An Idler
Who told Creed Haymond he was witty?-who
Had nothing better in this world to do?
Could no greased pig's appeal to his embrace
Kindle his ardor for the friendly chase?
Did no dead dog upon a vacant lot,
Bloated and bald, or curdled in a clot,
Stir his compassion and inspire his arms
To hide from human eyes its faded charms?
If not to works of piety inclined,
Then recreation might have claimed his mind.
The harmless game that shows the feline greed
To cinch the shorts and make the market bleed
Is better sport than victimizing Creed;
And a far livelier satisfaction comes
Of knowing Simon, autocrat of thumbs.
If neither worthy work nor play command
This gentleman of leisure's heart and hand,
Then Mammon might his idle spirit lift
By hope of profit to some deed of thrift.
Is there no cheese to pare, no flint to skin,
No tin to mend, no glass to be put in,
No housewife worthy of a morning visit,
Her rags and sacks and bottles to solicit?
Lo! the blind sow's precarious pursuit
Of the aspiring oak's familiar fruit!
'Twould more advantage any man to steal
This easy victim's undefended meal
Than tell Creed Haymond he has wit, and so
Expose the state to his narcotic flow!
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Related quotes
After A Conversation With A Bigot (ed/repost)
'When you cut me, I will surely bleed
blood-red; and just the same, indeed
as every person of every race,
of every creed and hue of face;
and though the rivers of blood may flow
it's not because (we surely know)
of any policy or legislation
or measure against discrimination;
no; for sure, on the contrary
Tiberian foaming, it seems to me
results from the evil of human intent;
ignorance - mental negligence.
Law and policy cannot curb
idiotic voices that wish to be heard;
and sticks and stones may indeed break bones
but remember the impact of words alone.
I have no time for the prejudiced mind,
with vacant heart, unseeing eyes blind;
so if you wish to converse with me
I expect to hear humanity.
Yes, cut me and I will surely bleed.
I hope for the day when all might heed
equality of humans; and, further, that
one need not seek to 'prove' that fact.'
poem by Tara Sloblock
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The Truth And The Lie
the truth is
that the lie has worn thin
and tastes like vomit
in the mouths of the hungry,
the homeless, and the hopeless.
'make them hate each other,
because of color or creed,
make them afraid of each other,
tell them they're different
and that anyone different is dangerous'
keep them fighting each other
while you steal them blind
so easy, so easy
wake up, dammit!
we are all human beings
more alike than different
maybe if we tried fighting
and standing together
for world peace, for equal opportunity
for the right of all to eat and work
to raise our families, and to live
to think and speak our thoughts
freely with respect for all
and maybe if we stood up to the elite
and demanded a more equal distribution
of all things needed
and learned to work together
with the forces of nature and spirit
then, and only then
will we find the truth
together as one
and be set free!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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If you have embraced a creed which appears to be free from the ordinary dirtiness of politics - a creed from which you yourself cannot expect to draw any material advantage - surely that proves that you are in the right?
quote by George Orwell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I hold a creed, which no one ever taught me, and which I seldon mention, but in which I delight, and to which I cling, for it extends hope to all; it makes eternity a rest - a mighty home - not a terror and an abyss. With this creed, I can so clearly distinguish between the criminal and his crime, I can so sincerly forgive the first while I abhor the last; with this creed, revenge never worries my heart, degredation never too deeply disgusts me, injustice bever crushes me too low; I live in calm, looking to the end.
Charlotte Bronte in Jane Eyre
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mintah William
Sieve, believe, grieve;
And like the muse of 'Mintah William' in the land of my birth;
Succeed, proceed, seed, creed, heed, weed, breed!
With words of love and works of peace;
But, my mind is still on you.
Greed, reed, freed, treed, peed, need, deed, feed!
Searching around and looking for you;
But, i do hope to meet you one day,
For the muse of this village is all about the works of your people.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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A Political Violet
Come, Stanford, let us sit at ease
And talk as old friends do.
You talk of anything you please,
And I will talk of you.
You recently have said, I hear,
That you would like to go
To serve as Senator. That's queer!
Have you told William Stow?
Once when the Legislature said:
'Go, Stanford, and be great!'
You lifted up your Jovian head
And everlooked the State.
As one made leisurely awake,
You lightly rubbed your eyes
And answered: 'Thank you-please to make
A note of my surprise.
'But who are they who skulk aside,
As to get out of reach,
And in their clothing strive to hide
Three thousand dollars each?
'Not members of your body, sure?
No, that can hardly be:
All statesmen, I suppose, are pure.
What! there are rogues? Dear me!'
You added, you'll recall, that though
You were surprised and pained,
You thought, upon the whole, you'd go,
And in that mind remained.
Now, what so great a change has wrought
That you so frankly speak
Of 'seeking' honors once unsought
Because you 'scorned to seek'?
Do you not fear the grave reproof
In good Creed Haymond's eye?
Will Stephen Gage not stand aloof
And pass you coldly by?
O, fear you not that Vrooman's lich
Will rise from earth and point
At you a scornful finger which
May lack, perchance, a joint?
Go, Stanford, where the violets grow,
And join their modest train.
Await the work of William Stow
And be surprised again.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Once Again In Red!
Once again in red!
With the muse of your love;
Light, alight! !
In, insight;
With something very nice to look at,
With something rich to satisfy your muse,
With something fair to enhance your status;
Back in the classroom.
Rough, cough, dough, thorough, through! !
Contracted,
Adopted,
Quality,
Quantitiy,
Appeal, peal, meal, seal, veal, areal;
Pretty!
Halfway,
Evaluations,
Observers,
Questions, Wheal, deal, heal, steal, weal, real zeal!
Answers,
Pending,
Outsiders,
School, pool, tool, wool, cool, stool, fool!
But, try to take the trouble to overcome it.
Eyes, teeth;
Nose, mouth;
Ears, feet;
Lawsuit, suit, fruit, quit!
The formation of life itself,
On the back side,
Sneeze, freeze, breeze!
4 years with your muse,
Rest, wrestM
4 years agao! !
Creed, reed, seed, weed, heed, need, bleed;
Cringe,
With her emotions,
reaching out for her arms,
I don't want to go! !
But, it is time to move away.
Breed, deed, feed, freed, greed, peed!
Olofinade, fin, find, aide, aid, load, lead, deal, fade, nail dail;
You want to be a star! !
I want to be a star! !
Like the lady in red,
And like another story to read;
Of your dreams,
Of my dreams,
Creel, feel, wheel, heel, kneel, peel, reel, eel, keel!
Felix, helix;
Make it better always in life,
To start it all over again;
But, you still have to go further with a positrive mind.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Religion was nearly dead because there was no longer real belief in future life; but something was struggling to take its place - service - social service - the ants creed, the bees creed.
quote by John Galsworthy
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Substance Versus Shadow
So, gentle critics, you would have me tilt,
Not at the guilty, only just at Guilt!
Spare the offender and condemn Offense,
And make life miserable to Pretense!
'Whip Vice and Folly-that is satire's use
But be not personal, for _that's_ abuse;
Nor e'er forget what, 'like a razor keen,
Wounds with a touch that's neither felt nor seen.''
Well, friends, I venture, destitute of awe,
To think that razor but an old, old saw,
A trifle rusty; and a wound, I'm sure,
That's felt not, seen not, one can well endure.
Go to! go to!-you're as unfitted quite
To give advice to writers as to write.
I find in Folly and in Vice a lack
Of head to hit, and for the lash no back;
Whilst Pixley has a pow that's easy struck,
And though good Deacon Fitch (a Fitch for luck!)
Has none, yet, lest he go entirely free,
God gave to him a corn, a heel to me.
He, also, sets his face (so like a flint
The wonder grows that Pickering doesn't skin't)
With cold austerity, against these wars
On scamps-'tis Scampery that _he_ abhors!
Behold advance in dignity and state
Grave, smug, serene, indubitably great
Stanford, philanthropist! One hand bestows
In alms what t'other one as justice owes.
Rascality attends him like a shade,
But closes, woundless, o'er my baffled blade,
Its limbs unsevered, spirit undismayed.
Faith! I'm for something can be made to feel,
If, like Pelides, only in the heel.
The fellow's self invites assault; his crimes
Will each bear killing twenty thousand times!
Anon Creed Haymond-but the list is long
Of names to point the moral of my song.
Rogues, fools, impostors, sycophants, they rise,
They foul the earth and horrify the skies
With Mr. Huntington (sole honest man
In all the reek of that rapscallion clan)
Denouncing Theft as hard as e'er he can!
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Valley Forge
Close your eyes and imagine
the soldier at Valley Forge
The suffering that he endured was real
starvation, total war.
Yet in has eyes the iron will to win
and for the cause, he won't relent
(Chorus)
Would he look upon us now in anger and disgust
His politics a birthright and our creed
Will we let ignorance and laziness bring our demise
Complacency, we're blinded by our greed
Standing barefoot, frozen bloody hands
his musket clutched, an iron grip
and for the cause, he has but one regret,
he's only got one life to give
(Chorus)
Would he look upon us now in anger and disgust
His politics a birthright and our creed
Will we let ignorance and laziness bring our demise
Complacency, we're blinded by our greed
It's time for us, to open up our eyes,
and cherish the lives we all can have
and to the ones who kept our freedom free
words can't express all that you've done
(Chorus)
Would he look upon us now in anger and disgust
His politics a birthright and our creed
Will we let ignorance and laziness bring our demise
Complacency, we're blinded by our greed
song performed by by Iced Earth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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By Their Works
Call him not heretic whose works attest
His faith in goodness by no creed confessed.
Whatever in love's name is truly done
To free the bound and lift the fallen one
Is done to Christ. Whoso in deed and word
Is not against Him labours for our Lord.
When he, who, sad and weary, longing sore
For love's sweet service sought the sisters' door
One saw the heavenly, one the human guest
But who shall say which loved the master best?
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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Proverbs
One continent, one creed, one skin -
Our health and savour lie therein.
From wars and heavy things this grace is won -
They urge our pulse to unison.
Shall this remoteness hinder thee?
Pluck thence a call to sovereignty -
Thou centre of the world to be!
The servile State is what? a prison - one
For superseded life or, strictly, none.
Where the ignoble State is sanctified
See universal suicide.
Not numbers shall the State exalt
If civic virtue be at fault.
If virtue grounds but on negation,
Seek other ground on which to build a nation.
The larger good, supplanting this, is gall -
How else? - to the overreaching of the small.
A "fortune" won: a speciousness the State
Will blot as illegitimate.
National growth how presses! Shall it be
For creed or caste put off whose prophets see
No virtue in the essential unity?
That knife for thee - thou help'st them sharpen it.
Where is thy spirit? where thy wit?
'Tis better, much! But who has felt and proved,
Till hate the foe hath grappled, how he loved?
What takes its stature, whole, erect,
Till measured in the opposed effect?
Too much we can respect the fence
Of aptness and expedience.
Why, pledged there, of the sepulchre complain?
Earth shall fling out its flower again.
Creation, life's one satisfaction,
Stumbles first in the abstraction.
Who move not to a goal defined
Will speed as do their next of kin, the blind.
What makes the compromising bosom sure
Hath the ordained investiture.
What here is visioned, fact will prove -
As we put on the means, and move.
poem by William Baylebridge
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Worthy
you think you're not worthy
I'd have to say I agree
I'm not worthy of you
you're not worthy of me
which of us is deserving
look at the human race
the whole planet at arm's length
and we don't deserve this place
what good is a poker face
when you've got an open hand
I was supposed to be cool about this
yeah
I remember
cool was the plan
tried to keep it all under wraps
but the wraps kept going slack
I keep turning round
I keep coming back
give me a vertical
your horizontal line
I want to take each of them
bend them to divine
the world is too good for me
I am such a naughty girl
but when we're together
we're too good for this world
you think you're not worthy
I'd have to say I agree
I'm not worthy of you
you're not worthy of me
I'm not worthy of you
you aren't worthy of me...
song performed by by Ani DiFranco from Not A Pretty Girl
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Baseball is a game of race, creed, and color. The race is to first base. The creed is the rules of the game. The color? Well, the home team wears white uniforms, and the visiting team wears gray.
quote by Joe Garagiola
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The God Who Waits
The old men in the olden days,
Who thought and worked in simple ways,
Believed in God and sought His praise.
They looked to God in daily need,
He shone in simple, homely deed;
They prayed to Him to raise their seed.
He sowed on mountain side and weald,
He steered the plough across the field,
He garnered in their harvest yield.
And if He gave them barren sod,
Or smote them with His lightning rod,
They yielded humbly to their God.
They searched the record of their days
To find and mend their evil ways,
Which made the wrath of God to blaze.
And if no evil they could find,
They did not say, 'Our God is blind,'
'God's will be done,' they said, resigned.
So played the old their humble part,
And lived in peace of soul and heart,
Without pretence of Reason's art.
But we have lost their simple creed
Of simple aim and simple need,
Of simple thought and simple deed.
Their creed has crumbled as their dust,
We do not yield their God as just,
Now question holds the place of trust.
Faith blossomed like the Holy Rod,
So grew the old men's faith in God.
We cannot tread the path they trod.
We were not born to anchored creed
That measures good and evil deed -
A guide to those who guidance need.
The God the old men hearkened to
We left, and in our image drew
And fashioned out a God anew.
That iron God, who still unfed,
Sits throned with lips that dribble red
Among the sacrificial dead.
Belching their flames between the bars,
Our fires sweep out like scimitars
Across the Eden of the stars.
And souls are sold and souls are bought,
And souls in hellish tortures wrought
To feed the mighty juggernaut.
The dripping wheels go roaring by
And crush and kill us where we lie
Blaspheming God with our last cry.
Man's cry to man the heaven fills;
We hear not in our marts and mills
The silent voices of the hills
The message of the breathing clay,
Calling us through the night and day
To come away, to come away!
For though old creeds, had we the will,
We cannot, lacking faith, fulfil,
The God above all creed waits still.
For still beyond the city gate,
The fallow fields eternal wait
For us to drive our furrow straight.
poem by Leslie Coulson
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A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XXXIV
O fool! O false! I have abandoned Heaven,
And sold my wealth for metal of base kind.
O frail disciple of a fair creed given
For human hope when all the world was blind!
What was my profit? Freedom of the mind,
A little pleasure of the years, some scars
Of lusty youth, and some few thoughts enshrined
In worthier record of my manhood's years.
All else is loss, and unredeemed distress;
The voiceful seasons uninvited come,
And bring their tribute of new flowers, and pass:
Only the reason of the world is dumb;
Nor does God any more by word or sign
Speak to our rebel hearts of things divine.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Veni, Creator Spiritus
Creator Spirit, by whose aid
The world's foundations first were laid,
Come, visit ev'ry pious mind;
Come, pour thy joys on human kind;
From sin, and sorrow set us free;
And make thy temples worthy Thee.
O, Source of uncreated Light,
The Father's promis'd Paraclete!
Thrice Holy Fount, thrice Holy Fire,
Our hearts with heav'nly love inspire;
Come, and thy Sacred Unction bring
To sanctify us, while we sing!
Plenteous of grace, descend from high,
Rich in thy sev'n-fold energy!
Thou strength of his Almighty Hand,
Whose pow'r does heav'n and earth command:
Proceeding Spirit, our Defence,
Who do'st the gift of tongues dispence,
And crown'st thy gift with eloquence!
Refine and purge our earthly parts;
But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts!
Our frailties help, our vice control;
Submit the senses to the soul;
And when rebellious they are grown,
Then, lay thy hand, and hold 'em down.
Chase from our minds th' Infernal Foe;
And peace, the fruit of love, bestow;
And, lest our feet should step astray,
Protect, and guide us in the way.
Make us Eternal Truths receive,
And practise, all that we believe:
Give us thy self, that we may see
The Father and the Son, by thee.
Immortal honour, endless fame,
Attend th' Almighty Father's name:
The Saviour Son be glorified,
Who for lost Man's redemption died:
And equal adoration be,
Eternal Paraclete, to thee.
poem by John Dryden
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By The Fire
By The Fire
I sit by the fire with my thoughts of desire
As the flames do flicker and prance
Of one so serene and a body so lean
And the night of our wondrous dance
' Two spirits ', she said as I tilted my head
Wondering where this might lead
So our journey doth start as I follow my heart
For doing this is always my creed
A connection have we (of this we agree)
And we'll strive each one to inspire
Of the one so serene and a body so lean
And me, with my thoughts by the fire
The fire is warm, warm as your arms
Arms that, still, give me great desire
You see you emit so many charms
Charms that really shine by the fire
Jim 1993
poem by James Casey
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Spiritual Famine
There is a famine within the land, as men hunger to understand,
The deeper issues of men’s ways, in these ever changing days.
It’s a famine of a spiritual kind, starving the heart and the mind,
In times that steadily darken, God’s Word men will not hearken.
Instead they lean upon creeds, to fill the deeper spiritual needs,
Needs from within their soul; which makes man spiritually whole.
Though religious they hunger still, as creed is not the Lord’s will,
The Lord’s ways are much higher, and Relationship is His desire.
Fellowship’s what the soul requires, to fulfill its deepest desires,
Man’s creed alone doesn’t equip, the heart for God’s fellowship.
That is why God sent His Son, to be The Mediator for everyone,
Who leaves behind empty creed, for Christ alone fills their need.
We are fed The Word of God, as Christ leads with staff and rod,
Feeding our soul with God’s Truth, with abundant lives as proof.
Avoiding famine we chose instead, His diet of life giving bread,
Following the words of Christ, the Living Truth and Bread of Life.
As the famine grips this world, Eternal Truths we need to herald,
Warning all seduced by mammon, they’ll be defeated by famine.
Only The Word of God can lead, to the prosperity we truly need,
And The Lord’s eternal prosperity, starts at the Cross of Calvary.
(Copyright ©03/2008)
Eighth Wonder a Woman
Which you are, Pretty and Smart;
eighth wonder of you, this woman of women
where my secret, she lives full therein.
The world made you to establish her,
and must now take her notice with great pride.
Greatest of greatest savants,
established for they would adapt to this mother
of woman the woman they now know she is.
Hard working her model of great womanhood.
Softness of heart by those few and but;
when she tries to say more to them.
You are great, take them there and make vast
wide all the more deeper a pond, no a lake from
that river of such simple need, you understand it.
In charge from the beginning and
you are what makes them all blind,
Woman of woman he can see it.
Why 'I' bear witness too your long lives,
because you can and thus within reach to touch
the others in blossom sweet.
Woman of creed, creed of woman you feed.
I say, It' from the depth of your full red Lips.
Their arms I will use; too balance my seductive
broad hip, against which must lean their tree.
l am at that stage of each and every stage,
whereupon now it is they must walk and as they
reach out to grasp and with compassion I know
Delirious each curve my deep strong why, they ask.
from it, Each Falling down, how they cry, more for it.
I am that woman of every woman whom ever wishes to be.
I enter the room the latter and leave as the latter, it seams.
Orange blooms are sweet to each man and as such to each.
He do I see, so I squeeze them, hard pressed they say it is
Because the men say that I am, Eighth wonder a Woman..
Even though... i am a man.
poem by Is It Poetry
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