I don't think I want to win anything I think I want to die unadorned.
quote by Frank O'Hara
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Beauty when unadorned is adorned the most.
quote by St. Jerome
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Love you've got beauty
Love you've got beauty
In abundance oh so rare
It's wild and it's earthly
-golden as buttercups in your hair
Unadorned and oh so radiantly
-dressed in arrangements fair.
Is that slender hourglass figure
Where I gaze into nature
Only, now all too aware!
poem by Mark Heathcote
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Nor Look Behind
Remember Lot's wife
How like a woman in a barren field
No stronger than a flower
Not born in shame
Like the deaf adder
Adding fuel to the flame
Of virtue
Of weak minds
Of blame
In naked beauty more
The most when unadorned
Spare not nor look behind
Nor fear
Nor spare
The scorned.
poem by Harry Crosby
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Serial Blasts
Crushing the tangerines,
escalating the dissent
of lean eyes
for a slaughter in the trench.
Unadorned, the little soft
hole, I watch
display of hair,
teeth and shoes.
Who had conceived
the invasion?
Time clock, you need
a prosthesis to move.
Dehumanize the littered
street. This has become the empire
of death. No crying would
be allowed under the feet.
poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The World—stands—solemner—to me
493
The World—stands—solemner—to me—
Since I was wed—to Him—
A modesty befits the soul
That bears another's—name—
A doubt—if it be fair—indeed—
To wear that perfect—pearl—
The Man—upon the Woman—binds—
To clasp her soul—for all—
A prayer, that it more angel—prove—
A whiter Gift—within—
To that munificence, that chose—
So unadorned—a Queen—
A Gratitude—that such be true—
It had esteemed the Dream—
Too beautiful—for Shape to prove—
Or posture—to redeem!
poem by Emily Dickinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Man
That by nature man is born
in a world where destruction is set
where each infant is met
with a build in thorn
of germs of the plague and unadorned
enters it almost as the Creator’s pet
struggles to get
through the passing years, headstrong and stubborn
surviving against the tooth and claw
with a higher purpose in man build in
to comprehend, to be self aware and to love,
to build splendid things from mere straw,
to impact on everything living
reaching with prayers, with hope to God above.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
By nature man is born
That by nature man is born
in a world where destruction is set
where each infant is met
with a build in thorn
of germs of the plague and unadorned
enters it almost as the Creator’s pet
struggles to get
through the passing years, headstrong and stubborn
surviving against the tooth and claw
with a higher purpose in man build in
to comprehend, to be self aware and to love,
to build splendid things from mere straw,
to impact on everything living
reaching with prayers, with hope to God above.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
In Mind
There's in my mind a woman
of innocence, unadorned but
fair-featured and smelling of
apples or grass. She wears
a utopian smock or shift, her hair
is light brown and smooth, and she
is kind and very clean without
ostentation-
but she has
no imagination
And there's a
turbulent moon-ridden girl
or old woman, or both,
dressed in opals and rags, feathers
and torn taffeta,
who knows strange songs
but she is not kind.
poem by Denise Levertov
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Off The Street
There’s not
a lot of room
for words
anymore.
Everything
today is audio
and visual
and audio-visual.
High-tech movies and graphics
and computer packaged fantasy.
There’s not
a lot of room
for words
unadorned anymore.
But words
still have clout
an occasional
technical knock-out.
poem by Terence George Craddock
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Full of Nothing
Another day full of nothing
might'n just as well die
Oh well, just a thought...something.
I remember when a '.' was only a period
I remember too much
forget too little
The desert's so full of nothing
so clean, unadorned, pristine,
could be afterlife
Bleeding one molecule at a time
with no promisses, no regrets
or apologies
The days are jumbled
junkoid, thrashed
with anger and severe vengeance
Then the fields are plowed
with hate, sowed with unforgiveness
and watered in dust and heat
Bitter is a harvest full of
terpitude and bushells of
no lattitude and understanding
another day and it's full of nothing
poem by Midnights Voice
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Unadorned Truth
The splendor of nakedness
Truth is like a beaker of unarmed spring water
Truth refreshes
Truth vitalizes
Truth liberates
A half-full beaker of truth
Is like a flowing tributary of mistrust
Is like a fearful lake of drowned love
Is like a trickle of intravenous venom
A beaker of fortified untruth
Is like ravenous cancer
Is like truth incarcerated
Is like fangs without the venom
Unadorned truth is the splendor of nakedness
poem by Toney Brooks
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The World—stands—solemner—to me
493
The World—stands—solemner—to me—
Since I was wed—to Him—
A modesty befits the soul
That bears another's—name—
A doubt—if it be fair—indeed—
To wear that perfect—pearl—
The Man—upon the Woman—binds—
To clasp her soul—for all—
A prayer, that it more angel—prove—
A whiter Gift—within—
To that munificence, that chose—
So unadorned—a Queen—
A Gratitude—that such be true—
It had esteemed the Dream—
Too beautiful—for Shape to prove—
Or posture—to redeem!
poem by Emily Dickinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Epitaph On A Disturber Of His Times
We expected the violin's finger on the upturned nerve;
Its importunate cry, too laxly curved:
And you drew us an oboe-outline, clean and acute;
Unadorned statement, accurately carved.
We expected the screen, the background for reverie
Which cloudforms usefully weave:
And you built the immaculate, adamant, blue-green steel
Arch of a balanced wave.
We expected a pool with flowers to diffuse and break
The child-round face of the mirrored moon:
And you blazed a rock-path, begun near the sun, to be finished
By the trained and intrepid feet of men.
Submitted by Stephen Fryer
poem by Arthur Seymour John Tessimond
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Simplocity appeals to me for M lady Catrina
All I can see from my window.
A vast expanse of fallen snow,
Unmarked as yet by wheel or feet
As perfect as a laundered sheet.
Reflecting back the pale moonlight
in shades of silver blue and white.
This will not last it cannot do
it will marred by tyre and shoe.
At first light when the morning breaks
and all the sleeping world awakes
To make their way reluctantly
to office shop and factory.
Although the falling snow has stopped
the temperature still has not dropped
The snow will turn from white to gray
and very slowly melt away
Just for tonight the pristine white
will satisfy my appetite
for unadorned simplicity
There’s beauty in austerity.
22-Dec-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
To the Muse
Resign the rhapsody, the dream,
To men of larger reach;
Be ours the quest of a plain theme,
The piety of speech.
As monkish scribes from morning break
Toiled till the close of light,
Nor thought a day too long to make
One line or letter bright:
We also with an ardent mind,
Time, wealth, and fame forgot,
Our glory in our patience find
And skim, and skim the pot:
Till last, when round the house we hear
The evensong of birds,
One corner of blue heaven appear
In our clear well of words.
Leave, leave it then, muse of my heart!
Sans finish and sans frame,
Leave unadorned by needless art
The picture as it came.
poem by Robert Louis Stevenson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Change
I used to glorify the poor,
Not simply lofty views expressing:
Their lives alone, I felt, were true,
Devoid of pomp and window-dressing.
No stranger to the manor house,
Its finery and lordly tenor,
I was a friend of down-and-outs,
And shunned the idly sponging manner.
For choosing friendship in the ranks
Of working people, though no rebel,
I had the honour to be stamped
As also one among the rabble.
The state of basements, unadorned,
Of attics with no frills or curtains
Was tangible without pretence
And full of substance, weighty, certain.
And I went bad when rot defaced
Our time, and life became infested,
When grief was censured as disgrace
And all played optimists and yes-men.
My faith in those who seemed my friends
Was broken and our ties were sundered.
I, too, lost Man, the Human, since
He had been lost by all and sundry.
poem by Boris Pasternak
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Questions for Allen G.
You Howled in the fifties
Kaddished in the sixties
Sang your Plutonian Ode in the seventies
Told us what you were not in the eighties
And pushed us all to eat more grease in the nineties
You died the year I graduated from high school
And I hadn’t even heard of you
Why did you grow your long mad beard? Was it to
Give the appearance of a modern mad prophet who
Put his mad thoughts into unconventional verse?
Or was it to conceal your being gay? No, that doesn’t
Sound like you. You were always comfortable in
Your own skin. It seemed like another layer of clothing to you.
What did you mean by “reality sandwiches”? Was it reality
Unadorned, unadulterated, with no sweetening
From outside forces or people?
What does it mean to look for an angry fix?
Does “angelheaded hipsters” have anything to do with Kerouac’s
Meaning of the Beat Generation, that is, beatific?
I can understand your frequent comparison to Whitman. Both of
You clawed at the walls of the society in which you lived in the hopes
That the whole edifice would come crashing down.
I don’t think any one word can explain a man’s life, like Howl or
Kaddish or Sunflower Sutra. But your words left an impact that
Can’t be measured by any traditional standards.
Allen Ginsberg I wonder when your words will cease to move one’s soul.
poem by Jesse Dachyshyn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Sowing
Upon the wind sheltered hillside,
the sharp tang of metal and the sting of salt air lay
over a field of blood-red poppies, no Flander's Field.
At years fall, fields of rape roll like waves,
in the harshness of winter-sleet, stray boulders bow;
like the backs of mothers, daughters sowing.
Their nails torn, ragged and bleeding.
They bleed by the moon, and son upon the field.
No white crosses mark their passing.
For hundreds of years, and crops of rape, barley and wheat;
small hands, soft hands, and soft thighs bleed.
They bleed daughters, and sons.
They birth the fields and in the fields by consent or rape;
unadorned by silver stars or purple hearts.
Today, as May's sun wakes the blood blasted pasture,
each precious dropp blooms…..a heroines acknowledgement
the poppies yield.
poem by Deborah Guzzi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Heated Waters
Entertainment provided greatly you contributed
I positioned unadorned and uninhibited
Bronze tone exposed to the world I was standing
Extended arms to help me in you were handing
Lunar sky illuminated the night
Stars heaven bound shines bright
Into comforting waters now I entered in
Waters heated massages my bare shin
Peach shin textured smooth to the touch
Moments pleasurable and enjoyable so much
Gentle massaging of tan brown feet
Romping in the night frolicking in the heat
Kneading hands purpose for relaxation
Each touch anticipation leads to a new expectation
Every single touch meant so much to me
A lifetime I could have spent with thee
To be in your arms felt so right
I could have stayed with you all night
In amazement deeply into blue eyes I stared
The world could pass bye and I wouldn’t cared
A dream comes true to the winner of the prize
To me you are the right fit and the right size
Like Vincent Van Gough an ear I would sever
I want to hold you now and forever
poem by Wilfred Mellers
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Self–love And Truth Incompatible
From thorny wilds a monster came,
That filled my soul with fear and shame;
The birds, forgetful of their mirth,
Drooped at the sight, and fell to earth;
When thus a sage addressed mine ear,
Himself unconscious of a fear:
'Whence all this terror and surprise,
Distracted looks and streaming eyes?
Far from the world and its affairs,
The joy it boasts, the pain it shares,
Surrender, without guile or art,
To God an undivided heart;
The savage form, so feared before,
Shall scare your trembling soul no more;
For, loathsome as the sight may be,
'Tis but the love of self you see.
Fix all your love on God alone,
Choose but his will, and hate your own:
No fear shall in your path be found,
The dreary waste shall bloom around,
And you, through all your happy days,
Shall bless his name, and sing his praise.'
Oh lovely solitude, how sweet
The silence of this calm retreat!
Here truth, the fair whom I pursue,
Gives all her beauty to my view;
The simple, unadorned display
Charms every pain and fear away.
O Truth, whom millions proudly slight;
O Truth, my treasure and delight;
Accept this tribute to thy name,
And this poor heart from which it came!
poem by William Cowper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!