One may summon his philosophy when they are beaten in battle, not till then.
quote by John Burroughs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nestling
When to summon the sky
Little nestling?
When to summon the sky?
And suffer the risk - abscond in dread -
The knowledge of sort that you'll be dead
Upon a calamitous fall;
Or taken in flight - a hawkish pounce -
Demolished as prey; your fate pronounce
You gone, and to never recall.
O when to summon the sky
Little nestling?
When to summon the sky?
Aborting a den with
Feathered bed,
Unwavering mother who
Saw you fed -
Surrendering all so
You may spread
Your reach of tentative wings!
‘Tis only instinct -
E'er the reason -
Forging life:
The Nesting Season
And the trials it brings.
So up and summon the sky
Little nestling,
Up! and summon the sky!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
Sky Rain
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who’ll Wear the Beaten Colours?
Who’ll wear the beaten colours—and cheer the beaten men?
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, till our time comes again?
Where sullen crowds are densest, and fickle as the sea,
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, and wear them home with me?
We closed the bars and gambling dens and voted straight and clean,
Our women walked while motor cars were whirling round the scene,
The Potts Point Vote was one for Greed and Ease and Luxury
With all to hold, and coward gold, and beaten folk are we.
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, with hands and pockets clean?
(I wore the beaten colours since I was seventeen)
I wore them up, and wore them down, Outback and across the sea—
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, and wear them home with me?
We wore them back from Ladysmith to where the peace was signed,
And wore them through the London streets where Jingoes howled behind.
We wore them to the Queen’s Hall, while England yelled “Pro-Boers!”
And sat them over victory while London banged the doors.1
We wore them from Port Arthur round till all sunk in the sea—
(Who’ll wear the white man’s colours, and wear them home with me?)
I’ve worn them through with gentlemen, with work-slaves and alone—
Who’ll wear the beaten colours, boys, and wear them on his own?
There’s one would look with startled eyes and shrink while I caressed,
Came I not with the colours of the conquered on my breast.
And twenty thousand Bushmen would stand with hands behind
And scorn in all their faces for the coward of his kind.
Who’ll wear the beaten colours and raise the voice they drowned—
It may be when we march again, they’ll bear some other sound—
Who’ll pin the beaten colours on and drive the beaten pen—
It may be other steel and ink when we march out again.
poem by Henry Lawson
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Beaten To The Punch
You say that you can and then you run to get your mummy
And youre almost beaten to the punch
Looking for the man who sold you the dummy
And youre almost beaten to the punch
Laughing at the older guys who say its just as well
Saved by the wedding bell
Almost beaten to the punch
Youre looking for somebody new that you can knock around
You are almost beaten to the punch
If youve got a head for figures then youd better count me out
You were almost beaten to the punch
You pulled the piece but you soon called it love
You go hand in glove
Almost beaten to the punch
Your body speaks much louder than your voice
You let it do the talking so I dont have any choice
Now you find the younger guys are putting up resistance
And youre almost beaten to the punch
You better get out now because youll never go the distance
And youre almost beaten to the punch
Youll find a girl and youll promise her anything
Even a wedding ring
Almost beaten to the punch
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lay Your Ears Back and Fight
WHEN you drink of what the poets rave about as “sorrer’s cup”,
And yer mouth, in spite of laughin’, gits a curve the wrong way up,
Do not whine for help or pity; never cringe at fortunes frown—
Lay yer list’ners back and fight until you fight yer sorrers down!
Though the world on empty pockets is at times a little harsh
And the weights of care are clinging to the ends of your mustarsh,
Never let yer grief boil over; it is nothing to the town—
Lay yer list‘ners back and battle till you fight yer sorres down!
When the law of gravitation lays a hand upon yer heart,
An’ the “slings an’ arrers” fetch yer and you feel ’em pretty smart,
When you cannot find a billet, and you haven’t half-a-crown—
Lay yer list’ners hack and fight until you fight yer sorrers down!
When the gilt upon the future wears in places very thin,
Look as if there’s nothink crooked, try an’ summon up a grin;
There’s a mask that you must always wear the other way about—
Lay yer list’ners back and battle till you knock yer sorrers out.
poem by Henry Lawson
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What one decides to do in crisis depends on one's philosophy of life, and that philosophy cannot be changed by an incident. If one hasn't any philosophy in crises, others make the decision.
quote by Jeanette Rankin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The philosophy to live
The life is
respect and dignity
My philosophy of
life is to
live with dreams
Is satisfying to
think at the
philosophy to live
The philosophy to
live is sacred
and genuine
Is essential that
the philosophy to
live is a
conscious and satisfying
act of our
personal existence
The philosophy to
live must be
defended from excessive
attacks
The philosophy to
live will be
a peaceful and
motivated revolution
The life is
a great and
magnificent work
The life must
be lived slowly
because only thus
can be authentic
The life is
not appearance
The life travels
in the present
The life is
an alternation of
emotions and sensations
There shouldn't be
obsessions in life
because it's an
unrepeatable and extravagant
thing
poem by Laura arwen
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Woman, Made a Punching Bag of Man
A woman, beaten by the cruel hands of her man
Beaten as she raises her voice to challenge his words
Beaten as she goes out to celebrate her freedom
Beaten as she refuses to do what he orders and wants.
And the battered woman accepts her tragic lot
Bearing the marks of violence on her own body
Longing for golden days of love and romance
Lamenting on her destiny as punching bag of man.
poem by Elizabeth Padillo Olesen
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Last Post
THE day's high work is over and done,
And these no more will need the sun:
Blow, you bugles of England, blow!
These are gone where all must go,
Mightily gone from the field they won.
So in the workaday wear of battle,
Touched to glory with God's own red,
Bear we our chosen to their bed!
Settle them lovingly where they fell,
In that good lap they loved so well;
And, their deliveries to the dear Lord said,
And the last desperate volleys ranged and sped,
Blow, you bugles of England, blow,
Over the camps of her beaten foe --
Blow glory and pity to the victor Mother,
Sad, O sad in her sacrificial dead!
Labour, and love, and strife, and mirth,
They gave their part in this kindly earth --
Blow, you bugles of England, blow!
That her Name as a sun among stars might glow,
Till the dusk of time, with honour and worth:
That stung by lust and the pain of battle,
The One Race ever might starkly spread,
And the One Flag eagle it overhead!
In a rapture of wrath and faith and pride,
Thus they felt it, and thus they died;
So to the Maker of homes, to the Giver of bread,
For whose dear sake their triumphing souls they shed,
Blow, you bugles of England, blow,
Though you break the heart of her beaten foe,
Glory and praise to the everlasting Mother,
Glory and peace to her lovely and faithful dead!
poem by William Ernest Henley
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Philosophy is a battle against the bewitchment of our intelligence by means of our language.
quote by Ludwig Wittgenstein
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Philosophy is a battle against the bewitchment of our intelligence by means of language.
quote by Ludwig Wittgenstein
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The enemy came. He was beaten. I am tired. Goodnight.
Vicomte Turenne in Message sent after the battle of Dunen (1658)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In every battle there comes a time when both sides consider themselves beaten, then he who continues the attack wins.
quote by Ulysses S. Grant
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The American Revolution was, in fact, a battle against the philosophy of Locke and the English utilitarians.
quote by Robert Trout
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The dynamic element in my philosophy, taken as a whole, can be seen as an obstinate and untiring battle against the spirit of abstraction.
quote by Gabriel Marcel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poetry Is Flat And Focused; A Contemporary Discourse!
Contemporary poetry is flat and focused(pyany su, not pyant kar in myanmar) , which is composed and alchemised of three area-knowledge, psychology and philosophy(the end of philosophy or the end of modern philosophy.poet nyein way
Philosophy aims at the logical clarification of thoughts. Philosophy is not a body of doctrine but an activity. A philosophical work consists essentially of elucidations. Philosophy does not result in "philosophical propositions", but rather in the clarification of propositions. Without philosophy thoughts are, as it were, cloudy and indistinct: its task is to make them clear and to give them sharp boundaries.
quote by Ludwig Wittgenstein
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Not The Pilot
NOT the pilot has charged himself to bring his ship into port, though
beaten back, and many times baffled;
Not the path-finder, penetrating inland, weary and long,
By deserts parch'd, snows-chill'd, rivers wet, perseveres till he
reaches his destination,
More than I have charged myself, heeded or unheeded, to compose a
free march for These States,
To be exhilarating music to them--a battle-call, rousing to arms, if
need be--years, centuries hence.
poem by Walt Whitman
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I Summon To Sleep
I SUMMON TO SLEEP
The flowers and the trees
I summon to sleep-
Lilacs, roses, almond-blossom, peach-
Play gently in my mind
And soothe me into dreams.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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The Veteran
When I was young and bold and strong,
Oh, right was right, and wrong was wrong!
My plume on high, my flag unfurled,
I rode away to right the world.
"Come out, you dogs, and fight!" said I,
And wept there was but once to die.
But I am old; and good and bad
Are woven in a crazy plaid.
I sit and say, "The world is so;
And he is wise who lets it go.
A battle lost, a battle won-
The difference is small, my son."
Inertia rides and riddles me;
The which is called Philosophy.
poem by Dorothy Parker
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Beaten Into Sweetness
Beaten into sweetness.
Like grapes to produce,
A fine wine sipped.
Beaten into sweetness.
To allure and maintain,
A sizable profit held in a firm fist.
And every whiff of it sniffed,
Satisfied to the very last drop.
Beaten into sweetness.
Although a sadness carried,
Inside would not stop!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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