning, though her pride despair;
And her disdains are gall, her favors honey.
A modest maid, deck'd with a blush of honor,
Whose feet do tread green paths of youth and love,
The wonder of all eyes that look upon her,
Sacred on earth, design'd a saint above.
Chastity and Beauty, which are deadly foes,
Live reconciled friends within her brow;
And had she pity to conjoin with those,
Then who had heard the plaints I utter now?
O had she not been fair and thus unkind,
My Muse had slept, and none had known my mind.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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Sonnet LII: O Whether
At the Author's Going into Italy
O whether (poor forsaken) wilt thou go,
To go from sorrow and thine own distress,
When every place presents the face of woe,
And no remove can make thy sorrow less?
Yet go (forsaken), leave these woods, these plains;
Leave her and all, and all for her that leaves
Thee and thy love forlorn, and both disdains,
And of both wrongful deems and ill conceives.
Seek out some place, and see if any place
Give give the least release unto thy grief,
Convey thee from the thought of thy disgrace,
Steal from thyself, and be thy cares own thief.
But yet what comfort shall I hereby gain?
Bearing the wound, I needs must feel the pain.
poem by Samuel Daniel
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To A Gentleman, Who Had Abus'd Waller.
I grieve to think that Waller's blam'd,
Waller, so long, so justly, fam'd.
Then own your Verses writ in Haste,
Or I shall say, you've lost your Taste.
Perhaps your loyal Heart disdains
A Poet, who could take such Pains,
To tune his sweet, immortal Lays
To an usurping Tyrant's Praise:
And, where you hate the Man, I see,
You never like his Poetry.
The Truth of this your Verse discovers;
So you abus'd the Conscious Lovers.
Tho' in your Principles you glory,
The Muses are nor Whig nor Tory:
So from your Sentence they appeal,
Nor will be judg'd by Party Zeal.
Whene'er a Poet's to be try'd,
Let Pope hereafter be your Guide.
``Survey the Whole, nor seek slight Faults to find,
``Where Nature moves, and Rapture warms the Mind.
poem by Mary Barber
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A Cruel Mistress.
We read of kings and gods that kindly took
A pitcher fill'd with water from the brook ;
But I have daily tender'd without thanks
Rivers of tears that overflow their banks.
A slaughter'd bull will appease angry Jove,
A horse the Sun, a lamb the god of love,
But she disdains the spotless sacrifice
Of a pure heart, that at her altar lies.
Vesta is not displeased, if her chaste urn
Do with repaired fuel ever burn ;
But my saint frowns, though to her honour'd name
I consecrate a never-dying flame.
Th' Assyrian king did none i' th' furnace throw
But those that to his image did not bow ;
With bended knees I daily worship her,
Yet she consumes her own idolater.
Of such a goddess no times leave record,
That burnt the temple where she was adored.
poem by Thomas Carew
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Sonnet 3
Look in thy glass and tell the face thou viewest
Now is the time that face should form another;
Whose fresh repair if now thou not renewest,
Thou dost beguile the world, unbless some mother.
For where is she so fair whose uneared womb
Disdains the tillage of thy husbandry?
Or who is he so fond will be the tomb
Of his self-love, to stop posterity?
Thou art thy mother's glass and she in thee
Calls back the lovely April of her prime;
So thou through windows of thine age shalt see,
Despite of wrinkles, this thy golden time.
But if thou live, remembered not to be,
Die single and thine image dies with thee.
poem by William Shakespeare from Sonnets (1609)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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