The Politician
'Let Glory's sons manipulate
The tiller of the Ship of State.
Be mine the humble, useful toil
To work the tiller of the soil.'
poem by Ambrose Bierce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Coffee, tea and liquor
My friend says:
“Coffee is for a man of steel
who knows how
to get his capital out of it
and tea for a tiller man
who can give direction
in a lighting struck stormy sea
and let the liquor
stay with me
and then for a time
I will be free
Of all my problems.”
Then we didn’t bend a bottle
and did not even
have liqueur or champagne,
but we stayed with tea
and the tiller man
is ashore
while life’s thunders
are striking right around him
and he waits on his ship
to come
and his Angel stands with him.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Captain2
He stands at the tiller
of a age old ship
that drifts upon
stormy waters
and the wind rips past
with a sharp chill
and the ship sail
like she forever will.
Caught between reality
and a place
that few ever see
the ghostly form
still steer that ship
to where destiny
bides her to go.
Some people think of it
as a trick of light
and others swear
of it to be there,
but no science
or chart can track
the way that she goes
and know why
her Captain lives forever more.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Inspiration
I am watching a skylark
flying skyward.
It's famous for its song.
I am sitting here, on the top of a wall, and
thinking........
What is my actual liking?
I have spent too much time with my colleagues.
I have had my periods with relatives.
I like very much some of them.
But, Alas! I am still the same.
Whatsoever, now, I am watching a tiller.
He spends his time to make us survivor (in this world) .
Many poets have supplicated prayer to God for them
as they are the bearer of living-flow.
But, I am not a tiller.
I want to do something similler.
I will do the second thing
which is needful for a human being.
I will teach the glorious and heavenly lesson to mankind.
Thus, I may become like the skylark, and then
I would fly thoughtlessly and hourly like the skylark.
poem by Bibhakar Dutta
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The bathing adventure
Blue and white fishes on a string
hangs on the bathroom wall,
a striped white and blue tiller
stands at the bath’s taps,
a small light tower
is warning on the edge of the bath
and a dark blue anchor,
alone against the wall
entice you to become part
of the bathing adventure
and the tiller man
is still ashore
while the water splashes into the bath.
I wonder why you enjoy it so much
to splash around like a kid
in the soothing hot water
and it’s very nice,
to wash my cares away
in the big bath.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Van der Decken
Sometimes just before a breaking storm
standing at the old wooden tiller of your ship
far away from the Cape shore
you sail forever more,
smitten to ride the waves eternally
even with a windless pail stormy sky
driving your ancient ship across the sea
with it creaking, with sails trembling
with the woodwork ages long needing repair
right out of the forming fog
you appear with a fist clenched above your head
still cursing the creator God
as a token to all men,
even witnessed by a king,
by naval ships at war
you Van der Decken, sail on forever more.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Leave This
Leave this chanting and singing and telling of beads!
Whom dost thou worship in this lonely dark corner of a temple with doors all shut?
Open thine eyes and see thy God is not before thee!
He is there where the tiller is tilling the hard ground
and where the pathmaker is breaking stones.
He is with them in sun and in shower,
and his garment is covered with dust.
Put off thy holy mantle and even like him come down on the dusty soil!
Deliverance?
Where is this deliverance to be found?
Our master himself has joyfully taken upon him the bonds of creation;
he is bound with us all for ever.
Come out of thy meditations and leave aside thy flowers and incense!
What harm is there if thy clothes become tattered and stained?
Meet him and stand by him in toil and in sweat of thy brow.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Out Of The Garden
Out of the Garden of Eden,
Work on the ground from which you were made;
Like the keeper of sheep and the tiller of the land.
A lion,
A calf,
A face of a man;
Sin is crouching at your door like a fugitive!
So be very wise at all times on this earth.
We will ever be searching for peace without rest,
Like one woe after the other on this earth;
For we have to work on the ground of which we were taken from.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
We Salute You Gallant Sons And Daughters Of The Soil
Gallant sons and daughters of the soil, hail heros, we salute you
for the tremendous and outrageous job you did in restoration of the lost glory and hope, FREEDOM...
We salute you gallant sons and daughters of the soil for putting
your lives at risk and the sacrifise
you made in restoring our legacy,
from our fore fathers.
We salute you gallant sons and daughters of the soils, today we
are enjoying the fruits of your sacrifise and dedication of your
lives just to restore the legacy
heritage and freedom which we
enjoy today....
Freedom was born out of bloodshed of the gallant sons and daughters of the soil, freedom was
born out of the armed struggle, we
salute you gallant sons and daughters of the soil..
We salute you gallant sons and daughters of the soil, thank you
for restoring the glory, heritage
and legacy which had been robbed from us! !
Hail gallant sons and daughters
of the soil, they exchanged freedom with the blood which
the spilt in the process of restoring the lost prestige and glory, heritage..
We salute you gallant sons and daughters of the soil for breaking
down the iron york from our necks granting us solace, you did
all this out of love and loyalty.
We salute you gallant sons and daughters of the soil for the enduarance, dedication you made
in bringing freedom and the lost
heritage, through the wire and many challenges you met, but you
risked your lives to bring freedom..
Today we enjoy the fruits of the
armed struggle which brought freedom, revolution completed
its course we are enjoying the fruits of the armed struggle
we salute you gallant sons and daughters of the soil may your
soul rest in peace
dedication to the gallant sons and
daughters of the soil of zimbabwe who lost their lives in the process of fighting for freedom..
poem by Donald Kuutsi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Five-Per-Cent
Because I have ten thousand pounds I sit upon my stern,
And leave my living tranquilly for other folks to earn.
For in some procreative way that isn't very clear,
Ten thousand pounds will breed, they say, five hundred every year.
So as I have a healthy hate of economic strife,
I mean to stand aloof from it the balance of my life.
And yet with sympathy I see the grimy son of toil,
And heartly congratulate the tiller of the soil.
I like the miner in the mine, the sailor on the sea,
Because up to five hundred pounds they sail and mine for me.
For me their toil is taxed unto that annual extent,
According to the holy shibboleth of Five-per-Cent.
So get ten thousand pounds, my friend, in any way you can.
And leave your future welfare to the noble Working Man.
He'll buy you suits of Harris tweed, an Airedale and a car;
Your golf clubs and your morning Times, your whisky and cigar.
He'll cosily install you in a cottage by a stream,
With every modern comfort, and a garden that's a dream>
Or if your tastes be urban, he'll provide you with a flat,
Secluded from the clamour of the proletariat.
With pictures, music, easy chairs, a table of good cheer,
A chap can manage nicely on five hundred pounds a year.
And though around you painful signs of industry you view,
Why should you work when you can make your money work for you?
So I'll get down upon my knees and bless the Working Man,
Who offers me a life of ease through all my mortal span;
Whose loins are lean to make me fat, who slaves to keep me free,
Who dies before his prime to let me round the century;
Whose wife and children toil in urn until their strength is spent,
That I may live in idleness upon my five-per-cent.
And if at times they curse me, why should I feel any blame?
For in my place I know that they would do the very same.
Aye, though hey hoist a flag that's red on Sunday afternoon,
Just offer them ten thousand pounds and see them change their tune.
So I'll enjoy my dividends and live my life with zest,
And bless the mighty men who first - invented Interest.
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Son can be a rival/.
I taught my son lessons on singing
And made him with my sweats a great singer.
Sons’ glory is fathers’ glory.
His glory is my glory.
His wings spread and mine shrunk.
People thronged around him and spared me.
They didn’t say he was the great;
They said I was no where near him.
His glory is not my glory;
Sons’ glory is not fathers’ glory.
Can there be two heroes in a play?
Should he outlive me in the posterity?
He is my rival, no more a son.
11.02.2005
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Jonah
We sail into a calm sea
and are far away from land
when that heavy storm unleashes
with its fury,
but below in the hold I am sleeping
and when I wake
I hear men running up and down
and then one bows over me
with a bright oil lamp in his hands
and the ship jerks with every wave
that slaps against it and others breaking over it
and a hand is stretched out to me
and I am pulled to my feet.
On deck I see thunderbolts
falling everywhere around us and the wind
howls as if it’s mad
and the tiller man shouts pray man pray
and maybe your god will hear you
as we have already prayed and pleaded
and this ship will just now
break under us, into pieces
and the ship creaks, shudders
and tumbles up and down
when the captain asks for a dice
and the lot falls on me
and with the howling wind
and lightings resounding
and the sea that foams wildly
I am thrown into the water
and while I sink and think that now
I am going to drown, I pray and beg for help
and a big fish swallows me,
a really big thing
and then I think that now I am in real jeopardy,
then God takes his decision
and it chucks me out
at Nineveh
I see the light.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Girl of loveliness
Girl of loveliness,
lass that destiny brings to my life,
miraculously innocent and mature,
blushing and shy at times,
aglow with passion
like a enkindled flame
you mean more
than every thing
in the world to me.
Girl of sincerity
accompany me on my voyage
and let me guide thee
like a tiller that sets the way
and let us together
find time to play,
work and pray
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Flying Dutchman
The blue water stretches
as far as visibility allows to see
and there’s fog
rising white before the storm
out of the water.
The dusk becomes grey
and the sea from blue to dark black
while the night
darker than ink, as only companion
folds over the old ancient ship.
It’s Van der Decken standing as tiller man
behind the big wheel
and forever he steers the ship
on the journey that she goes.
Always cursing
his loud voice thunders
like lightning falling around him
for sailors to tend the sails right
and sails are hoisted crunching, groaning and trembling
with strong ropes
and the ship jumps
over the smashing waves.
Like a phantom
the Flying Dutchman appears
with white sails like a wraith
over the horizon
where it sails before a storm with speed.
The ship becomes lager
as the storm wind
brings her closer
and you hear her creak
against the power of the wind.
There’s thunder bolts blinding suddenly
and sea birds flies screeching
out in front of her,
while Van der Decken’s skeleton
drills his men powerless
to set the sails right
that is vibrating against the wind.
“How long still Lord, ”
echoes against the sea and sky,
without a answer
ever coming
and suddenly the ship is gone
as if it disappeared in the naught.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Cyhydedd Naw Ban
The mountains are high covered in snow.
They overlook the valley below
Where farmers must work tilling the soil,
they’d rather be free; not have to toil..
No man can be completely free. Though
some think they ought to be they know
their contrasting desires in turmoil.
Most choose to stay faithful to the soil.
A few choose freedom and gladly go.
Circumstances may combine to foil
the fervent wish to be freed from toil.
It is just a dream as you well know.
You are free to dream but not to go.
Because you are a Son of the Soil.
13-Feb-09
Ifor ap richard
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
State Of The Heart
I know your name
I told you mine
Weve stopped and passed the time of day
You work in town
I work at night
That gives us six until seven to work this out
If I seem a little strange
Its just the state of the heart
Im waiting here for you
In the state Im in
You are the moon
I am the sea
You pull me in and gaze on down at me
I was alone
I thought I was immune
Its good to know
The door can still be open wide
If I feel a little strange
Its just the state of the heart
Im waiting here for you
In the state Im in
Its just the state of the heart
I wait in the dark
I the state Im in
We get closer and closer
To falling out or falling in
I go over and over
But I cant change the state
This heart is in
If I seem a little strange
Its just the state of the heart
Im waiting here for you
In the state Im in
Its just the state of the heart
You know I wait in the dark
In the state Im in
It s the state of the heart
The state of the heart
The state of the heart
The state of the heart
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The
One moonlit night a ship drove in,
A ghost ship from the west,
Drifting with bare mast and lone tiller,
Like a mermaid drest
In long green weed and barnacles:
She beached and came to rest.
All the watchers of the coast
Flocked to view the sight,
Men and women streaming down
Through the summer night,
Found her standing tall and ragged
Beached in the moonlight.
Then one old woman looked and wept
'The 'Alice Jean'? But no!
The ship that took my Dick from me
Sixty years ago
Drifted back from the utmost west
With the ocean's flow?
'Caught and caged in the weedy pool
Beyond the western brink,
Where crewless vessels lie and rot
in waters black as ink.
Torn out again by a sudden storm
Is it the 'Jean', you think?'
A hundred women stared agape,
The menfolk nudged and laughed,
But none could find a likelier story
For the strange craft.
With fear and death and desolation
Rigged fore and aft.
The blind ship came forgotten home
To all but one of these
Of whom none dared to climb aboard her:
And by and by the breeze
Sprang to a storm and the 'Alice Jean'
Foundered in frothy seas.
poem by Robert Graves
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Son Of The Soil
Black, strong tatooed by the sun.
He toils and never tires.
He is the son of the soil.
Forget all these fake wana be's! You see today
wanting to be everything they see on tv.
he is the Son of the soil, raised up in the language of the ancetrals.
Taught to hunter and respect the traditions.
Raised up in the secret sacred things of the land.
Spilt his blood in the soil at the riverside at the age of 13.
He knew where his destiny lay at the age of 16.
Had his first encounter at 18.
She was a true daughter of the soil breed well by the women of the land.
Son of the soil taught by the elders the ways of women.
Son of the soil, taught by nature the way to survive.
Son of the soil, taught to endure by the woman he shares his purity with.
Son of the soil,
arise and toil for your destiny calls.
Toil to protect the weak,
to safeguard the rites,
to up root all menace and vallians from the west.
Son of the soil its your time to stand and be heard.
poem by Tigana Chileshe
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
State Of The Heart (Special Extended Remix)
State of the Heart"
by Rick Sringfield
from Tao (c)1985 RCA
lyrics by Eric Mc Cusker
I know you name
I told you mine
we've stopped and passed the time of day
you work in town
i work at night
that gives us six until seven
to work this out
Chorus: If I seem a little strange
it's just the state of the heart
I'm waiting here for you
in the state I'm in
you are the moon
I am the sea
you pull me in and faze on down at me
i was alone
i thinkg i wa immune
it's good to know
the door can still be open wide
Chorus
it's just the state of the heart
i want in the dark
in the state I'm in
Chorus to end
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Can't unwish the world
You can't unwish the world love
it is this way for a reason
people wanted it so bad
every expectation is a prayer
desires spoken become
hopes treasured explode in jeweled colors
it will be this way till
the wish-tiller turns the boat
another way....onto shadier creeks
on calmer afternoons
in a simple place with room
for only me and you
poem by Boink Boink
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Laziness
Let laureates sing with rapturous swing
Of the wonder and glory of work;
Let pulpiteers preach and with passion impeach
The indolent wretches who shirk.
No doubt they are right: in the stress of the fight
It's the slackers who go to the wall;
So though it's my shame I perversely proclaim
It's fine to do nothing at all.
It's fine to recline on the flat of one's spine,
With never a thought in one's head:
It's lovely to le staring up at the sky
When others are earning their bread.
It's great to feel one with the soil and the sun,
Drowned deep in the grasses so tall;
Oh it's noble to sweat, pounds and dollars to get,
But - it's grand to do nothing at all.
So sing to the praise of the fellows who laze
Instead of lambasting the soil;
The vagabonds gay who lounge by the way,
Conscientious objectors to toil.
But lest you should think, by this spatter of ink,
The Muses still hold me in thrall,
I'll round out my rhyme, and (until the next time)
Work like hell - doing nothing at all.
poem by Robert William Service
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!