He was somebody who made me think, I suppose, about the contemplative life. I've always been a city fellow, but I've often had vague thoughts about 'checking out' and perhaps going into a monastery and just seeing what it was like.
quote by Derek Jacobi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Related quotes
It’s called the inner city
On death row I ask what happen to me
This is not the way it was suppose be
So I drag my mind trying to recall
The life I had beyond these prison walls
I see
Thin walls no privacy
Big yard, living in close proximity
It’s called the inner city
It’s called the inner city
A city no one build for me
It’s called the inner city
Yes it has shaped my destiny
On death row I ask what happen to me
This is not the way it was suppose be
So I drag my mind trying to recall
The life I had beyond these prison walls
I see
Adults sit around
Getting shot and maim
Children run around
Oblivious
Playing their games
In the filth that flows untamed
It’s called the inner city
It’s called the inner city
A city no one build for me
It’s called the inner city
Yes, it has shaped my destiny
On death row I ask what happen to me
This is not the way it was suppose be
So I drag my mind trying to recall
The life I had beyond these prison walls
I see
How hard I try not to run with the pack
But against me the cards were stack
They need protection they need someone
But you can’t protect them with empty hand
In the inner city
It’s called the inner city
Poverty, amidst luxury
A city no one build for me
It’s called the inner city
Yes, it has shaped my destiny
Political connections, fearless and strong
Dispensing justice with an even hand
Truth be told, I am a ladies’ man
So naturally they call me the “Don”
In the inner city
It’s called the inner city
It’s called the inner city
A city, no one build for me
It’s called the inner city
Yes, it has shaped my destiny
Now on death row
Soon, I’ll go
I am guilty?
No one will know
The script is written and sing like a song
They used, refused and then they kill the “Don”
In the inner city
Hah, ha, ha, a, a, a
Hah, ha, ha, a, a, a
poem by Ikhalfani Solan
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Wonders Of Mother Nature
Mother nature
Oh mother nature
How beautiful and lovely you are
With such a tender loving care
Mother Nature
Ohh! Mother Nature
Our dearest mother nature
Our amazing mother nature
Ohh! Mother Nature
If nature allows can I please ask you a question
As a mother
How come you killed your young?
How come you made your fellow mothers cry?
How come you took away their joy?
You took the only thing that made their lives blossom
You suppose to make life beautiful
Mother Nature you suppose build
But how come you destroyed homes
Mother Nature you suppose to make the world a good place to be in
Yet you have turned the world to be a horrible place
Mother Nature as a mother you suppose to warn your young when the go astray
Not to destroy them
Yet you destroyed and killed them
You suppose to symbolize new beginnings and that there’s always hope
Yet you came and shuttled people’s lives and dreams
poem by Vangile Mtyali
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The Builders Of The City
You never will find their names on a memorial wall
And any memories of them historians never do recall
The builders of the City who lay with the unsung
Many of them came from distant shores and spoke in a foreign tongue
They more than earned every penny that they were ever paid
The builders of the City yet little of their achievements made
Devoted to the family and devoted to the wife
They worked hard so their children could enjoy a better life,
The builders of the City so much to them we owe
Though nothing written about them and of them little we do know
They built the housing estates, City buildings and City Mall
Though nothing of their life achievements is ever made at all
They lay the rail tracks to the City and made the Roadways through the Countryside
Yet in the builders of the City we never do take pride.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Red wine, rain and my thoughts
Red wine,
rain
and my thoughts
but there's something missing
how can I say I don't know
everywhere is desolate, and
every corner in this city
hides your image
that makes me more thoughtful.
Red wine,
rain
and my thoughts,
sometimes I can't take a breath
and I can't hold my tears,
day by day living in this city,
without you
that's just meaningless.
Red wine,
rain
and my thoughts,
you are endless hope
all I have in this life
that takes me behind of the worlds
where I've found you with all my heart
Red wine,
rain
and my thoughts,
red wine is my dream
that ornament whole my life,
rain is your voice
that's always in my ears,
and my thoughts is just you who is also me
red wine,
rain
and my thoughts
written by Turgay HINIZ, Agust 2007, Sydney.
poem by Turgay Hiniz
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Sehnsucht
Whence are ye, vague desires,
Which carry men along,
However proud and strong;
Which, having ruled to-day,
To-morrow pass away?
Whence are ye, vague desires?
Whence are ye?
Which women, yielding to,
Find still so good and true;
So true, so good to-day,
To-morrow gone away.
Whence are ye, vague desires?
Whence are ye?
From seats of bliss above,
Where angels sing of love;
From subtle airs around,
Or from the vulgar ground,
Whence are ye, vague desires?
Whence are ye?
A message from the blest,
Or bodily unrest;
A call to heavenly good,
A fever in the blood
What are ye, vague desires?
What are ye?
Which men who know you best
Are proof against the least,
And rushing on to-day,
To-morrow cast away.
What are ye, vague desires?
What are ye?
Which women, ever new,
Still warned, surrender to;
Adored with you to-day,
Then cast with you away,
What are ye, vague desires?
What are ye?
Which unto boyhood’s heart
The force of man impart,
And pass, and leave it cold,
And prematurely old,
What are ye, vague desires?
What are ye?
Which, tremblingly confest,
Pour in the young girl’s breast
Joy, joy, the like is none,
And leave her then undone,
What are ye, vague desires?
What are ye?
Ah yet! though man be marred,
Ignoble made, and hard;
Though broken women lie
In anguish down to die;
Ah yet! ye vague desires,
Ah yet!
By Him who gave you birth,
And blended you with earth,
Was some good end designed
For man and womankind;
Ah yet! ye vague desires,
Ah yet!
The petals of to-day,
To-morrow fallen away,
Shall something leave instead,
To live when they are dead;
When you, ye vague desires,
Have vanished;
A something to survive,
Of you though it derive
Apparent earthly birth,
But of far other worth
Than you, ye vague desires,
Than you.
poem by Arthur Hugh Clough
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Cities
Think of london, a small city
Its dark, dark in the daytime
The people sleep, sleep in the daytime
If they want to, if they want to
Chorus
Im checking them out
Im checking them out
I got it figured out
I got it figured out
Theres good points and bad points
Find a city
Find myself a city to live in.
There are a lot of rich people in birmingham
A lot of ghosts in a lot of houses
Look over there!...a dry ice factory
A good place to get some thinking done
Down el paso way things get pretty spread out
People got no idea where in the world they are
They go up north and come back south
Still got no idea where in the world they are.
Did I forget to mention, to mention memphis
Home of elvis and the ancient greeks
Do I smell? I smell home cooking
Its only the river, its only the river.
song performed by by Talking Heads
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I was thinking about dying the other day... the death thought came while I was sitting on the toilet peeing – that's where I have my most contemplative thoughts.
Who You Are
Someone's drinking all alone
Someone's left the TV on
I don't suppose, no I don't suppose
Someone's sleeping in my bed
Someone's let the genie in
I don't suppose, no I don't suppose
You know who you are
Who you are, who you are today
Baby's gone and died again
Taken by the tide again
And it's no surprise
She hates goodbyes
Someone's folding paper planes
Someone's on the line again
Someone's crying at the sonnet
Someone's hiding from someone
I don't suppose, no I don't suppose
You know who you are
Who you are, who you are today
song performed by by Tears For Fears
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0017 Suppose it said..
Suppose it said – and, yes
it has been said, that
you were made to be
as much the same, as God,
or, The Creator – or
some other word that
means as much – were made to be
as much the same as – That -
as any human being could be; that
this, waits for you; it’s there;
cease to deny that that is so,
and then, it will be so…
suppose you hear it said; and
like the sound of it; then
close your eyes for several seconds
and open them again; but, it’s all
just the same…
suppose that at that point,
you don’t give up, with, as they say,
'a snort of derision'; but close your eyes again,
and think
I don’t remember such a big denial
all at once; how could a child
know what to deny, or why;
deny so vast a thing?
or could it rather be, a history
of many small denials? ah yes,
that seems quite possible – like
all those things that we put to one side
as – so the song goes on – ‘but not for me…’:
some few were overcome – I thought once
that riding a bike was Not For Me;
but thanks to Dad who proved me wrong,
I’ve thousands of miles of the joy of freedom
ticking on the cyclometer…
but yes, there’s much that’s labelled
Not For Me; once, poetry
was labelled, too, so great a thing
but Not For Me..
suppose a life
without self-deprivation
where all these small denials were denied,
whom would I be then? Would I be great
in so many small acceptances,
that all that life might have to offer,
should be myself? Would that be joy?
I think it could be so.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Tale of Three Cities
New York blasted London blasted
Singapore -
Ripped off each other's metaphoric balls,
Crumbling walls.
Priapic city monoliths -
Blue-sky scraping bastards -
Shout about their height (but really length) .
V8 arseholes didn't care -
Pumping shit into the air,
So long as they were always there to
Fart aloud a smoggy cloud,
Laughing at the weak asthmatic,
Humoured that it seems traumatic.
Watch the greedy cities oozing
Chair-bound fat committees, though they
Look a bunch of titties as they
Waffle on about the pound.
Ever thought to look around and see
That they were dead?
Copyright © Mark R Slaughter 2010
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
city city city city city city
poem by Mark R Slaughter
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Vagueness: The Letter
I was angry
and high.
anger is always high.
-When I brake all my rules and standards.-
I wrote
a vague
letter
to Eileen,
i was vague,
my anger was vague,
as well as the words,
the comma, and the vague spacing between the dots.
I should be simple
in writing
all my letters to her.
the vagueness should be left to the ink.
poem by Atef Ayadi
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The Selfish Shellfish
Deep in the briny sea
Was a monk fish monastery;
A prayerful variety
Of contemplative piety
From gentle soles to trout,
All swimmingly devout,
Where once a pious oyster
Went strolling ‘round the cloister,
And he was quietly grumbling,
His tummy it was rumbling.
He spied a tasty morsel,
A fellow shark monk's dorsal.
He lopped it with his chopper,
And hid it good and proper.
He'd eat it some time later
With peas and beans and ‘tater.
There's no way he would share it,
His stomach wouldn't bear it.
Meanwhile the poor old shark monk
Swims round and round like he's quite drunk.
To swim quite straight he needs all fins;
He twists and swerves, he dives and spins
Into a crazy cork screw loop;
His fin must be saved from the soup.
The other monks are looking
At what the oyster's cooking.
They see he has the shark fin;
They can't allow this shell fish sin
And since he is a sinner,
They confiscate his dinner,
And sew in back on shark monk's back
So he can get himself on track.
The oyster now is pleading;
Forgiveness he is needing.
He's being quite rambunctious;
He's big and plump and scrumptious,
And so the monks decide his fate
Is to be served up on a plate.
So now they all are wine-ing,
They're dancing and they're dining,
In their monastic cellar
On oyster Rockefeller.
poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
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Suppose a smile.
Suppose a smile.
Suppose it always, with a smile.
Suppose the sun to shine,
shine with a smile;
suppose the rain to fall and smile
smile at the earth;
the snow, with gentle smile,
protecting tender shoots;
suppose the wind to smile
mysteriously, about its secretwork;
suppose – that’s easy – flowers
to open with a smile; and
smile as they fade and wave farewell,
a smile that says, that’s how it is…
suppose some patient smiles:
as rain-forests say to those who cut them down,
you’ll live to regret this; here’s
your chance to learn;
suppose the desert sand to smile
and say, you took the trees, and now
I’m here; plant, call down rain, store, irrigate…
suppose the ice-cap, melting with sad smile,
saying, I did not choose…
suppose that Abraham, Moses, Christ, Mohammed
spoke their uncompromising, uncomfortable truths
always with a smile; a gentle smile;
a smile to say, I'm here, you're here to learn...
suppose the spear to smile,
hammered into pruning-hook..
suppose smile met with smile.
Suppose.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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That in the beginning when the world was young there were a great many thoughts but no such thing as truth. Man made the truths himself and each truth was a composite of a great many vague thoughts. All about in the world were truths and they were all beautiful.
quote by Sherwood Anderson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Do Or Not To Do
To do or not to do
I have been having
Some strange thoughts
The past couple of days
Thanks to an incident
With a credit card
And my checking account
I am almost tempted
To go for broke
And say the hell with it all
Bankruptcy could not be all that bad
Could it
I was thinking I could move to Mexico
For a few years
And pay a couple hundred toward rent
And a Mexican shrink
And have plenty left over
For senoritas and beer…LOL
Wouldn’t that be the life
I wonder what that might be like
I wonder what the wife would think
I don’t think she would like that
One bit
Well, I just thought I’d let you in
On some of the crazy thoughts
Racing through my head
Any suggestions
poem by Edwin Tanguma
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City Life
Orbison/dees
Coffer cafes dizzy with city lights, concrete sidewalks busy with friendly fights
But thats alright baby, its alright come go with me and you will see city life, city life
Loud paper boys yelling yesterdays news, a pedlar man selling what you cant use
Thats alright baby, its alright come go with me, you will see city life, city life
I need you when the sun goes down, you pick me up when youre around
Come on, come on now, we can have a good time, this town aint much unless youre here with me
Its like a woman, crazy just like a puppy, lazy
Just like a pretty jealous wife, I cant get free from city life
Secluded bars humming behind the scenes, hot wild guitars strumming, promising dreams
Thats alright baby, its alright come go with me and you will see city life, city life
I dont want to be alone, stay with me now, dont go home
Its a date, well stay out late and party, city lifes okay when youre with me
Its like a lion sleeping just like a willow weeping,
A melting pot for fun and strife cant get away from city life
City life baby, city life, its alright baby, its alright city life, city life....
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My City Warriors
A city so old
Made warriors born
Together and enforld
Without them its lorn
Beauty to uphold
A story untold
Made city leaven
Those warriors from heaven
Every new breath
Enlighten their death
Won on battlefield
No count, how many have been killed
Their blood so pure
Made this city cure
Proud of nation
A reason of celebration
That love for victory
A war for victory
Made us for freedom
They were for freedom
A city so old
Made warriors born
poem by Yatin yadvansh
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No Tears
tears roll down his checks
as he muttered the words “she’s dead”
I would have stopped
stared as if he was a ghost
and I would have thought
god it’s about time
but as I looked around to the people I loved something came over me
mom and dad were crying,
Ethan, Andy, and even john looked sad
here I was with a smile on my face
how dumb could I be not even act like I care
but the truth really is that I don’t give a shit
about if she had died or not
it’s better for us in the long run anyway
make everyone happier
I’m just a kid so what am I supposed to think when someone
that has made my life and my family’s life miserable
what am I suppose to fell when someone has made me hate coming “home”
what am I suppose to do when many of times I have wished her dead
what am I suppose to say to the person that made me believe I live in hell
am I suppose to lie
what would you do
what would you fell
what would you say
what would you think
I almost feel sorry for not feeling bad
but I don’t
I almost feel sorry for Steve
but yet again why should I care when his parents die
when he didn’t care when my dad died
I will admit there were a couple of minutes
where I felt like a bad person for not feeling bad
but it’s not worth my time
enough tears will be shed from her death
why should I need to contribute to the waterfall
a tear runs down my face
yes a tear
one single tear
yet no tears flow from my eyes
of sadness
poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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Sense and Sensitivity 2010
Sense and sensitivity.2010
Big city life is not for me.
Too many minds impinge on mine.
Broadcasting thoughts quite randomly
that have no purpose or design.
the broadcast thoughts though unaware
that other people can receive.
I find such chaos hard to bear.
I must raise barriers to achieve
the peace of mind for which I yearn.
Leaves me no choice I must return
to rural life and peacefulness.
Though city life is not for me.
It may suit you admirably.
Saturday,03 July 2010
Http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Not My City
This isn't the kind of city,
Once I called my own.
The city belongs to foxy politicians,
Unscrupulous traders, flesh racketeers, pimps, loompens, rapists,
But this cannot be my city.
The city belongs to mute witnesses,
To rape and murder but not to me,
The city belongs to hypocrites,
Feigning nonchalance to the sight of destitute,
At slums and beggars dying on the avenues of the rich.
This is the city of the escapists,
Who at the slightest premonition of a peril,
Make the hastiest retreat.
This is the city of the spooks
They stoically sit on the piles of injustice;
Here they go into rhapsodies,
Over the question of life after death.
This is the city of the soothsayers,
Agents of self-aggrandizement, opportunists.
I can never call it my own city, never.
Liars, cheats, religious bigots abound in here;
In this city, we're a handful of men and women
Armed with logic, liberal thoughts,
Voice against injustice,
Live in beating hearts.
Not my City.
[Translated by Sujal Bhattacharya]
poem by Taslima Nasrin
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