Suddenly, at about ten o'clock, a dull thud sounded somewhere far away from us, and simultaneously we saw a small white round cloud about half a mile ahead of us where the shrapnel had exploded. The battle had begun.
quote by Fritz Kreisler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Encounter.
Isis had let the girl into
her small private room
at the school, she should
have said no, but she was
of two minds, and then
one, and then she just let
her in, and turned to the
window, not wanting to
face the girl, and let her
look break through to her
heart, and she had heard
the girl whisper, I love you,
so soft it seemed as if breathed,
as if a small knife had entered
under her ribs and inched
towards her heart, and she
had not turned around, and
had just replied equally softly,
I know, and then a few moments
Later, I love you too, and then
there was silence, and she
sensed the girl put her arms
around her waist, but she had
done nothing, just stood there,
looking out on the school grounds
at the playing field, and the girl
had released her, and Isis had
uttered, Best go now Jodie, and
she heard only quiet footsteps
and the door closing with a dull
thud, and the room seemed
suddenly empty, as if a world had
begun to die and another been
born, and over the playing field
a warm sun opened up like a
young god to a bright new dawn.
poem by Terry Collett
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Riding Round the Lines
Dust and smoke against the sunrise out where grim disaster lurks
And a broken sky-line looming like unfinished railway works,
And a trot, trot, trot and canter down inside the belt of mines:
It is General Greybeard Shrapnel who is riding round his lines.
And the scarecrows from the trenches, haggard eyes and hollow cheeks,
War-stained uniforms and ragged that have not been off for weeks;
They salute him and they cheer him and they watch his face for signs;
Ah! they try to read old Greybeard while he’s riding round the lines.
There’s a crack, crack, crack and rattle; there’s a thud and there’s a crash;
In the battery over yonder there is something gone to smash,
Then a hush and sudden movement, and its meaning he divines,
And he patches up a blunder while he’s riding round his lines.
Pushing this position forward, bringing that position back,
While his officers, with orders, ride like hell down hell’s own track;
Making hay—and to what purpose?—while his sun of winter shines,
But his work is just beginning when he’s ridden round his lines.
There are fifty thousand rifles and a hundred batteries
All a-playing battle music, with his fingers on the keys,
And if for an hour, exhausted, on his camp bed he reclines,
In his mind he still is riding—he is riding round his lines.
He’s the brains of fifty thousand, blundering at their country’s call;
He’s the one hope of his nation, and the loneliest man of all;
He is flesh and blood and human, though he never shews the signs:
He is General Greybeard Shrapnel who is fixing up his lines.
It is thankless work and weary, and, for all his neighbour knows,
He may sometimes feel as if he doesn’t half care how it goes;
But for all that can be gathered from his eyes of steely blue
He might be a great contractor who has some big job to do.
There’s the son who died in action—it may be a week ago;
There’s the wife and other troubles that most men have got to know—
(And we’ll say the grey-haired mother underneath the porch of vines):
Does he ever think of these things while he’s riding round his lines?
He is bossed by bitter boobies who can never understand;
He is hampered by the asses and the robbers of the land,
And I feel inclined to wonder what his own opinions are
Of the Government, the country, of the war and of the Czar.
He’s the same when he’s advancing, he’s the same in grim retreat;
For he wears one mask in triumph and the same mask in defeat;
Of the brave he is the bravest, he is strongest of the strong:
General Greybeard Shrapnel never shows that anything is wrong.
But we each and all are lonely, and we have our work to do;
We must fight for wife and children or our country and our screw
In the everlasting struggle to the end that fate destines;
In the war that men call living we are riding round our lines.
I ride round my last defences, where the bitter jibes are flung,
I am patching up the blunders that I made when I was young,
And I may be digging pitfalls and I may be laying mines;
For I sometimes feel like Shrapnel while I’m riding round my lines.
poem by Henry Lawson
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The Final Painting
The white cloud passed over the land
there is sea always round the land
the sky is blue always above the cloud
the cloud in the blue continues to move
- nothing is limited by the canvas or frame -
the white cloud can be pictured like any
other clouds or like a fist of wool
or a white fur rose
The white cloud passes a shadow across
the landscape and so there is a passing greyness
The grey and the white both envelop
the watcher until he too is drawn into the picture
It is all a journey from a room through a door
down stairs and out into the street
The cloud could possess the house
The watchers have a mutual confidence
with the approaching string of white clouds
It is beyond spoken words what they are
silently mouthing to the sky
There was no mystery in this - only the firm
outline of people in overcoats on a hillside
and the line of clouds above them
The sky is blue The cloud white with touches
of grey - the rest - the landscape below -
can be left to the imagination
The whole painting quietly dissolved itself
into its surrounding clouds
poem by Lee Harwood
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Weve Only Just Begun
Weve only just begun to live
White lace and promises
A kiss for luck and were on our way
Weve only just begun
Before the rising sun we fly
So many roads to choose
We start our walking
And learn to run
And yes! weve only just begun
(*) sharin horizons that are new to us
Watchin the signs along the way
Talkin it over just the two of us
Workin together day to day, together
(**) and when the evening comes we smile
So much of life ahead
Well find a place where theres room to grow
And yes! weve only just begun
Repeat (*)
Repeat (**)
song performed by by Carpenters
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cloudy Army* (2003)
Days like this are perfect to be outside.
There is no traffic from above.
There is activity going on somewhere.
Sometimes you can not see it.
This stuff does happen worldwide.
Nature being mean spirited,
Nature being sweet with love,
Nature being both simultaneously...
Suddenly without a care,
Boom! Clash! from afar...
They are coming...
You could even smell them.
Roaming on opposite sides thumping.
Humans of this planet are condemned.
Nature can be mean spirited...
Nature can be sweet with love...
Nature can be even both simultaneously...
They are meeting for the catastrophe.
The ground begins to help with lightning.
Rain attacks with kiss drops...for now.
There's a ricochet of light to a lonely tree.
All humans know is that this is only the begining.
They have collided forming one huge dirty cotton.
It has the area surrounded creating windy debris.
What ever it is, it has begun not knowing the end...
'Clash of the weather fronts your eyes,
reminisce how you miss(ed) the blue skies...'
If this is not enough,
though it's already rough,
what else are they getting from the ocean.
Nature can be mean spirited...
Nature can be sweet with love...
Nature can be even both simultaneously...
poem by David Joel Rodriguez
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The surprise is half the battle. Many things are half the battle, losing is half the battle. Let's think about what's the whole battle.
quote by David Mamet
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rocket Love
Do do do, do do do, do do do, do do do
Do do do, do do do, do do do-oo
I longed for you since I was born
A woman sensitive and warm
And that you were
With pride and strength no one would test
But yet have feminie finesse
And so much more
You took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to this cold, cold world
Took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to this cold, cold world
A female shakespeare of your time
With looks to blow picassos mind
You were the best
Your body moved with grace and song
Like symphonies by bach or brahms
Nevertheless, oh oh
You took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to this cold, cold world
Ooh you took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to this cold, cold world
Da da da, da da da, da da da, da da da
Da da da, da da da-aa
The passion burning in your heart
Would make hells fire seem like a spark
Where did it go
Just why that you would overnight
Turn love to stone as cold as ice
Ill never know
But you took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to this cold, cold world
Baby you took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to this cold, cold world
Cold, too cold, you took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to this cold, cold world
Oh, oh, oh, took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to into this cold, cold world
I would not do that to a dog
Took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to this cold, cold world
You took me riding in your rocket gave me a star
But at a half a mile from heaven you dropped me back
Down to this cold, cold world
Ooh baby
Rocket love
song performed by by Stevie Wonder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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We don't consider the battle has ended in Afghanistan... The battle has begun and its fires are picking up. These fires will reach the White House, because it is the center of injustice and tyranny.
quote by Mohammed Omar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shrapnel
What makes you think that all you needed was a life
The things you dreamed can't be mistaken for good
And I've been bleeding every color but red
It's time you stand up and see what you have done
[Chorus:]
And its like shrapnel on your time bomb day
And its like shrapnel
And its like shrapnel on your time bomb day
And its like shrapnel
I am sorry for what has struck you before
The things that maimed you aren't here to say me now
[Chorus]
Was he picked to be
Was she picked to be
The one to go
[Chorus (x2)]
song performed by by Justincase from Upstart
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wouldn't it be weird if the only way people could die was that their heads suddenly exploded without warning If there was simply no other cause of death One day you'd be sitting there having a hot chocolate, and suddenly your head would explode.
quote by George Carlin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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October Leaves
My arms are very chilly out in October
My knees are very filthy out in the mud
when I walk inside I here thud, thud, thud,
out in October
poem by SeQuoia Brown
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The Churchyard
HOW slowly creeps the hand of Time
On the old clock’s green-mantled face!
Yea, slowly as those ivies climb,
The hours roll round with patient pace;
The drowsy rooks caw on the tower,
The tame doves hover round and round;
Below, the slow grass hour by hour
Makes green God’s sleeping-ground.
All moves, but nothing here is swift;
The grass grows deep, the green boughs shoot;
From east to west the shadows drift;
The earth feels heavenward underfoot;
The slow stream through the bridge doth stray
With water-lilies on its marge,
And slowly, pil’d with scented hay,
Creeps by the silent barge.
All stirs, but nothing here is loud:
The cushat broods, the cuckoo cries;
Faint, far up, under a white cloud,
The lark trills soft to earth and skies;
And underneath the green graves rest;
And through the place, with slow footfalls,
With snowy cambric on his breast,
The old gray Vicar crawls.
And close at hand, to see him come,
Clustering at the playground gate,
The urchins of the schoolhouse, dumb
And bashful, hang the head and wait;
The little maidens curtsey deep,
The boys their forelocks touch meanwhile,
The Vicar sees them, half asleep,
And smiles a sleepy smile.
Slow as the hand on the clock’s face,
Slow as the white cloud in the sky,
He cometh now with tottering pace
To the old vicarage hard by:
Smother’d it stands in ivy leaves,
Laurels and yews make dark the ground;
The swifts that build beneath the eaves
Wheel in still circles round.
And from the portal, green and dark,
He glances at the church-clock old—
Gray soul! why seek his eyes to mark
The creeping of that finger cold?
He cannot see, but still as stone
He pauses, listening for the chime,
And hears from that green tower intone
The eternal voice of Time.
poem by William Cosmo Monkhouse
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Twas Crisis—All the length had passed
'Twas Crisis—All the length had passed—
That dull—benumbing time
There is in Fever or Event—
And now the Chance had come—
The instant holding in its claw
The privilege to live
Or warrant to report the Soul
The other side the Grave.
The Muscles grappled as with leads
That would not let the Will—
The Spirit shook the Adamant—
But could not make it feel.
The Second poised—debated—shot—
Another had begun—
And simultaneously, a Soul
Escaped the House unseen—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Television sounded really different than the Ramones sounded really different than us sounded really different than Blondie sounded really different than the Sex Pistols.
quote by David Byrne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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London River
Half a score o' sailormen that want to sail once more,
Cruising round the waterside with the Peter at the fore!
Half a score o' sailormen the sea will never drown -
Seven days in open boats a-drifting up and down! -
Out to find another ship and sail from London Town!
Half a score o' sailormen broke and on the rocks,
Linking down Commercial Road, tramping round the Docks,
Half a score o' sailormen, torpedoed twice before,
Once was in the Channel chops, once was off the Nore,
Last was in the open sea five hundred mile from shore!
Half a score o' sailormen that want to sail again -
And her cargo's all aboard her, and it's blowing up for rain!
Half a score o' sailormen that won't come home to tea -
For she's dropping down the river with the Duster flying free -
Down the London River on the road to the open sea!
poem by Cicely Fox Smith
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Afternoon rain
Every day this summer
in the late afternoon
the rain just keep pouring down
as if the milling clouds
and the storm has its clock set.
Thunder flashes here and there
white-blue electric bolts
from a sudden grey sky
and big and small drops fall
rushing down to the earth.
Heat rises in steaming white patches
on the hot black tar road
while the first drops make it wet
and water suddenly streams everywhere
in miniature rivers.
People run to reach their cars
and are stuck in huge traffic jams
where cars crawl meters at a time,
while others go to bars
and enjoy a drink or two
and smoke their cigars.
Two teenage girls
that are soaking wet
with T-shirts clinging translucent
dance on the sidewalk
in the falling rain
and their giggles
catches my ear
and suddenly it’s fun to live.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Innocent White Civilian People Were Slaughtered (In Answer To Don Mattera)
Innocent white civilian people were once walking
on Church Street in Pretoria; they were men,
women and children
busy with their daily lives,
some just having gone shopping,
some meeting a loved one in a restaurant
others returning from school
and they were doing nobody any harm.
By orders of Nelson Rolilahla Dalinbunga Mandela,
without any kind of alarm or warning,
a car bomb was set and exploded thundering
throwing shrapnel, making glass fall like rain
and black people took pride
at the sheer slaughter, at the falling,
the maiming, the decimating and dying of innocents
and that day remains a bitter thing.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Till Then
Stock/aitken/waterman
I've been away for such a long time
Every day i miss you
All those long and lonely nights
Counting the hours till i'm with you
Till then
I'll keep holding on
Praying i'm not wrong
Hoping that our love is still strong
(till then)
Keep our love alive
Hope you're satisfied
Till you're right here by my side
And the hands on the clock
Going round and round and round
But time don't seem to be moving at all
Every minute you were on my mind
Every day i wrote you
Half of me is lost in time
Half of me is always with you
Till then
I'll keep holding on
Praying i'm not wrong
Hoping that our love is still strong
(till then)
Keep our love alive
Hope you're satisfied
Till you're right here by my side
And the hands on the clock
Going round and round and round
But time don't seem to be moving at all
Another ticket for another trip
To another destination (destination)
It's just the thought of you that keeps me strong
Moving in the right direction
(choruses to fade)
song performed by by Rick Astley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Till Then (Time Stands Still)
I've been away for such a long time
Every day I miss you
All those long and lonely nights
Counting the hours till I'm with you
Till then
I'll keep holding on
Praying I'm not wrong
Hoping that our love is still strong
(Till then)
Keep our love alive
Hope you're satisfied
Till you're right here by my side
And the hands on the clock
Going round and round and round
But time don't seem to be moving at all
Every minute you were on my mind
Every day I wrote you
Half of me is lost in time
Half of me is always with you
Till then
I'll keep holding on
Praying I'm not wrong
Hoping that our love is still strong
(Till then)
Keep our love alive
Hope you're satisfied
Till you're right here by my side
And the hands on the clock
Going round and round and round
But time don't seem to be moving at all
Another ticket for another trip
To another destination (destination)
It's just the thought of you that keeps me strong
Moving in the right direction
(Choruses to fade)
song performed by by Rick Astley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shearing's Coming
There's a sound of many voices in the camp and on the track,
And letters coming up in shoals to stations at the back;
And every boat that crosses from the sunny 'other side'
Is bringing waves of shearers for the swelling of the tide.
For the shearing's coming round, boys, the shearing's coming round,
And the stations of the mountains have begun to hear the sound.
They'll be talking up at Laghmor of the tallies that were shore,
And the man who broke the record is remembered at Benmore;
And the yarns of strikes and barneys will be told till all is blue,
And the ringers and the bosses will be passed in long review.
For the shearing's coming round, boys, the shearing's coming round,
And the stations of the mountains have begun to hear the sound.
The great Orari muster and the drafting of the men
Like a mob of ewes and wethers will be surely told again;
And a lot of heathen places that will rhyme with kangaroo
Will be named along with ringers and the things that they can do.
For the shearing's coming round, boys, the shearing's coming round,
And the stations of the mountains have begun to hear the sound.
At last the crowds will gather for the morning of the start,
And the slowest of the jokers will be trying to look smart;
And a few will get the bullet, and high hopes will have a fall,
And the bloke that talks the loudest stands a show of looking small.
For the shearing's coming round, chaps, the shearing's coming round,
And the voices of the workers have begun to swell the sound.
poem by David McKee Wright
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