I am reconciled to my death, but I detest the mode.
quote by John Andre
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
Concord
Reconciled by death's mild hand, that giving
Peace gives wisdom, not more strong than mild,
Love beholds them, each without misgiving
Reconciled.
Each on earth alike of earth reviled,
Hated, feared, derided, and forgiving,
Each alike had heaven at heart, and smiled.
Both bright names, clothed round with man's thanksgiving,
Shine, twin stars above the storm-drifts piled,
Dead and deathless, whom we saw not living
Reconciled.
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sparkling In The Lotus Silence
o silence that dwells on high buildings
shimmering in my fears
dying flowers drifted in the gutter called decay
heart that is hidden
town looters
homeless dogs heart
i see that lay right in the middle of Semanggi
reconciled me
off in the desert
drifted of the soluble
in the trash
reconciled me
off in the dark
sparkling
silence is hiding
under the eyelids
reconciled me.
oh cool silence that dwells behind the leaf veins
shimmering in my fears
dying flowers are swept away
reconciled me
before it was to lose you
traces of weeping in the fog
die die me
reconciled me
die in the dance
sparkling
sparkling
silence is hiding
megaphone behind the funnel
parade marchers
fill your desert
O silence of the night and ran into the back netting
shimmering in my fears
don't ever leave my loneliness
pushing piles of indecision
the opaque sky
o
(2001)
poem by Imam Setiaji Ronoatmojo
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It's Death Again
It's Death again - He's always there -
Watching, waiting - e'er the stare!
Every time I look behind
Or reach to pull the window blind,
I catch a glimpse of grubby hood -
A little clue to where he stood;
The glint of light that caught the scythe.
Perhaps if I could pay a tithe…
But O! no use, he'll never go.
The adamant phantom; don't you know
He will but wait until it's time
For me to hear His fateful chime? -
The toll that claims my destiny,
To Hail: 'You're next, it has to be…'
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
The Reign of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Truth, Goodness And Integrity
THE BEARER OF TRUTH COURTS TROUBLE IN THE WORLD OF LIARS,
THE BEARER OF LIES COURTS TROUBLE IN THE WORLD OF THE TRUTHFULL,
WHY DOST MY WORLD DETEST TRUTH?
WHY DOST MY LAND DETEST GOODNESS?
YES, EVEN MINE HOUSE DETESTS INTEGRITY,
THUS I AM BECOME UNWELCOME IN MINE WORLD,
LO AND BEHOLD, I AM NOW BECOME AN ABOMINATION IN MY LAND,
YES, I AM NOW BECOME DETESTED IN MY OWN HOUSE,
YES, I AM BECOME THAT WHICH THEY DETEST,
I AM BECOME TRUTHFULL,
I AM BECOME GOOD,
YES, I NOW GLOW WITH INTEGRITY,
YES INDEED, I AM TRUELY BECOME THAT WHICH THEY DETEST,
GOODNESS, TRUTHFULL, AND FILLED OF INTEGRITY!
poem by Overlord Don Manuel Ihcakeyno
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Disingenuousness
Here lies another box for nature,
Carbon ready;
Black to eyes down here,
Where death is at its job.
Up there you’ll hear a rhythmic sob
Or two from living yet-to-dies –
A humming lacrimoso –
It all but cleans the eyes:
Forget it –
The dismal show of grief –
Life is only chemistry –
Our stay is only brief.
It’s we who hype it up!
Diaphragms jerk again;
The jet monotone of hearses
Feeds the disingenuousness
Of undertakers –
They seem to stare at something up ahead –
For them, it’s in the blood,
To taxi off the dead.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
The March of Death
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Wetness
Keeping it a thought you detest...
Is a kept confession,
You love wetness.
You're no different than the rest.
Those who undress quick,
For sex and wetness.
Denying heat wont make it go away.
Saying something different,
Is in conflict with your mission.
Keeping it a thought you detest...
Is a kept confession,
You love wetness.
You're no different than the rest.
Those who undress quick,
For sex and wetness.
Lie about it!
Try to hide those naked wishes in your mind.
Deny and fight it.
But you know fresh meat is what you want to find.
To bump and grind as you're sighing.
Keeping it a thought you detest...
Is a kept confession,
You love wetness.
You're no different than the rest.
Those who undress quick,
For sex and wetness.
You despair for nakedness and wetness.
You want it there,
Some sex and wetness.
Keeping you uptight at night,
And restless.
Ooooohhhyeah...
Keeping it a thought you detest...
Is a kept confession,
You love wetness.
You're no different than the rest.
Those who undress quick,
For sex and wetness.
mmmmm...
That sex and wetness.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Death and I
When death comes
I’ll need not love –
Consumed,
No wreath or dove
Could offer me salvation,
Not when I’m no more.
A weathered stone will bear my name –
Identity of once a being
Living out existence in
A world of risk, and never seeing
Sense of why we’re here.
My genes will die away thro’ child –
Hue of eyes and hair, the way of thought,
Will quickly dim with generation –
Bow to future dominance –
Memories of provenance
Resigned to curious few.
When death comes
I’ll need not grace
Below; no grieving face
Will call my resurrection,
Not when I’m at ground –
Death and I so bound.
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2011
D eath Crawl
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Dream on
As your bony fingers close around me
Long and spindly
Death becomes me
Heaven can you see what I see
Hey you pale and sickly child
You're death and living reconciled
Been walking home a crooked mile
Paying debt to karma
You party for a living
What you take won't kill you
But careful what you're giving
There's no time for hesitating
Pain is ready
song performed by by Depeche Mode from Exciter
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stay Germ Free
Bird Flu and Swine Flu can travel our way.
So may cleanliness be the mode of the day...
In the Florence Nightingale way.
'Florence Nightingale'
nurse in the Crimean War
helped British soldiers
by cleaning the hospitals
halving the dreadful death toll.
Although retired, she gave her all
to improve the conditions
in the Nursing Profession,
leaving behind a valuable lesson.
Bird Flu and Swine Flu can travel our way
So may cleanliness be the mode of the day
in the Florence Nightingale way.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
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Whenever we read the obscene stories, voluptuous debaucheries, the cruel and tortous executions, the unrelenting vindictivenes, with which more than half the Bible is filled, it would be more consistant that we called it the word of a Demon than the word of God. It is a history of wickedness that has served to corrupt and brutalize mankind, and, for my part, I sincerly detest it as I detest everything that is cruel.
quote by Thomas Paine
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The iconoclastic mode, that specific mode of language, there is an element of it that it is punk - that is confrontational. That's just a part of the language of jazz - at a certain point.
quote by Matthew Shipp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The deductive method is the mode of using knowledge, and the inductive method the mode of acquiring it.
quote by Henry Mayhew
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death, Inevitable Death
Death, inevitable Death.
So now You come to show Your world,
Hence the blackened cloak – unfurled.
And peering down upon my form
– Bereft of pity – Your eyes of storm.
Death, inexorable Death.
‘When? ’ The only question out of Thee.
My dream retorts 'But ne’er for me! ’
But now awake, I bid you so –
My giving tears cry ‘Where to go? ’
Death, adamant Death.
You cast Your spell and guide me 'way,
For life and I have had our day.
And what of me? I prey You, tell!
Be glorious in Heaven or gnarled in Hell?
Death, ineluctable Death.
Oh wiry ghoul, I'm here to follow –
I leave my body grey and shallow.
‘Come! ’ You bid in thund’ring tones,
‘Beg farewell to shattered bones.’
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
Death
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Death death
Death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It is not my mode of thought that has caused my misfortunes, but the mode of thought of others.
quote by Marquis de Sade
Submitted by Simona Enache
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Figli Di Pitagora
Siamo figli di Pitagora e di Casadei
Di Macchiavelli e di Tot
Cresciuti con una morale cattolica
E con i Depeche Mode
Siamo figli di Pitagora e di Trinit
Di Michelangelo e Dario Fo
cresciuti con una morale cattolica
E con i Depeche Mode
E con i Depeche Mode...
Everywhere
we have been everywhere
we 've broken barricades
thanks to the fathers we've had
Who knows how many men
will go along our way
We're living every day
Never forgetting where we're from
Siamo figli di Pitagora e di Casadei
Di Macchiavelli e di Tot
Cresciuti con una morale cattolica
E con i Depeche Mode
Siamo figli di Pitagora e di Trinit
Di Michelangelo e Dario Fo
cresciuti con una morale cattolica
E con i Depeche Mode
E con i Depeche Mode...
Motherland
As well as fatherland
Some say godfatherland
But that's the land that we have
Who knows how many men
Will go along our way
We're living every day
Never forgetting where we're from
Siamo figli di Pitagora e di Casadei
Di Macchiavelli e di Tot
Cresciuti con una morale cattolica
E con i Depeche Mode
Siamo figli di Pitagora e di Trinit
Di Michelangelo e Dario Fo
cresciuti con una morale cattolica
E con i Depeche Mode
E con i Depeche Mode...
Siamo figli di Pitagora e di Casadei
Di Macchiavelli e di Tot
Cresciuti con una morale cattolica
E con i Depeche Mode
Siamo figli di Pitagora e di Trinit
Di Michelangelo e Dario Fo
cresciuti con una morale cattolica
E con i Depeche Mode
E con i Depeche Mode...
song performed by by Eiffel 65
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Fresh Endeavour
So now I've taken leave of life,
I thought you'd like to know, I still
Possess a mind in love, oh wife;
A soulful eye to catch a show of
Silent beauty – ever yours;
An ear to pick the metaphors
Of tonal dance in words you say,
Grasp a thought in verse you pray
Inside your head, bemused of mind,
Softly mournful, intertwined with
Understanding tears.
I'll drift a whisper o'er to you
To tell that I am quietly calm;
Keeping time till your adieu
To flesh, upon the carol of a
Psalm of consummation. Now!
A fresh endeavour – we're forever
One together, resting yonder,
Cross our open plane of blue.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter 2009
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Punishment
There never really was a place of sanctity
For you, the mortal entity.
You thought you had prosperity,
The while you thrived and were.
Angels don't exist, you see.
You lived without a guarantee
Atop your brutal Earth.
Still, you had a birth.
And whither now, your crying whim -?
Answered by a tearing limb-?
Are you contrite; your valour slim?
And will He care...?
'Tis down to Him.
Copyright Mark R Slaughter,2009
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Death has come, has death Death has come, has death
Death has come, has death Death has come, has death
Death has come, has death Death has come, has death
poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Death, My Friend
Death, my friend - so good to see you!
Stand aloft and view my soul!
I have to say you’re looking frightful -
Bony chum, you affable ghoul.
Death, my friend, so charmed I’m sure!
State your case and tell me straight -
Am I worthy of reward, so
Venture I to Heaven’s Gate?
Death, my friend, a new acquaintance!
You're always welcome in my home -
Though the stare from empty sockets
Indicates to Hell we roam!
Death, my friend - my bosom buddy.
My! your finger points at me!
Be you tired of my frivolity?
Aha, I see - Oblivion, we!
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2009
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poem by Mark R Slaughter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ponder
there is something about you that i detest
what i clean you make
dirty all over again
what i do not like you keep
doing
what i want to be kept
you take it and display
on the neighborhood for all of them
to see
you oppose me
my love is hate for you
my life is death to you
this time i like it
how is wish that you must go
away
and if this be your philosophy
then i must
stay, i must love, i must sing
i must keep
what life is
till the end.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lust has no shyness
.
The sipped syrup or the bitten dishes
Are the ones sullied by others’ tongues,
So I detest. But your very tongue,
To reach I am very much in anguish.
Why?
The rubbish decay or the rotten eggs
Are so much a repelling odour
So I detest. But your very armpit,
To inhale I am very much eager.
Why?
Hand is washed while private part
Is held, after the toilet.
But when at bed, her very part
One shies not manipulating.
Why?
Is it that lust has no eyes?
Or that it alone has eyes
To discriminate the bliss
And to retrieve one to the sense?
Latter must be.
What to the rational is dirty
Is to sex pretty;
What to the sensible is foul
Is to sex agreeable;
What to mind is ugly
Is to sex holy.
31.07.99
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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