God made them as stubble to our swords.
quote by Oliver Cromwell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Eliab
Mankind has not changed at all!
And these acts of wars are for us all;
But blessed are those who keep the laws.
Eliab, come and let us teach the people how to love one another;
For their swords had made women childless.
Eliab, come and let us change the people from hate;
For their swords had made women childless.
Their rebellion is as witchcraft!
But how many people are they ready to kill in the Valley of Elah?
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Sonnet to the Moon
Now every leaf, though colorless, burns bright
With disembodied and celestial light,
And drops without a movement or a sound
A pillar of darkness to the shifting ground.
The lucent, thin, and alcoholic flame
Runs in the stubble with a nervous aim,
But, when the eye pursues, will point with fire
Each single stubble-tip and strain no higher.
O triple goddess! Contemplate my plight!
Opacity, my fate! Change, my delight!
The yellow tom-cat, sunk in shifting fur,
Changes and dreams, a phosphorescent blur.
Sullen I wait, but still the vision shun.
Bodiless thoughts and thoughtless bodies run.
poem by Yvor Winters
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Dancer Of Swords
the dancer of swords
dances with skilled practice
long years practice preparing
the dancer of swords
dances crimson dance of death
brief moments red blood flowing
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Emerald
Down from the glen came the marching men
With their shields and their swords
To fight the fight they believed to be right
Overthrow the overlords
To the town where there was plenty
They brought plunder, swords and flame
When they left the town was empty
Children would never play again
From their graves I heard the fallen
Above the battle cry
By that bridge near the border
There were many more to die
Then onward over the mountain
And outward towards the sea
They had come to claim the emerald
Without it they could not leave
song performed by by Thin Lizzy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It has rained enough
to turn the stubble on the field
black.
haiku by Matsuo Basho
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The Young & The Hopeless
Hard days made me, hard nights shaped me
I dont know they somehow saved me
And I know Im making something out of this life they called nothing
I take what I want
Take what I need
You say its wrong but its right for me
I wont look down
Wont say Im sorry
I know that only God can judge me
And if I make it thru today will tomorrow be the same
Am I just running in place?
If I stubble and I fall
Should I get up and carry on or will it all just be the same
cause, Im young and hopeless
Im lost and I know this
Im going nowhere fast thats what they say
Im troublesome, Ive fallen
Im angry at my father
Its me against this world and I dont care, I dont care
No one in this industry understands the life I lead
When I sing about my past its not a gimmick not an act
These critics and these trust fund kids
Try to tell me what punk is but when I see them on the streets
They got nothing to say
And if I make it thru today will tomorrow be the same
Am I just running in place?
If I stubble and I fall
Should I get up and carry on or will it all just be the same
cause, Im young and hopeless
Im lost and I know this
Im going nowhere fast thats what they say
Im troublesome, Ive fallen
Im angry at my father
Its me against this world and I dont care, I dont care
cause, Im young and hopeless
Im lost and I know this
Im going nowhere fast thats what they say
Im troublesome, Ive fallen
Im angry at my father
Its me against this world and I dont care, I dont care
song performed by by Good Charlotte
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We must wake up to the insane reality of our time. We are all irresponsible, unless we demand from the responsible decision makers that modern armaments must no longer be made available to people whose former battle axes and swords our ancestors condemned.
quote by Thor Heyerdahl
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fish Crier
I know a Jew fish crier down on Maxwell Street with a voice like a north wind blowing over corn stubble in January.
He dangles herring before prospective customers evincing a joy identical with that of Pavlowa dancing.
His face is that of a man terribly glad to be selling fish, terribly glad that God made fish, and customers to whom he may call his wares, from a pushcart.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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Before you
My heart is stabbed
Rushing out is blood
Because of their swords
You put your hands over my heart
Your touch makes it heal
It's like your an angel
Because you made my wound vanish
There must be something between us
I want you
No, I need you
and you need me
For our love is unbreakable
poem by Steve Yeager
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Reconciliation
SOME may have blamed you that you took away
The verses that could move them on the day
When, the ears being deafened, the sight of the eyes blind
With lightning, you went from me, and I could find
Nothing to make a song about but kings,
Helmets, and swords, and half-forgotten things
That were like memories of you -- but now
We'll out, for the world lives as long ago;
And while we're in our laughing, weeping fit,
Hurl helmets, crowns, and swords into the pit.
But, dear, cling close to me; since you were gone,
My barren thoughts have chilled me to the bone.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Seven Swords
Seven swords of happiness
Come with greed
Come by lust
Stay behind the uncontrolled love
Deceit made of slyer
Abused faith
Discrimination of humanity
Liabilities
Upon the weak, the poor and the needy
While lavish ceremonies create history.
poem by Malaya Roses
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Sestina: Altaforte
Loquitur: En Bertrans de Born.
Dante Alighieri put this man in hell for that he was a
stirrer-up of strife.
Eccovi!
Judge ye!
Have I dug him up again?
The scene in at his castle, Altaforte. "Papiols" is his jongleur.
"The Leopard," the device of Richard (Cúur de Lion).
I
Damn it all! all this our South stinks peace.
You whoreson dog, Papiols, come! Let's to music!
I have no life save when the swords clash.
But ah! when I see the standards gold, vair, purple, opposing
And the broad fields beneath them turn crimson,
Then howl I my heart nigh mad with rejoicing.
II
In hot summer have I great rejoicing
When the tempests kill the earth's foul peace,
And the lightnings from black heav'n flash crimson,
And the fierce thunders roar me their music
And the winds shriek through the clouds mad, opposing,
And through all the riven skies God's swords clash.
III
Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash!
And the shrill neighs of destriers in battle rejoicing,
Spiked breast to spiked breast opposing!
Better one hour's stour than a year's peace
With fat boards, bawds, wine and frail music!
Bah! there's no wine like the blood's crimson!
IV
And I love to see the sun rise blood-crimson.
And I watch his spears through the dark clash
And it fills all my heart with rejoicing
And pries wide my mouth with fast music
When I see him so scorn and defy peace,
His lone might 'gainst all darkness opposing.
V
The man who fears war and squats opposing
My words for stour, hath no blood of crimson
But is fit only to rot in womanish peace
Far from where worth's won and the swords clash
For the death of such sluts I go rejoicing;
Yea, I fill all the air with my music.
VI
Papiols, Papiols, to the music!
There's no sound like to swords swords opposing,
No cry like the battle's rejoicing
When our elbows and swords drip the crimson
And our charges 'gainst "The Leopard's" rush clash.
May God damn for ever all who cry "Peace!"
VII
And let the music of the swords make them crimson!
Hell grant soon we hear again the swords clash!
Hell blot black for always the thought "Peace!"
poem by Ezra Pound
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The Tramp
He eats (a moment's stoppage to his song)
The stolen turnip as he goes along;
And hops along and heeds with careless eye
The passing crowded stage coach reeling bye.
He talks to none but wends his silent way,
And finds a hovel at the close of day,
Or under any hedge his house is made.
He has no calling and he owns no trade.
An old smoaked blanket arches oer his head,
A whisp of straw or stubble makes his bed.
He knows a lawless law that claims no kin
But meet and plunder on and feel no sin--
No matter where they go or where they dwell
They dally with the winds and laugh at hell.
poem by John Clare
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Statue of Liberty
now the great lady
is weeping...
and the tired, the poor,
and the huddled masses
that came from the ends
of the earth...
to stand, to live, and
to be free...
are losing the ground
on which they stood...
the cracked bell sits in silence...
swords into plowshares
back to swords...
hands that once planted,
built, fixed, and loved...
are now fists!
the wounded lion pushed
into a corner,
throws back its head
and roars!
the fight for freedom
begins anew...
the eagle has fallen
from the sky!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Let The Sword's Rust
People are still fighting
Enough! , is Enough!
Lets lay down our arms
And let, the swords rust.
Lets throw away the guns
And explode all the bombs
Lets save all the children
Before they are all gone.
Lets end all this fighting
Enough has finally came
By ending all this killing
And its senseless pain.
Now the time is at hand
Lets all quieten to a hush
And throw down our arms,
And let, the swords rust.
poem by Randy McClave
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What God Made
God made coffee~
~God made tea~
~God made boy's~
~Just 4 me! ~
~God made flowers~
~God made dirt~
~God made boy's~
~So I can flirt! ~
~God made coke~
~God made Pepsi~
~God made me~
~So So Sexy! ~
~God made the ocean~
~God made the Sea~
~God needed a princess~
~So he created me
poem by Nicole Jackson
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Unholy Philosophy or Unholy Mind!
Most often pages of history,
Fight between mighty,
Ended in bloodshed,
Emperors sat not on throne,
But they sat on heap of corpse,
Their coronation day or
mourning day
of Humanity!
With the blood stained hands
wore crown with immoral minds!
Who dared to oppose power of swords!
A few like Ashoka or Alexander,
tortured by own Conscience,
Moved by horror of blood shed,
Put their swords down, bowed before words!
Most often it's fight between egos,
or fight between right and wrong,
Nay both are wrong,
A fight between wrong and wrong!
What is the use in fighting here, power hungers should learn,
Men with corrupt mind can't be right,
And when their hands gain might,
They will always start fight!
Frustrations and fury, love and hate,
All has source indeterminate,
Unholy politics they say,
Unholy philosophy they cry,
Why can't they say,
Human mind is sporadic and stray?
Socrates made to drink Hemlock,
Always differences when ended in deadlock,
One wise should giveup and save life,
Someday will come, clouds disperse,
And earthshines with light of Truth,
Wise head should know, the creator,
Wants to create models here,
Each model is made to teach something,
And teach to evolving mind of humanity,
May be an emperor or a philosopher,
All has to end their story here,
Will have to go back bear handed there!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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It's Better With The Good Eye
Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be,
Looking back at oh so far away.
Memory’s just another way to see.
A place to go on holiday for free,
Forty years ago if it’s a day.
Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be.
And was that other person really me,
What changed, why could I not stay?
Memory’s just another way to see
The way things were around us then when we
Thought all our dreams were surely on their way.
Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be,
The sky was always blue it seemed to me,
Every day the sun shone so they say -
Memory’s just another way to see,
But now I know that life’s not lunch for free
That bitter fruit is served on many days
Nostalgia isn’t what it used to be,
Memory’s just another way to see.
Martin Swords
“Prompt Poems”
Villanelle
March 2008
poem by Martin Swords
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The Smith
What is this magic you do?
Taming the fire
Bending the earth
Making beauty from brute strength
Giving death a sharp edge
Creating in your mind and fire
Tools and everydays that
Humblefolk might live in peace
Making death and making life
With the same hammerblows
Are you a god or a man
Or the spirit of earth and fire
That men fear and love you, Smith
Martin Swords March 2009
poem by Martin Swords
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