En.Citatepedia^®.ro

A Hasty Inference

The Devil one day, coming up from the Pit,
All grimy with perspiration,
Applied to St. Peter and begged he'd admit
Him a moment for consultation.

The Saint showed him in where the Master reclined
On the throne where petitioners sought him;
Both bowed, and the Evil One opened his mind
Concerning the business that brought him:

'For ten million years I've been kept in a stew
Because you have thought me immoral;
And though I have had my opinion of you,
You've had the best end of the quarrel.

'But now-well, I venture to hope that the past
With its misunderstandings we'll smother;
And you, sir, and I, sir, be throned here at last
As equals, the one to the other.'

'Indeed!' said the Master (I cannot convey
A sense of his tone by mere letters)
'What makes you presume you'll be bidden to stay
Up here on such terms with your betters?'

'Why, sure you can't mean it!' said Satan. 'I've seen
How Stanford and Crocker you've nourished,
And Huntington-bless me! the three like a green
Umbrageous great bay-tree have flourished.

They are fat, they are rolling in gold, they command
All sources and well-springs of power;
You've given them houses, you've given them land
Before them the righteous all cower.'

'What of that?' 'What of that?' cried the Father of Sin;
'Why, I thought when I saw you were winking
At crimes such as theirs that perhaps you had been
Converted to my way of thinking.'

poem by Ambrose Bierce
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The Master Mind

The master mind, devil of evil.
Initiator of deception, creator of sorrow.
Most cunning, most assuring,
fallen emperor, proud prince.
Master mind, he masters the mind

At the entrance of the grave,
he envies the throne of grace.
author of death, father of hell
rewards flaming passions with flames of fire
and he masters the proud, master mind

He serves to master
and masters the world
beauty, wealth, power, and pride...
his own assets.
The master mind serves the world.

His empire is deception,
his agent is 'reason'
who reasons with the wise
and curses the proud into a trap
He masters the mind, who masters the world!

poem by Timothy muggaga
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Thanks Father,

Thanks Father,
Thanks to Allah the Most Merciful,
Hey,
I be coming back unto you,
Thinking that you are so Elegant,
To take care of me,
All these years,

Still cannot believe it,
In all the Discipline,
You were the Master Plan,
In all that Great Motivation,
Still I can see all clearly,
In all the Political Lobby,
I keep thinking,
That the Father was so Right,
To take me all to the Right Path.

poem by Maxpoet Beauty
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The Master of Death

I am falling head over heals in love with
The Master of Death
He’s the one that makes you look over your shoulder… twice
Sends chills down your spine
And forces your fairy tail dreams into nightmares
That would make the devil cry and shiver in terror

My body urns for his touch but
His hands set fire to everyone’s flesh

My moist rosy red lips hunger for the taste of his,
But know he has the kiss of death

With his morbid pen within his right hand
The letters on the paper run in fear
And laugh at the pain of the other writers
For he is the best and
The letters know the other writers are reading
The Master of Death’s
They are reading Saint Cynosure’s
Greatest way to get inside your head

I am falling for The Master of Death
So let it be
But to me he is not so scary
That you all can’t see

poem by Mrs. Cynosure
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Please Be Quiet

He spoke and spoke so many words
and she just silently thought.
He had an opinion on everything.
She listened and then she sought
silence again, just said Amen
to all those words he said,
Soon thoughts came to her head.

She thought about life.
She thought about love.
She thought about
all he was speaking of.
She thought about nights
where silence prevailed.
She thought about days
where the speaking assailed
her ears.
She'd been thinking and thinking
for too many years.
The quietness was peaceful
but now brought her to tears.

For she missed the sound
of all his words.
She missed everything he said.
He was gone and all was quiet
for all his words were dead.
The thoughts were still there.
The words were not.
And what was it he said?
She forgot.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Devil & Daughter

Silence is mocking the dawn of a new day
Devil and daughter are both on their way
The evil of her nature collects in her eyes
With him theres no fear of the dawn bringing light
Baptised with fire, too wild to be tamed
Shes hot, evil and ready to take any man
Let no one put assunder the power of the pain
He is the master of hell riding again
Devil and daughter - pleasure and pain
Devil and daughter - is this the end
A thousand times over, youll hear on the wind
In the name of hell, these sinners never sinned
But satan never listens to the words that they send
Drenching the soul with blood, when will it end
Devil and daughter
Hes got the power, shes got the pain
Devil and daughter
Shell break any woman and take any man
Devil and daughter
Hand in hand with the reaper

song performed by by Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Devil Within

Devil inside the mask thats displayed
On your knees you honor your master as you decieve
Leaving the doors you then show your true self
Evil walks as the devil that dwells in you
Your gangs and criminals with violence and murder will rebound
For we many in a hell where evil dwells in many hearts
Repent now to save yourself from losing your soul
If you choose to stay in hell to continue speading your evil from one life to the next torment will never end in your mind
Your true happiness with love will never be found
You will only be lost in your evil devil ways over and over For the devil is not in the ground as words say to be feared at the end
The devil is here now and must change his evil ways for a better world

poem by Candy Transcends
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Beware the Devil

Beware the devil hidden from sight

In darkened shadows late at night

For Satan lurks, he lies in wait

For hapless souls to make mistakes

And when they do, all hope is gone

For the devil your soul will work upon

He will dissect your mind, chill your heart

Your dreams and wishes he will tear apart

Bleak thoughts he will place in your brain

He will weaken your body, cause you pain

With fiery flames he will corrupt your soul

And with his evil will take control

He will fit you out in colours dark

Alone in a place so bleak and stark

He will taunt you, twist you round

Till no trace of sanity can be found

There you will remain, weary and cold

As you shake with fear at what will unfold

Then Satan speaks with evil ire

Tempts you into hells own fire

Those shining flames flickering bright

Consume you into an endless night

Evil now reigns, and goodness is taken

A nightmare from which you will never awaken

So beware the devil hidden out of sight

In darkest shadows late at night

For Satan waits, his evil to spawn

Tread carefully, you have been warned!

poem by Sue Crocker
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Later, at Stanford University, I thought I'd become a lawyer or businessman, but my father came to me and said he thought there was a big future in the fine-wine business.

quote by Robert Mondavi
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Deformed Angel

Sometimes life gives us severe shock,
Undermines the plans and does block,
The ways of wisdom leading ahead,
Reveals the hands that secretly mock.

An artist thought to paint an angel,
To use the brush for the masterpiece,
But could not conceptualize the image,
Beauty combining innocence, purity.

One morn, at last, he luckily found,
A child playing on the grassy ground,
Having angelic countenance and grace,
Incarnation he was of sublime serenity.
Painted he the angel with skill utmost,
And earned he the world wide fame.

And he after three full fleeting decades,
Thought for the second master-sketch,
Now not of an angel, but of a devil.
He sought for the image far and wide,
But could not find corresponding one,
Fate then led him amid the prison walls,
There inside met he a young wretch man,
With a devilish nature, face and frame.

The master revealed his intent to paint,
Tears came in eyes of the devil formed,
Said he, “Oh! Master it is a matter of woe,
You sketched me an angel thirty years ago.”

poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Sold My Soul

I prayed to God and jesus
But I guess they didnt hear
My sacrfice was useless
My pleas fell on deaf ears
So I cried in desperation
Bowed to evil sorcery
I looked to the lord in heaven
But he must have looked away
My crying eyes repentant
Please send her love to light my day
So I cried in desperation
Bowed to evil sorcery
I sold my soul
Sold my soul
I sold my soul to the devil
So I cried in desperation
Bowed to evil sorcery
I sold my soul
Sold my soul
I sold my soul to the devil
Sold my soul
Sold my soul
I sold my soul
Sold my soul
Sold my soul to the devil
To the devil
Sold my soul
Sold my soul
I sold my soul
I sold my soul
I sold my soul to the devil

song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Master

Master went a-hunting,
When the leaves were falling;
We saw him on the bridle path,
We heard him gaily calling.

'Oh master, master, come you back,
For I have dreamed a dream so black!'
A glint of steel from bit and heel,
The chestnut cantered faster;
A red flash seen amid the green,
And so good-bye to master.

Master came from hunting,
Two silent comrades bore him;
His eyes were dim, his face was white,
The mare was led before him.

'Oh, master, master, is it thus
That you have come again to us?'
I held my lady's ice-cold hand,
They bore the hurdle past her;
Why should they go so soft and slow?
It matters not to master.

poem by Arthur Conan Doyle
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One Of The Redeemed

Saint Peter, standing at the Gate, beheld
A soul whose body Death had lately felled.

A pleasant soul as ever was, he seemed:
His step was joyous and his visage beamed.

'Good morning, Peter.' There was just a touch
Of foreign accent, but not overmuch.

The Saint bent gravely, like a stately tree,
And said: 'You have the advantage, sir, of me.'

'Renan of Paris,' said the immortal part
'A master of the literary art.

'I'm somewhat famous, too, I grieve to tell,
As controversialist and infidel.'

'That's of no consequence,' the Saint replied,
'Why, I myself my Master once denied.

'No one up here cares anything for that.
But is there nothing you were always at?

'It seems to me you were accused one day
Of _something_-what it was I can't just say.'

'Quite likely,' said the other; 'but I swear
My life was irreproachable and fair.'

Just then a soul appeared upon the wall,
Singing a hymn as loud as he could bawl.

About his head a golden halo gleamed,
As well befitted one of the redeemed.

A harp he bore and vigorously thumbed,
Strumming he sang, and, singing, ever strummed.

His countenance, suffused with holy pride,
Glowed like a pumpkin with a light inside.

'Ah! that's the chap,' said Peter, 'who declares:
'Renan's a rake and drunkard-smokes and swears.'

'Yes, that's the fellow-he's a preacher-came
From San Francisco. Mansfield was his name.'

'Do you believe him?' said Renan. 'Great Scott!
Believe? Believe the blackguard? Of course _not!

'Just walk right in and make yourself at home.
And if he pecks at you I'll cut his comb.

'He's only here because the Devil swore
He wouldn't have him, for the smile he wore.'

Resting his eyes one moment on that proof
Of saving grace, the Frenchman turned aloof,

And stepping down from cloud to cloud, said he:
'Thank you, monsieur,-I'll see if he'll have _me_.'

poem by Ambrose Bierce
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The Tenant

the tenant bought the land
owned by my father and
he comes here behaving
like my father who thought
the land is the only world
where he can portray him
self as a master, ohh,
this is not the case any
more that what you know
i know. The land is gone
and so shall my father be
ohh, i am very happy, the
kind of opression we all
tasted is over now. We
shall rejoice for this loss.
This is freedom and this
is victory. At last i am
free. The curse shall now
be his own, not mine.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Master

The lion stands his ground again,
Reflecting on his fate,
Remembering his youth and when
Nobody thought him great...
He proved them wrong, defiantly,
Determined, come what may,
As if it all were meant to be,
His destiny, his way...

Contenders sought to take him on,
To test his strength and guile,
His legend, thus, was built upon
His power, speed and style...
He made them wince, he made them groan,
He made them turn and run,
Until as King, he took the throne,
His battles truly done...

Behold the lion, standing there...
Take note with true regard,
He may look noble, debonair,
But sentiment discard...
If you've got doubts, stop wondering...
He'll make you understand...
For he's the Master, Lord and King,
The Ruler of this land...

Denis Martindale, copyright, August 2012.

The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'The Master'.

More Stephen Gayford poems here:
denis-martindale-dot-blogspot-dot-com

poem by Denis Martindale
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Lord of the Flies

Oh Master my Master
Oh where have you been
I wallowed in filth and
I drowned in sin
Oh Master my Master
It's my rotten luck
To swim in the decay
And swallow the muck
Oh Master my Master
I stand in the fires
Surrounded by murderers
Thieves, cheaters, and liars
Oh Master my Master
the earth has turned red
Fluid with blood
Of the recently dead
Oh Master my Master
What's wrong with the world
The blackness unfolds
Like a flag that's unfurled
Oh Master my Master
You ignore my cries
And now I'm quite sure
You're the Lord of the Flies

poem by Anonymous Ghurl
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The Master

Tom johnston
Just dont know why I keep on tryin
Must be a better way out
I hope I find it soon
Every night, I just cant keep from cryin
Even my old dog
Keeps howlin at the moon
Even my old dog
Keeps howlin at the moon
Even the sun, it just a keep on shinin
Pollyanna days when I was a child and on my own
Even the tracks, they just a keep on linin
I believe my master is just about to bring me home
I believe my master is just about to bring me home
Oh, but bless the days and the many different ways
People try to love one another
And wont you bless the times and the holy light that shine
Our cross has been brought asunder
Even the sun, it just a keep on shinin
Pollyanna days when I was a child and on my own
Even the tracks, they just a keep on linin
I believe my master is just about to bring me home
I believe my master is just about to bring me home
I believe my master is just about to bring me home

song performed by by Doobie Brothers
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Red Flower

In the pleasant time of Pentecost,
By the little river Kyll,
I followed the angler's winding path
Or waded the stream at will,
And the friendly fertile German land
Lay round me green and still.

But all day long on the eastern bank
Of the river cool and clear,
Where the curving track of the double rails
Was hardly seen though near,
The endless trains of German troops
Went rolling down to Trier.

They packed the windows with bullet heads
And caps of hodden gray;
They laughed and sang and shouted loud
When the trains were brought to a stay;
They waved their hands and sang again
As they went on their iron way.

No shadow fell on the smiling land,
No cloud arose in the sky;
I could hear the river's quiet tune
When the trains had rattled by;
But my heart sank low with a heavy sense
Of trouble,--I knew not why.

Then came I into a certain field
Where the devil's paint-brush spread
'Mid the gray and green of the rolling hills
A flaring splotch of red,--
An evil omen, a bloody sign,
And a token of many dead.

I saw in a vision the field-gray horde
Break forth at the devil's hour,
And trample the earth into crimson mud
In the rage of the Will to Power,--
All this I dreamed in the valley of Kyll,
At the sign of the blood-red flower.

poem by Henry Van Dyke
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Hanchen, the Maid of the Mill

Near the village of Udorf, on the banks of the Rhine,
There lived a miller and his family, once on a time;
And there yet stands the mill in a state of decay,
And concerning the miller and his family, attend to my lay.

The miller and his family went to Church one Sunday morn,
Leaving behind their darling child, the youngest born,
In charge of brave Hanchen, the servant maid,
A kind-hearted girl and not the least afraid.

As Hanchen was engaged preparing dinner for the family
She chanced to turn round, and there she did see
Heinrich Bottler, her lover, and she sincerely loved him,
Then she instantly got him something to eat and bade him begin.

And in the midst of her business she sat down beside him,
While he did justice to the meat and thought it no sin,
But while he was eating he let fall his knife,
Then he commanded Hanchen to pick it up or else he'd take her life.

Then as she stooped down to pick up the knife,
The villain caught her by the throat, and swore he'd take her life,
Then he drew a dagger from under his coat,
Crying, tell me where your master's money is, or I'll cut your throat.

And still he threatened to kill her with the dagger in his hand,
If the poor girl didn't comply with his demand,
While in his choking grasp her breath was fleeting faster and faster,
Therefore she had no other choice but to die or betray her master.

Then she cried, mercy, for Heaven's sake let go thy hold.
And I'll tell thee where my master keeps his gold;
Then he let go his hold without delay,
And she unto him thus boldly did say.

Here, take this axe and use it, while I run upstairs,
To gather all my money, besides all my wares,
Because I'm resolved to fly along with you,
When you've robbed my master of his gold and bid France adieu.

Then deceived by her plan he allowed her to leave the room,
Telling her to make haste and come back very soon,
Then to her master's bedroom she led the way,
And showed him the coffer where her master's money lay

Then Heinrich with the axe broke the coffer very soon,
While Hanchen instead of going upstairs to her room,
Bolted all the doors upon him without dismay,
While Heinrich was busy preparing to carry her master's money away.

Then she rushed to the mill to give the alarm,
Resolved to protect her master's money, while she could wield an arm;
And the only being in sight was her master's boy of five years old,
Then she cried, run! run! and tell father there's a robber taking his gold.

Then the boy did as she bid him without any doubt,
And set off, running on the road she pointed out;
But at this moment, a shrill whistle made her stand aghast,
When she heard Heinrich, crying, catch that child that's running so fast.

But still the boy ran on with might and main,
Until a ruffian sprang up from the bed of a natural drain;
And snatching the boy in his arms, and hastening towards the mill,
While brave Hanchen was afraid the boy would he kill.

Then the villain came rushing with the boy towards the mill,
Crying, open the door, or the child I'll kill;
But she cried, never will I open the door to thee,
No! I will put my trust in God, and He'll save the child and me.

Then the ruffian set down the child, for a moment to look about,
Crying, open the door, or I'll fire the mill without doubt;
And while searching for combustibles, he discovered an inlet to the mill,
Saying, my pretty maid, once I get in, it's you I will kill.

Then he tied the hands and feet of the poor child,
Which caused it to scream with fear, very wild;
Then he stole back to the aperture to effect an entrance,
And when Hanchen saw him, she said now is my chance.

So the ruffian got safely in the great drum wheel,
Then Hanchen set on the engine, which made the ruffian reel;
And as he was whirled about, he screamed aloud,
And when Hanchen saw him like a rat in a trap, she felt very proud.

At length the master arrived and his family,
And when she heard his kindly voice her heart was full of glee,
Then she opened the mill door and let him in,
While her eyes with tears of joy were full to the brim.

Then the master set off the engine without delay,
And the ruffian was dragged forth while he shook with dismay,
And Heinrich and he were bound together under a strong escort,
And conveyed to Bonn Prison where villains resort.

So thus ends the story of Hanchen, a heroine brave,
That tried hard her master's gold to save,
And for her bravery she got married to the miller's eldest son,
And Hanchen on her marriage night cried Heaven's will be done.

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Master Of Mind Can only be a Master Mind!

Seeing and hearing,
Is it eye that see?
Is it ear that hear?
Eyes are windows of Mind,
Like are ears, eyes have eyelids, ears remain open!

Seeing is not perceiving,
Light passes through the small camera,
Giving picture of world around,
Yet mind is the processor,
Process the data,
Process the colourful image,
Sometime filling with its own colour!

But it is not vision,
mind sees something itself,
Seeing through the mind without the help of eyes
Neither windows opened,
Nor light from open windows affect!

Mind is that faculty sees something within,
And day by day the vision become clear,
When mind learns it is not the seer,
It sees everything clear,
Clearly presented to the master,
And Self is the master of Mind,
When mind is pure and clear,
Without prejudice and suspense traits,
Self perceives self in its true nature,
Nothing goes bad,
processed food for thought remain good for ever!

one who sees eyes as seer,
He is ignorant,
One who sees mind as a seer,
Knows not,
One whose mind sees the seer is different,
Vision get purified, seer can see through the mind,
Scenes seen by mind with eyes closed,
when perceived by seer,
It becomes vision of life,
And that vision when becomes ambition of life,
Ambition becomes aspiration,
Aspiration transforms into mission,
Mission transmits wisdom and genius of self!

Self becomes master Of mind
Self becomes master Mind,
Master and mind becomes one,
Master Of Mind Can only be a Master Mind

poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
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On Ink

I am jet black, as you may see,
The son of pitch and gloomy night:
Yet all that know me will agree,
I'm dead except I live in light.

Sometimes in panegyric high,
Like lofty Pindar, I can soar;
And raise a virgin to the sky,
Or sink her to a pocky whore.

My blood this day is very sweet,
To-morrow of a bitter juice;
Like milk, 'tis cried about the street,
And so applied to different use.

Most wondrous is my magic power:
For with one colour I can paint;
I'll make the devil a saint this hour,
Next make a devil of a saint.

Through distant regions I can fly,
Provide me but with paper wings;
And fairly show a reason why
There should be quarrels among kings:

And, after all, you'll think it odd,
When learned doctors will dispute,
That I should point the word of God,
And show where they can best confute.

Let lawyers bawl and strain their throats:
'Tis I that must the lands convey,
And strip their clients to their coats;
Nay, give their very souls away.

poem by Jonathan Swift
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