Frivolity is a stern taskmaster.
quote by Bill Griffith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I am what you would call a stern taskmaster. I expect perfection. And then a little more perfection when perfection is offered.
quote by Estee Lauder
Submitted by Simona Enache
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The people of the United States, perhaps more than any other nation in history, love to abase themselves and proclaim their unworthiness, and seem to find refreshment in doing so... That is a dark frivolity, but still frivolity.
quote by Robertson Davies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blaming Poverty On The Poor
Give us your deprived, your malleable muddled masses
hoping for a gentler taskmaster
Welcome to the multi-trillion dollar industry, Poverty
A.K.A, cheapest labor force
Poverty works, never ever unemployed
A much needed commodity to justify
White-collar crime classes
Teaching dastardly deeds—to procure monetary needs-
fostering avarice greed
Give us your deprived, your malleable muddled masses
hoping for a gentler taskmaster
Welcome to the multi-trillion dollar industry, Poverty
A.K.A., cheapest labor force
Poverty creates jobs for those financing the societal
Institution of ya godda pay more taxes
Blaming Poverty on the poor
Look! what Enron did to those less fortunate
Blaming Poverty on the poor
Did not corporations want a billion dollar welfare check
Blaming Poverty on the poor
Blaming Poverty on the poor
Give us your deprived, your malleable muddled masses
hoping for a gentler taskmaster
Welcome to the multi-trillion dollar industry, Poverty
A.K.A., cheapest labor force
No penance just punishment augmenting the pillar of economic pillaging
Poor people put in the pillory from the political pulpit
Poverty is prime property
Poverty pimps portrayed as political preachers purely punitive but polite
The pluralization of Poverty provides prestige of the patricians
Poverty, the promissory note from the bureaucratic infidel
The Truth will tell—the truth will tell
Poverty the patriotic prisoner on trial for treason
Copyright 2001
poem by Josephine DixonBanks
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O the Great King of kings
O the Great King of kings
Please forgive all my sins
Of present, past and future
Since you are our Taskmaster
And you show the straight way to the misled
And you are the Most Wise and Kindhearted.
(Amen)
poem by Asif Andalib
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The hare-brained chatter of irresponsible frivolity.
quote by Benjamin Disraeli
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Frivolity is inborn, conceit acquired by education.
quote by Marcus Tullius Cicero
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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These flowers, which were splendid and sprightly, waking in the dawn of the morning, in the evening will be a pitiful frivolity, sleeping in the cold night's arms.
quote by Pedro Calderon de la Barca
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Astronomical Writings
Oh, how infinite, how unspeakably great, are the heavens!
Yet by frivolity's hand downwards the heavens are pulled!
poem by Friedrich Schiller
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Let's Work
You’ve got to work to be happy
Or you’ll get bored pretty quickly
For singing all day and endless frivolity
Though happy and jolly
Will leave you melancholy
You spend ten years of your life being trained to do one thing, and you're being taught to think that it's the most serious thing that anyone could possibly do, and then suddenly you find yourself doing something that in some respects is the epitome of frivolity.
quote by Jonathan Miller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hundreds And Thousands
But a scant 2000 folk, no more,
Sitting solemn-faced within the pews,
While the parsons preach and outward pour,
In divers tones, their own peculiar views.
Folk of sobriety,
'Proddies' and 'Pats,'
Breathing their piety
Into their hats;
Glowing with holiness,
Stern and austere;
Kneeling in lowliness,
Meek and sincere.
Only 2000.
Gaily 50,000 folk or so
Travel to and fro in tram and train;
Godless Jeremiah, Jim and Joe,
Giddy Gerty, Gwendoline and Jane.
Bent on frivolity,
Eager for fun,
Sinful in jollity
Off for a run.
Taking a peach along
Out for the day,
Walking the beach along,
Godless but gay.
Full 50,000.
What's three hundred pounds a year to him
Of Scotchbyterian mould and visage stern,
Who'll go each dinner-time, with purpose grim,
And teach those folk what they refuse to learn?
Is it o'er muckle to
Gi'e to a mon,
One that will buckle to
Preaching upon
Creeds ev'ry dinner-time,
Praying with zest,
Giving each sinner time
Texts to digest?
Merely 300?
About 10,000 working men, or less,
With dinner pail and pasty at their lunch,
All list'ning to a clergyman's address,
And solemnly reflecting as they munch.
With due propriety
Blinking their eyes,
Swallowing piety
With their hot pies;
Glad that they will have their
Church with their bun.
And they can still have their
Sunday for fun.
Nearly 10,000.
'Tis now 2000 years ago, or near,
Since parsons 'gan to roam this troubled earth;
The sects increase and multiply each year
Which moves the pagan to loud, godless mirth).
Yet do they battle on
Fighting the Deevil,
Still do they rattle on
Girding at evil;
Preaching humility,
Pleading with tears
Is it futility?
Wait a few years.
'Tis but 2000.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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How Soon Hath Time
How soon hath Time, the subtle thief of youth,
Stoln on his wing my three and twentieth year!
My hasting days fly on wtih full career,
But my late spring no bud or blossom shew'th.
Perhaps my semblance might deceive the truth,
That I to manhood am arrived so near,
And inward ripeness doth much less appear,
That some more timely-happy spirits endu'th.
Yet be it less or more, or soon or slow,
It shall be still in strictest measure even
To that same lot, however mean or high,
Toward which Time leads me, and the will of Heaven;
All is, if I have grace to use it so,
As ever in my great Taskmaster's eye.
poem by John Milton
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Retrospective Innocence
We invent imaginary places
To house the real people. We
Do not concern ourselves with
The separation of sense or consciousness,
Whisking the frivolity of it away
With a firmer understanding—
A more complete contemplation—
On the nature of reflective insolence.
We genuinely shame ourselves into guilt,
Forming a retrospective innocence
That never was and never will be,
If only to procure for ourselves—
To verify the unlikely possibility—
That it ever existed.
poem by Tim Stensloff
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Nothing Of Value
I hang up antiquated quill,
to fill taskmaster till.
All I know dearly bought,
comes to nullified nought.
No negotiable reward remains,
to sustain, ordained writings wrought.
So fruitless frustrated search,
belies, an inspired image sought.
Is nothing lasting learned,
is nothing timely taught?
Diligent inspired dutiful labour,
but wasted, wash-out thought.
Life stagnates
stupefied on,
nothing of virtuous,
virtuoso, value bought?
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Three White Feathers
With the frivolity of butterflies
During the most fragile moments
Three White feathers
In as many weeks
Peacefully, angelically, inexplicably
Kissed the air, whilst landing for comfort
Upon your gentle lap
And you smiled so very
Beautifully, softly, hopefully
To tear at my innards, knowing
The
significance and comfort of...
.... Those Three White Feathers
Miss you x
poem by Karen Sinclair
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What importance can we attach to the things of this world? Friendship? It disappears when the one who is liked comes to grief, or the one who likes becomes powerful. Love? it is deceived, fleeting, or guilty. Fame? You share it with mediocrity or crime. Fortune? Could that frivolity be counted a blessing? All that remains are those so-called happy days that flow past unnoticed in the obscurity of domestic cares, leaving man with the desire neither to lose his life nor to begin it over.
quote by Chateaubriand
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Forest In Winter
Winter’s chill winds again, and the birds
wing silently through the white pine trees
searching the snow for food, scratching the ground
when they find signs of sustenance.
A blanket of whiteness deadens my footsteps
but seems to sharpen the whistling of the wind,
and is raised and gathered into gusts that rage
shrill and stinging against the trunks of the trees.
Like a cold steel knife
winter bites icily into the cracked bark,
and the forest sways,
but with proud fortitude,
for winter is a hard taskmaster,
but fiercely beautiful.
poem by Rory Hudson
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Mirror (ii)
Too many things
Come at a time, makes it heavy
With stern face, I face you
And the world, you don't have time
To think, the world thinks I am moody!
Just the world becomes the mirror
And reacts and reflects with the same stern face,
I am collecting myself, wait, to show you
My smiling face, swallowing my own sorrow,
To see your smiling face, I am very, very sorry,
I shall never bring the sadness nearer to you the mirror.
poem by Abdul Wahab
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Sojourn's Story
Some rhyme spar[e] time, numb, lily-liver,
purple prose sketch out, consistence
tantamount to stretch subsistence
insisting others praise deliver,
irrelevancies etch where? whither?
Swallowed soul-sale spent existence
both for dawdlers and persistence,
memories drown in Lethe's river,
harsh taskmaster, fair forgiver
folded tents, short reminiscence,
man's marathon: unfinished distance.
Worthless word worlds spurned, urned, wither.
Sojourn's story scarcely started
Sinks, last gasper final farted.
(22 September 2009)
poem by Jonathan Robin
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That Feeling Of Doubt
from her stern face
it seems that she only had certainty
her face is square like most windows
but hers is different since it is always closed
like the one for winter
during summer when the clouds are blue
and the skies are clear
and so beautiful to watch with the sun
and the greenness of the world out there
she is still stern
closed
i may believe her firmness
but i have never known what is inside here
for judging her is beyond the openness of my door
one day she fell in a hole
no one knows who dug it along the usual path where she takes her walk
and she broke a bone and despite the skill of her doctor
she never knew how to walk again
her eyes sank like a boat to the ocean
her cheeks shrank like a cake dough short of yeast
she fell short of faith
like a candle eating her own body
until it consumed its light
doubt mounted on her like the dust of her furniture
she became more stern
as ever
harsh and hard
and finally the her window was broken
the frame gave in
and fell and blown by this strong wind of change
when she met doubt her world shattered into pieces
unlike others
the rest of us even live in there
though uncomfortably
but without anger and denial
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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