Related quotes
Erasmus
When he protested, not too solemnly,
That for a world’s achieving maintenance
The crust of overdone divinity
Lacked aliment, they called it recreance;
And when he chose through his own glass to scan
Sick Europe, and reduced, unyieldingly,
The monk within the cassock to the man
Within the monk, they called it heresy.
And when he made so perilously bold
As to be scattered forth in black and white,
Good fathers looked askance at him and rolled
Their inward eyes in anguish and affright;
There were some of them did shake at what was told,
And they shook best who knew that he was right.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Only Monk Keyed
The monk...
He has the key!
Does that make him,
The only monk keyed who sees?
Inspired by:
Mr. Duncan Wyllie
'Hi Duncan,
Thought I would have some fun with your poem,
'He Sees'.'
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The first jazz pianist I heard was Thelonious Monk. My father was listening to an album of his called 'Monk's Dream' almost every day from the time I was born.
quote by Benny Green
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Spank It
1-hey sped!
2-hey what?
1- what you wanna do?
2- I wanna spank!
1-spank what?
2- spank my little monk!!
1-to the left
2- to the right!
1&2- spank it up and down all night!
1- spank the monk!
2- spank, spank the monk!
1- spank the monk!
1&2- spank spank, the monk!
song performed by by Eagles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Great Gambler
The Gambler stopped a monk
dwelling on spiritual plane,
And exclaimed, "Oh! monk
we both are exactly same
So I think we both of us
deserve equal name and fame.
Monk replied, "Gambler! I put
self not a pelf at stake,
And drink bitter poison
for God's sake
Only fool would say our
lives are same
For you a game is life
for me a life is game.''
Dr Hitesh C Sheth
27/12/2009
poem by Hitesh Sheth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
No More 'Scha-nookie Dookie' Made
You say you married a skunk.
And I feel more like a monk on a donkey.
All I get to hear is junk.
With lots of lumps on me you dump.
You say you married a skunk.
And I feel more like a monk on a donkey.
No more quick done rabbit humps.
With less hops from a bed that jumped.
I hear our neighbors say,
How I treat you nasty everyday.
That's your way of mutilation.
I hear our neighbors say,
What I do and how I spend my pay.
You've been putting our business in their way.
And you will pay for that one day.
Your humiliation has decayed.
And your wicked stubbornness is sick.
No matter who you get to defend your...
Schanookie dookie that you make.
You say you married a skunk.
And I feel more like a monk on a donkey.
All I get to hear is junk.
With lots of lumps on me you dump.
You say you married a skunk.
And I feel more like a monk on a donkey.
No more quick done rabbit humps.
With less hops from a bed that jumped.
And no more 'scha-nookie dookie' made.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Flogged Cassock
Dont know how to find a path
out of this moment into another
realm without reading a book or
conjuring a story - checking my
run-on agreement with its sine-
wave repetitions
Herewith Lessor agrees to lease to
Lessee, who agrees to lease from
Lessor said Premises which is
situated and shall be deemed -
Lessor entitled to do this
while interest accrue -
The greatest mathematician being
flogged by a man in a cassock*, a
towel on his head, I furtively saw
as I glanced at the book on my desk;
Enchanted Horse and Charlottes
Web lined up for the weekend
Titbits to lighten life between chores
though not many left now that Carines
on the mend - if only time would flow
past this immobile moment
(Flogged by a man in a cassock* - From Pyramids, Terry Pratchett)
poem by Margaret Alice Second
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The devil climbs the bell tower in a priest's cassock.
The true poet for me is a priest. As soon as he dons the cassock, he must leave his family.
quote by Gustave Flaubert
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
White Hair
i let the years pass on my busy days
this and that
those and there and here
contemplation is a monk and he has not come
my door is open
and the crowd came in. Leaves of years keep
falling like it is caused by the cyclone
of my moving forward onward
this and that and those and there and everywhere
until one moment when the last white hair fell
and then i shudder
to all these and that and those and there and here
and nowhere
and nothing, until the monk in saffron cloth came
asking me
if i am finally going.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A habit does not a monk make.
quote by Francois Rabelais
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The Monk and the Tree
At dawn each day, as
the monk awoke upon the polished floor, and
rolled his bedding mat, the Way –
the way things are, the way they follow –
walked its way beside him.
Later, he would take his brush,
the ink-block, paper, and the water-pot
he filled each day with water from the river,
and find a place, among the woods,
or by the river bank; where the Way
would teach him old things, seen as if now new.
Most often, he would sit near an ancient tree
which had so much to teach him;
its trunk and branches gnarled and twisted
with the wisdom of the Way.
The tree was, as great trees are, the most
adventurous of artists: every Spring,
it would put forth new twigs,
as awkward as a newborn deer on
stick-like legs, trying to stand and walk;
the tree would let the Way make it
as awkward, unsymmetrical,
as inartistic as could be…
then slowly through the year, the tree, the Way
would make of this, a new and daring beauty;
and the monk would learn of it,
take up the brush, moisten the ink-block,
and – brush gently swishing black on white –
draw his daily lesson through the year…
and because he was so loved and famed,
connoisseurs of that most ancient art
would beg his paintings; find their breath
held, at his daring; their eyes would learn the Way.
When the monk, now old, joined the Immortals,
his many students gathered near that ancient tree.
They said, the tree did not seem sad at all;
threw out new leaves, seemed to rejoice;
as teachers do, whenever pupils shine.
poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Jacksons, Monk And Rowe
Sister 4 and brothers 3
Hanging off the family tree
Practising for getting old
Do you want your fortune told
Theyre looking for you high and low
Now theres nowhere for you to go
So youll just have to come out and face the music
Jacksons, monk and rowe
Long ago when we were kids and we cut your hair to bits
As we carried off like spoils the heads wed smash right off
Your dolls
But the wind is changing you know
Are you sure of your friends and your foe
Have you got what it takes to carry it off
Jacksons, monk and rowe
As the sun beats down and life begins to complicate
Will we both incinerate
If we touch that brass name-plate
Messrs. all, noble sirs
Highly paid solicitors
Find enclosed my signed divorce
Sad proceedings you endorse
The burden of pity will show
In the people we used to know
Have you got enough strength to carry it off
Jacksons, monk and rowe
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Jacksons, Monk & Rowe
Sister 4 and brothers 3
Hanging off the family tree
Practising for getting old
Do you want your fortune told
Theyre looking for you high and low
Now theres nowhere for you to go
So youll just have to come out and face the music
Jacksons, monk and rowe
Long ago when we were kids and we cut your hair to bits
As we carried off like spoils the heads wed smash right off
Your dolls
But the wind is changing you know
Are you sure of your friends and your foe
Have you got what it takes to carry it off
Jacksons, monk and rowe
As the sun beats down and life begins to complicate
Will we both incinerate
If we touch that brass name-plate
Messrs. all, noble sirs
Highly paid solicitors
Find enclosed my signed divorce
Sad proceedings you endorse
The burden of pity will show
In the people we used to know
Have you got enough strength to carry it off
Jacksons, monk and rowe
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Not Fitting In Despite All Those Years
sometimes you envy
the monk in maroon peacefully
crossing the street
somewhere in Ho Chi Minh
or even an earthen bowl half-filled with water
with a jasmine flower floating
upon a very still world
you like to take the brush and some water colors
to paint all these
but it is a little crowded world you have there
there is simply no time for wasting
it's a fast paced lifestyle
the lifelessness of the to and fro
the unstoppable flow
trying to accomplish almost everything
without meaning.
somewhere in a dream
you wish you were the monk
or even
the jasmine
and then you hit your chest with your fist
convincing yourself that at a certain hour
you can be so foolish
still not fitting in despite all those years
'how can you be a beautiful jasmine in a concrete wall?
how can you be the monk in maroon in a public market full of
swindlers and screaming spice vendors? '
amidst the mess, in the middle of the crowd
how can you be a dream?
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Metaphysical Discussion
inside the class in philosophy
the professor stans, an old jesuit, with a long white beard,
on a very silent disposition, like a buddhist monk, but in white cassock,
he sits there in front of us, puts his black book on the table,
sits like a Frenchman, and begins to open his mouth, stands
and writes on the blackboard:
WHAT IS DEATH?
that is the lesson for the day, the year was 1982, at the ateneo
de manila university, his name was Fr. O'shaugnessy, Irish, and wise,
finished his doctorate in Loyola University, and he looks at me and
asks me, 'What is death, Ric? '
and i had the answer ready from the metaphysics of Hiedegger
. The word.... has a crucial role in the work of...Hiedegger. Hiedegger defines....an individual's confrontation
with meaningless
and the discovery that the only
justification for one's demeanor
comes from within....that responsibility will
therefore be acknowledged.
that i will surely die
but between life and death
i must be responsible enough
for confront the inevitable
later
that for the meantime
i must live
and confront the demands of life....
and then my teacher
faced the wall, not listening well about
what i had been saying
on the verbosity of it all
and he wrote on the blackboard
below what is death,
what will you do if you will die today?
write an essay, he made the instruction.
i did not submit anything
and for that he gave me an 'A'.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
At The End Of The Dawn Mass
at the end of the dawn mass
she still hears the bells ringing
she still sees the white cassock
the cool air she feels inside her
heart and the restrained conver
sations inside the church she
likes to keep on going and
going because her loneliness
creeps like a centipede on
the side of her arms so gently
without any feet so tenderly
like she does want this moment
to leave her anymore, she nods
and kneels and says yes to every
thing to anything in her life there
are not more reasons why she
should be meticulous about
which way to go which option
to take which way to make her
self alive, to find her meaning.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!