Heavy pillars, carved from the rock, bear the roof. Slowly, one's eyes become accustomed to the dim light; then they can make out marvelous representations from Indian mythology carved on the walls.
quote by Rudolf Otto
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Related quotes
Tolerance is carved into the rostrum of the U.S. House of Representatives and intolerance should not be carved into the U.S. Constitution.
quote by Jay Inslee
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Your work is carved out of agony as a statue is carved out of marble.
quote by Louise Bogan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wall, Cave, And Pillar Statements, After Asoka
In order to perfect all readers
the statements should he carved
on rock walls, on cave walls,
and on the sides of pillars so
the charm of their instruction can
affect the mountain climbers near
the cliffs, the plainsmen near
the pillars, and the city people near
the caves they go to on vacations.
The statements should, and in a fair
script, spell out the right text and gloss
of the Philosopher’s jocular remark. Text:
“Honesty is the best policy.” Gloss:
“He means not ‘best’ but ‘policy,’
(this is the joke of it) whereas in fact
Honesty is Honesty, Best
is Best, and Policy is Policy,
the three terms being not
related, but here loosely allied.
What is more important is that ‘is’
is, but the rocklike truth of the text
resides in the ‘the’. The ‘the’ is The.
By this means the amusing sage
has raised or caused to be raised
the triple standard in stone:
the single is too simple for life,
the double is mere degrading hypocrisy,
but the third combines the first two
in a possible way, and contributes
something unsayable of its own:
this is the pit, nut, seed, or stone
of the fruit when the fruit has been
digested:
It is good to do good for the wrong
reason, better to do good for the good
reason, and best of all to do good
good: i.e. when the doer and doee
and whatever passes between them
are beyond all words like ‘grace’
or ‘anagogic insight,’ or definitions like
‘particular instance of a hoped-at-law,’
and which the rocks alone can convey.
This is the real reason for the rock walls,
the cave walls and pillars, and not the base
desires for permanence and display
that the teacher’s conceit suggests.”
That is the end of the statements, but,
in order to go on a way after the end
so as to make up for having begun
after the beginning, and thus to come around
to it in order to include the whole thing,
add: “In some places the poignant slogan,
‘Morality is a bad joke like everything else,’
may be written or not, granted that space
exists for the vulgar remarks, the dates,
initials and hearts of lovers, and all
other graffiti of the prisoners of this world.”
poem by Alan Dugan
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A Carved Ivory
Walking naked and barefooted,
Moab will wail for Moab;
Naked and barefooted,
Gladness is taken away along with joy.
A Carved Ivory,
Fair as the moon with my mind on you;
To the heights of the mountains,
Bright as the sun with my mind on you;
To the bed of spices,
Love is like the fragrance of Lebanon!
To a Carved Ivory,
Our legs at war;
To a Carved Ivory,
Our toes for battle;
To a Carved Ivory,
Our bones so scattered;
Love is sweeter than wine.
prayers like incense,
Gladness is taken away along with joy;
Life is like a harp with ten strings where,
Wisdom is better than strength.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Followers Are Pillars
Pillars carry the roof.
The roof keeps them erect.
Pillars are happy
That they are connected,
Not minding their labour.
Followers are pillars.
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Sight Seeing.
Walking around the Arc de Triomphe
Looking up at the names carved in the
Walls wondering if you’d see any names
Of distant relatives carved up there
Amongst the brave and fallen knowing
The coach would be waiting soon and
Wanting to see more and take in the
Atmosphere of the place trying to avoid
The other foreigners with their cameras
And tourist garb and glasses wishing to
Capture with your eyes images for your
Minds to feed on and remember when
You lie in bed and talk with the lights
Out and seeing now the coach driver and
Guide waving their arms you know it’s
Time for you and your lady to go back to
The coach and sit and wait for the next
City sight and the coming of a Paris night.
poem by Terry Collett
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Ringfinger
Well youve got me working so heard lately.
Working my hands until they bleed.
If I was twice the man I could be.
Id still be half of what you need
Still you lead me and I follow
Anything you ask you know Ill do.
But this one act of consecration is what I ask of you
Ringfinger.
Promise carved in stone.
Deeper than the sea.
Ringfinger.
Sever flesh and bone
And offer it to me.
You just left me nailed here.
Hanging like jesus on the cross.
Ill be dying for your sins.
And aiding to the cause.
Ringfinger.
Promise carved in stone.
Deeper than the sea.
Ringfinger.
Sever flesh and bone
And offer it to me.
Wrap my eyes in bandages.
Confessions I see through.
I get everything I want.
When I get part of you.
Ringfinger.
Promise carved in stone.
Deeper than the sea.
Ringfinger.
Sever flesh and bone
And offer it to me.
Ringfinger.
Promise carved in stone.
Deeper than the sea.
Ringfinger.
Devils flesh and bone
Do something for me.
song performed by by Nine Inch Nails
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Human memory is a marvelous but fallacious instrument. The memories which lie within us are not carved in stone; not only do they tend to become erased as the years go by, but often they change, or even increase by incorporating extraneous features.
quote by Primo Levi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Frost Roses
Ice Roses
Frost on windows? Not where I live now, but where
I grew up, winter windows had thick layers of ice.
And in mornings, before anyone got out of bed, I
carved landscape and faces and saw my work fade
slowly away, by noon I could see the landscape
I had carved through clear windows, the mountain’s
stream, frozen solid now, and trees; mother’s face
also as she was busy in the kitchen baking bread.
I do not miss the cold Nordic land I came from, but
wish windows here too have frost roses, or be as
blank as a new page I could write. “I love you on.”
poem by Oskar Hansen
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Oh That Tree
Maybe if you would have seen
Our initals carved in the tree,
You might have fallen in love with me
When we were so very young
For I wanted the world to know
How I felt about you
Now after thirty years,
i went back to that tree
To see if I could still see
If those words could be seen.
Looking there to my surpise,
Two words carved right next to mine
I KNOW!
poem by David Kush
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Morningside
Written by: neil diamond
Morningside
The old man died
And no one cried
They simply turned away
And when he died
He left a table made of nails and pride
And with his hands he carved these words inside
For my children
Morning light
Morning bright
I spent the night
With dreams that make you weep
Morning time
Wash away the sadness from these eyes of mine
For I recall the words the old man signed
For my children
And the legs were shaped with his hands
And the top made of oaken wood
And the children sat around this table
Touched with their laughter
Ah, and that was good
Morningside
An old man died
And no one cried
He surely died alone
And truth is sad
For not a child would claim the gift he had
The words he carved became his epitath
For my children
song performed by by Neil Diamond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shadows Of Wolves
we made an agreement
it was carved in stone to your mind
i agree there must be no changes
without prior notice
but you change it a bit
and so i am canceling the whole of it
that is what it is
carved in stone, put a change
the slightest one
can break the whole of that stone
a little change in temperature
or pressure as the case maybe
can make this world crack
without prior notice
now don't cry foul
for both of us prior to that
have assumed the shadows
of the wolves.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Shatterproof
I see those newly weds
Their eyes wide and believing
They bill and coo at the mention of chez nous
Appearances can be deceiving
Its just a door and a window
Four walls and a roof
But a home of your own would be shatterproof
A door and a window
Four walls and a roof
But a home of your own would be shatterproof
We papered over all the cracks
And painted a cats lick and a promise
The landlord was a man of few words
And most of them were ominous
Its just a door and a window
Four walls and a roof
But a home of your own would be shatterproof
A door and a window
Four walls and a roof
But a home of your own would be shatterproof
It was nothing really to write home about
Then one day it all appears too much
Here comes my little hammer and its shatterproof touch
He said, be practical,
These are most unreasonable demands.
Forget about the broken spectacles
And the damage to your hand.
Its just a door and a window
Four walls and a roof
And the doctors say Im almost shatterproof
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Barefooted
I am walking barefooted and naked because,
I have my mind on you;
I am walking barefooted and naked because,
I have my love for you;
But Moab will wail fro Moab.
You are the one that i love and,
Naked and barefooted i do go about daily for you;
But gladness and joy will be taken away very soon from Moab.
Like a carved ivory, you are as fair as the moon;
Like the highlights of the mountains,
You are easily reached up in love than others;
So we need no war around us.
Life is as bright as the sun on the sweet bed of spices,
And true love is like the fragrance of Lebanon;
But like a carved ivory on your love,
This love is sweeter than wine!
A carved ivory,
Of our legs of love and the peace that it brings;
And like the harp of ten strings,
I am like the native green tree of love to your heart.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Fr. Fausto Tentorio, PIME (1952-2011) Untimely Death
Not by a knife
You have carved your memory
In the hearts of many
Not with a pallet
You have painted your deeds
In the heart that bleeds
Not by a pen
You have written your story
In the book of destiny
With your words, carved advocacy
With your deeds, framed memories
With your love, treasured stories
by your death, all your acclaims
The Kingdom of God, it proclaims
In memory of Fr. Fausto Tentorio, PIME
poem by Maia Padua
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Canephor with a basket
Your voice is a
Canephor with a basket for songs
Coming towards me like a blue dream.
Delicate but strong,
My silence beats your ears,
Leaving a trace of love
Like a fog carved in the air
Or unlike a name carved in an oak tree.
My silence and your voice
Weave new vibrations.
It's like an embrace.
Whatever I'm touch'd from,
It clutches my mind.
Dedicated to the singer Bryan Adams.
poem by Marieta Maglas
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Slave killers
fated to serve
the master
this life
and the next
black america
should cry
gratitude
to the great god
in this case
in the darkest of Borneo
as the crickets shrill
you still see
large carved wooden poles
totem poles
with devil faces
looming over the trees
darkened by
a century of rain,
slavery tears
and as you delve
look into the crevices
carved from hundred year old tree
shrill of the crickets
croak of toads, amphibians
pale in comparison
to cry amplified in your ear
a lord's death
always accompanied
by a slave
emaciated, drenched away
in the sweltering
tropical heat
in a chamber just below
taking the greatest
blow from master
that but now was
still as a log
but yet powerful as lord
slowly, and slowly
he succumbed
to a death
befitting of slaves
the worms
from the upper chamber
swarmed all over
to claim him
carry him away
to serve
the lord
slowly
he slipped away
giving up on life
and death
taking whatever would come
this life
next life
succumbing
to what he thought
is god's will
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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To A Student In Plight
A student`s plight has a loud voice
Still it goes unheard often.
Between these walls of slavery of all times
His sighs and protests get subdued.
What can I do for you my young man?
The carved roads lie long but curved
And you have to travel on it like many.
With sodden limbs you can`t stay behind.
Your eyes hide a tale of their own.
But who will listen to you my young woman?
The shells rock Gaza and rest of lands in the East Asia,
And I tell you again, ' we are alive here for sure'.
A day will soon bloom for you
As all the gardens haven`t got burned yet.
Do you see the birds in heights flying in a row ever?
Now let us kill the monster the ' I ' in us for a season
And reinstall the ' We ' our old angel.
Your looks have begun to change a little
And I say, ' It is a good sign'.
What else can I tell you now?
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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See You On The Other Side
Voices, a thousand, thousand voices
Whispering, the time has passed for choices
Golden days are passing over, yeah
I cant seem to see you baby
Although my eyes are open wide
But I know Ill see you once more
When I see you, Ill see you on the other side
Yes, Ill see you, Ill see you on the other side
Leaving, I hate to see you cry
Grieving, I hate to say goodbye
Dust and ash forever, yeah
Though I know we mus be parted
As sure as stars are in the sky
Im gonna see when it comes to glory
And Ill see you, Ill see you on the other side
Yes Ill see you, Ill see you on the other side
Never thought Id feel like this
Strange to be alone, yeah
But well be together
Carved in stone, carved in stone, carved in stone
Hold me, hold me thight, Im falling
Far away. distant voices calling
Im so cold. I need you darling, yeah
I was down, but now Im flying
Straight across the great divide
I know youre crying, but Ill stop you crying
When I see you, I see you on the other side
Yes. Ill see you. see you on the othe side
Im gonna see you. see you on the other side
God knows Ill see you, see you on the other side, yeah
Ill see you. see you on the othe side
Im gonna see you. see you on the other side
God knows Ill see you, see you on the other side, yeah
I wanna see you, yeah, yeah, yeah, see you on the other side
God knows Ill see you, see you on the other side, yeah
Im gonna see you. see you on the other side
song performed by by Ozzy Osbourne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Garden Temple Of Paradise
Everything is beautiful at this time of day,
Following a quickening morning shower.
And the huge orange pearl that is the sun
Is just beginning to shepherd its endless power.
The spirit of divine blessings carries me,
In a vision, to the center of this sacred lush glade.
There lays a stone walkway crossing a footbridge
In a course toward stairs of rock on a rising grade.
Then immediately before me, a shrine-like temple,
With finely carved work exhibited on every side,
It appears to be the craft of the Eternal Builder himself,
To whom the fairest beauties of nature have replied.
It bestows its stately head of glittering spires to the sky,
Resting upon its noble structure of stone buttress and turrets.
The remaining stairs, I bound, and through the gilded doors,
Into the cedar and marble interior, a work of matchless merits.
The artifacts are carved to satisfy the eyes of God,
And, for amenity, a cruciform lamp high in the ceiling of the shrine.
Comprising the interior are two large and lavish units,
The nave consecrated to the body and the apse to the mind.
The golden glow of the lamp exalted the light in my eyes,
So I turned toward the door and gingerly stepped down the aisle.
With head bowed, I walked through the gilded doors,
Feeling the tender glow of the light on my back all the while.
poem by Albert Price
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