Helmet was joined to helmet, and spear to spear, and jewels, baggage, and elephants without number went with them, and you would have said it was a host that none could understand.
Related quotes
I listen to Helmet - and I love Helmet, they're a great band - but every song sounds the same.
quote by Adam Jones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Frog with the Well Needed Crash Helmet
some frogs come without the crash helmet
prince charming, with a charmed life,
others have the charmed life
but have been thrown
against that dam wall
so many times,
health and safety
needed to step in,
so they designed
an invisible crash-helmet
making it difficult
to grip
because well duh
you just cant see it.
and like a chastity belt,
the frog can give the code
entry number
to whoever is
the independent
self supportive
princess
when there's a chance
for her to be queen
poem by Kieran J Beeston
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Protection
I have no fear at the present in view of my past experiences,
And i am now delivered from the paw of the lion;
But, do wear a bronze helmet on your head to protect yourself.
Of the valley which lies below her,
There you must go to meet her love;
But, i am now delivered from the paw of the bear.
Of the five smooth stones from the brook,
You need a sound protection in this life;
And Yahweh does not save with sword and spear,
For the battle is Yahweh's.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Man's Evolution
from the monkey he comes
bringing a banana
then he changes
erect with a stone & spear
then tired with the spear
he carries a gun
and some beer and
barbecue and steak
he faces the TV
more than every day
at last he evolves into
a pig,
happily waddling
in the mud.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Roman Sentinel
Death or dishonor, which is best to taste?
A Roman sentinel in Pompeii,
When God’s hot anger laid that city waste,
Answered the question, and resolved to die.
His duty was, upon his post to bide
Till the relief came, let what might betide.
He stood forgotten by the fleeing guard,
Choosing that part which is the bitterest still,
His face with its fixed purpose cold and hard,
Cut in the resolute granite of his will.
“Better,” he said “to die, than live in shame;
Death wreathes fresh flowers round a brave man’s name.”
Life is the wave’s deep whisper on the shore,
Of a great sea beyond. The sentry saw
That day the light in broad sails hoisted o’er
The drifting boat of dawn; nor dreamed the flaw,
The puff called death, would blow him with them by
Out to the boundless sea beyond the sky.
The sentry watched the mountain’s fire-gashed cheeks,
And saw come up the sand’s entombing shower.
The storm darts out its red tongue when it speaks,
And fierce Vesuvius, in that wild hour,
Put forth its tongue of flame, and spoke the word
Of hatred to the city from the Lord.
The gloom of seventeen centuries skulked away,
And standing in a marble niche was found
A skeleton in armor all decay;
The soulless skull was by a helmet crowned,
Cleaving thereon with mingled rust and sand,
And a long spear was in the crumbling hand.
In Pompeii are beasts of stone with wings,
Paved streets with marble temples on each side,
Baths, houses, paintings, monuments of kings;
But the arched gate whereat the sentry died,
The rusted spear, and helmet with no crest,
Are better far to see than all the rest.
O heart, whatever lot to thee God gives,
Be strong, and swerve not from a blameless way;
Dishonor hurts the soul that ever lives,
Death hurts the body that is kin with clay.
Though Duty’s face is stern, her path is best:
They sweetly sleep who die upon her breast.
poem by Henry Abbey
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Quiz Poem #4: World City
The city bears the name of a goddess with an owl near,
And she assisted Jason, Heracles and others of old.
She's sometimes seen with helmet, shield or spear,
This matronly, patronly, petrified leader is quite bold.
[Brother Jonathan Gardner]
Copyright © ®2008, Brother Jonathan Gardner. All rights reserved.
Notes:
Okay, did you get the city's name? There are five poems that form a 'quiz poem: world city' in which you have to guess the capital city from anywhere in the world! Easy huh? Once you've got the city's name (or even if you have all five) just email me. It's for fun!
Do email answers rather than put them here as a comment, as that'll spoil it for others. So far the response has been good. Let me know if you like the idea - even if you haven't got the answer or don't want to take part.
poem by Brother Jonathan Gardner
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Reise Reise (Arise Arise) (Lyrics.)
Even on the waves there is fighting
Where fish and flesh are woven into sea
One stabs the lance while in the army
Another throws it into the ocean
Ahoy
Arise, arise seaman arise
Each does it in his own way
One thrusts the spear into a man
Another then into the fish
Arise, arise seaman arise
And the waves cry softly
In their blood a spear is lodged
They bleed softly into the ocean
The lance must be drowned in flesh
Fish and man sink to the depths
Where the black soul dwells
there is no light on the horizon
Ahoy
Arise, arise seaman arise
Each does it in his own way
One thrusts the spear into a man
Another then into the fish
Arise, arise seaman arise
And the waves cry softly
In their blood a spear is lodged
They bleed softly into the ocean
Arise, arise seaman arise
And the waves cry softly
In their heart a spear is lodged
They bleed themselves dry on the shore
poem by Satan's Sibling
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The Tribute
Who will furnish the garb of the warrior
arm him with helmet and spear?
Who's crest on his breast plate and armor
Who's voice shall the warrior revere?
Who will send him into battle to wage war
with purpose unclear?
Who will stand by his grave mound in tribute
never touched by terror or fear?
I will stand by his widow and cover her face with a shroud
and stand by his orphaned children
as the drums and the cannons applaud.
It is me the purveyor of weapons
it is me the pontiff of State
I paved his path of destruction
and armed his trigger of fate.
I was the voice of a nation, it was me who sent him to die
but you will not here me say this
for I've mastered the telling of lies.
Someday I'll have need of his children
and they will not ask me why.
They will serve with pride and distinction
as the drums and the cannons reply..
poem by George Murdock
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Poems On The Slave Trade - Sonnet I
Hold your mad hands! for ever on your plain
Must the gorged vulture clog his beak with blood?
For ever must your Nigers tainted flood
Roll to the ravenous shark his banquet slain?
Hold your mad hands! what daemon prompts to rear
The arm of Slaughter? on your savage shore
Can hell-sprung Glory claim the feast of gore,
With laurels water'd by the widow's tear
Wreathing his helmet crown? lift high the spear!
And like the desolating whirlwinds sweep,
Plunge ye yon bark of anguish in the deep;
For the pale fiend, cold-hearted Commerce there
Breathes his gold-gender'd pestilence afar,
And calls to share the prey his kindred Daemon War.
poem by Robert Southey
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Symbols
’Tis said that the Passion Flower,
With its figures of spear and sword
And hammer and nails, is a symbol
Of the Woe of our Blessed Lord.
So still in the Heart of Beauty
Has been hidden, since Life drew breath,
The sword and the spear of Anguish,
And the hammer and nails of Death.
poem by Victor James Daley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Combat with Enemies
Bayonet and helmet, go may get killed
Waiting for your blood the baying battlefield
The day is hot the sun a smoky ball
Blazing guns boom bodies freely fall.
It's only might, all about power
You hope just once you could smell a flower
Loved ones are gone, home far away
You could do little, you didn't have a say.
Till you came here you wore a hero's smile
Ready to go on combat with an enemy so vile
Your courage is now pierced needled with fears
Your throat is lumpy dry, eyes fill with tears.
Bayonet and helmet, go ruin your dream
You may not come alive, chances are slim
The devils that have fired youthful imagination
Will call you martyr, you died for the nation.
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lifetime Warranty
It is black here, between the stars. You tend to assume while standing on Earth, even on the darkest night, that there is a background glow of stars everywhere. That there is always enough light to see something. True enough, if there were something close enough to see.
My suit is silver and sure, hugging me warmly. Reassuring me with the gentle hiss of fresh air. There is a lifetime warranty stamp on the inside of my helmet, so I'm relaxing. It's a Braurman Deepspace Special, a good brand name and a good model number. The light on the inside of the helmet would last a year on its self-contained battery, but I turn it off to enjoy the faraway scenery.
It is black here, between the stars. There is a tapestry of golden, glowing jewels painted across the far side of infinity. It is cold and lonely here, a feeling of merging with the eternity of a dark cavern, too large to comprehend, holding the entirety of an existence which is falling slowly towards the ground.
I'm falling asleep to the yellow glow of a nebula when I hear the hiss stop. Nothing to worry about, Braurman's all have backup rebreathers that last forever. The light still works in the helmet, and I'm breathing nice and slowly. Just waiting for my rescuers to come. The suit shows the distress beacon transmitting, calling for help.
It is black here, between the stars. Broken ship parts drift in invisible clouds of gas, stretching starshadows between them. Evanescent swirls and spicules arc across the vault of the heavens and flash a smile each time a shadow passes away from them.
The rebreather has died, says my control panel in red. Don't Panic, it says. Air supply is 100%, it says confidently. A crack has appeared in my face plate. It's widening. I'm panicking. The light in the helmet stopped working. My head is swimming. I want to sleep. Breathing hurts. I'm convulsing as the crack reaches the main seal on both sides of the faceplate.
It is black here, between the stars. All around is blue light glowing in incandescent, crystalline sparkles, like a moan from the gut and out the throat; expelling itself in scattering mist droplets, which turn the spaces between them into soft night.
Dead. I can't help trying to laugh, as apathy sears away my senses and fragments of my faceplate drift away with the last of my air. My body jerks a few more times before I can't see the stars anymore, for lack of eyes. I can't really blame Braurman anymore. Who puts a lifetime warranty on a spacesuit?
poem by Poet Dragon
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Sonnet: Helmet-wearing Does Save Lives
A priceless brain resides within the skull,
From which the neural control reach each part!
–A living computer that takes each call,
And keeps all organs working fine, and heart.
A brain that’s smashed in accidents can’t work,
Nor can damaged a brain-box serve purpose;
Surrounding waters take brain off each jerk:
Protect each part in correct ways, God does.
When science has shown brain-injuries so rife,
Can be averted wearing helmets good,
Why not protect your God-given one life,
By putting proper cover like a hood?
Like how a shield protects one from a knife,
Yes, helmet-wearing saves your limbs and life!
‘Helmet-wearing does save lives! ’
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Spiral Horns
My bull spiral horns
Like fishing rod
Spun horns like branch and
Bough of tree
We spray cattle in forest
In name and honour of my bull
I mock those who beat drum of war
But can’t dance in battleground
The monkey groans
The falcon scramble hens
If nothing happened
All men are men even who
Will whine like women
If war comes to teeth of cows
The monkey groans
The falcon scrambles hen
I find husband of buffalo sick in
Brave sickness I kill him by spear
Until lay head down
I find husband of man in brave fury
I kill him by spear until lay head down
I find husband of lion in brave cancer
I kill him by spear until lay head down
The monkey groans
The falcon scramble hen
poem by David Aoloch Bion
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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He played football too long without a helmet.
quote by Jerome Cavanagh
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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When his head is broken he puts on his helmet.
Having conquered, tighten the thongs of your helmet.
The Unknown Soldier
Wait until the war is over
And we're both a little older.
The unknown soldier.
Breakfast where the news is read.
Television children fed.
Unborn living. Living dead.
Bullet strikes the helmet's head
And it's all over
For the unknown soldier.
It's all over
For the unknown soldier.
*army marching sounds*
*gun firing*
Make a grave for the unknown soldier
Nestled in your hollow shoulder.
The unknown soldier.
Breakfast where the news is read.
Television children fed.
Bullet strikes the helmet's head
And
song performed by by The Doors
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Prayer
White, O white face—
from disenchanted days
wither alike dark rose
and fiery bays:
no gift within our hands,
nor strength to praise,
only defeat and silence;
though we lift hands, disenchanted,
of small strength, nor raise
branch of the laurel
or the light of torch,
but fold the garment
on the riven locks,
yet hear, all-merciful, and touch
the fore-head, dim, unlit of pride and thought,
Mistress–be near!
Give back the glamour to our will,
the thought; give back the tool,
the chisel; once we wrought
things not unworthy,
sandal and steel-clasp;
silver and steel, the coat
with white leaf-pattern
at the arm and throat:
silver and metal, hammered for the ridge
of shield and helmet-rim;
white silver with the darker hammered in,
belt, staff and magic spear-shaft
with the gilt spark at the point and hilt.
poem by Hilda Doolittle
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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