The Wise And Good
'O father, I saw at the church as I passed
The populace gathered in numbers so vast
That they couldn't get in; and their voices were low,
And they looked as if suffering terrible woe.'
''Twas the funeral, child, of a gentleman dead
For whom the great heart of humanity bled.'
'What made it bleed, father, for every day
Somebody passes forever away?
Do the newspaper men print a column or more
Of every person whose troubles are o'er?'
'O, no; they could never do that-and indeed,
Though printers might print it, no reader would read.
To the sepulcher all, soon or late, must be borne,
But 'tis only the Wise and the Good that all mourn.'
'That's right, father dear, but how can our eyes
Distinguish in dead men the Good and the Wise?'
'That's easy enough to the stupidest mind:
They're poor, and in dying leave nothing behind.'
'Seest thou in mine eye, father, anything green?
And takest thy son for a gaping marine?
Go tell thy fine tale of the Wise and the Good
Who are poor and lamented to babes in the wood.'
And that horrible youth as I hastened away
Was building a wink that affronted the day.
poem by Ambrose Bierce
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
I had no Cause to be awake
542
I had no Cause to be awake—
My Best—was gone to sleep—
And Morn a new politeness took—
And failed to wake them up—
But called the others—clear—
And passed their Curtains by—
Sweet Morning—when I oversleep—
Knock—Recollect—to Me—
I looked at Sunrise—Once—
And then I looked at Them—
And wishfulness in me arose—
For Circumstance the same—
'Twas such an Ample Peace—
It could not hold a Sigh—
'Twas Sabbath—with the Bells divorced—
'Twas Sunset—all the Day—
So choosing but a Gown—
And taking but a Prayer—
The only Raiment I should need—
I struggled—and was There—
poem by Emily Dickinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
My Dream About You
My grief 'twas unendurable
Suffocating each instant in my breaths sigh
Ne'er to forget the reality that 'twas you
Forever as the Benediction of light in the sky;
Oh, that final moment still tarrys too long
All the flowers burned in a pyre of despair
I looked for a book of answers or an anthem
Suffering 'twas almost too much to bear;
I chose to praise your inner beauty and balance
Loosing myself in the immortal life stream
Recalling your face in a fragment of sweet memory
Oh, how blessed, are those who can still dream;
poem by Theodora Onken
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Priest At The Serapeion
My kind old father
whose love for me has always stayed the same
I mourn my kind old father
who died two days ago, just before dawn.
Jesus Christ, I try continually
in my every thought, word, and deed
to keep the commandments
of your most holly Church; and I reject
all who deny you. But now I mourn:
I grieve, O Christ, for my father
even though he was -terrible as it is to say it
priest at that cursed Serapeion.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Way I Treated Father [A Bush Song]
I WORKED with father in the bush
At splitting rails and palings.
He never was unkind to me,
Although he “had his failings:”
And now his grave is old and green,
And now at times I’m rather
Inclined to think ’twas very mean
The way I treated father.
The mother had for years been dead,
And Dad and I and Stumpy
Were living in a little shed—
What bushmen call a humpy;
And now I think when day began,
And it was cold and chilly,
’Twas mean to see a grey old man
Get up and boil the billy.
And though my lazy limbs were stiff;
And though ’twas winter weather.
And though my eyes were shut as if
The lids were glued together,
I think ’twas mean to lie in bed;
I think that I was silly,
Because I growled if father said,
“Git up and bile the billy!”
I didn’t help the cooking much
For I was always “tired”—
’Twas strange that I could eat with such
An appetite as I had;
But now I mind I never growled
When father shouted, “Willie!
It’s gittin’ on for dinnertime;
Go home and bile the hilly.”
His grave is growing old and green
And things have altered rather;
But still I think ’twas mighty mean
The way I treated father.
He left a tidy sum to me,
But I’d give all the money
To hear him say, “Will you get up
And bile the billy, Sonny?”
poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The bee nest
In Primary school
we played in the field
above the school
in break time.
There we discovered
a hive of bees
under a overhanging
shelve of rock
and I told the other kids
to leave it alone
and went away
to play on my own.
One of the kids
(Peter Conn)
threw three broken bricks
into that bee nest
and that swarm of bees
came like lightning bolts
thundering in.
He ran like a flash
and passed me
with great speed
where I was playing
with some dinky toy cars
and when I looked up
I saw the sky
turning black with bees
and that fool escaped
the consequence of his deeds.
I hardly had time to get up,
never mind to run
when there were bees stinging
and targeting in
from everywhere.
Like a scapegoat the bees
took me for the enemy
and buzzed in
and they came
in great numbers
and that whole swarm stung me
all over my body.
I was swollen up
like a inflated doll,
couldn’t see through my eyes,
could hardly breathe
and got a terrible rash
and were almost unconscious
when we arrived at the nearest hospital
where my mother was in a great panic
and the doctor injected me
a couple of times
and put a drip in my arm
and after that for a while
bees were deadly to me.
poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
There Is Otherside Also
A child got possession of a paper,
Was Very important for his father.
The child was totally unknown,
While playing with paper he torn.
Father became very disappointed,
Assemble it! to child he pointed.
The child gathered all the pieces
Put together and joined the pieces.
So simple! how did you do son?
It had very essential information,
I would have to bear heavy cost
If this vital information was lost.
It was very simple, the child told;
Matched numbers on it and hold.
Other side some numbers printed
To match the pieces, they hinted.
Thing looking difficult may be easy,
A challenge may be tackled simply.
While finding the solution look into
The other side of the problem too.
(c) S.D. Tiwari
email [email protected]
poem by S.D. Tiwari
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Last Man And Woman On Earth
And it came to pass, in the last days,
That the world saw less of Mankind.
As the numbers fell, and weren't replaced,
The last generation walked upon the Earth.
Fewer and fewer, until just a few...
Famines, plagues and wars, they all took their toll.
Then, one day, there were only two souls left.
One man and one woman remained.
They weren't even in the same country.
As they wandered across the globe,
A sense of expectancy filled them.
Hope, faith, something driving them on.
They crossed mountains and rivers.
Years passed and the belief stayed with them.
There was another human somewhere.
Driven into a desert no mortal man should go,
They saw each other in the distance...
So tired they couldn't run, they walked on.
Finally, they could see each other's faces.
One man, one woman, one burning sun.
The humans stood, on the brink of fatigue.
They looked deep into each other's eyes,
Saw the pain of the previous years,
The memories of countless deaths,
Billions of tears and unanswered prayers.
A multitude of sins deserving judgments,
Now called to mind and condemning them still.
Fear scarred their thoughts of restoration,
Revival of the remnant meant nothing,
They were truly the lost souls they seemed to be.
It wasn't that they were unattractive or plain,
It wasn't that they couldn't start over...
It wasn't that they were infertile, unable to conceive...
It was just so futile, so pointless, so deadly.
They literally couldn't bear to be reminded,
Reminded of the madness that was Mankind.
How long would it be before their children killed?
How long would it be before another war was born?
The last man looked at the last woman.
The last woman looked at the last man...
And passing each other by, they kept walking...
poem by Denis Martindale
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Numerical Tyranny
Who conspired
this needless need for
the numbers?
Now we all live in fear of
the numbers
tremble at the feet of
the numbers
live our lives according to the demands of
the numbers
Identify ourselves by
the numbers
we've sold ourselves short with
the numbers
locked ourselves in a cell with
the numbers
no one believes they can escape
the numbers
our status our worth
our health our happiness
all dictated by
the numbers
Who are you?
Are you just another
number?
For if only we could see the truth behind
the numbers:
the truth being
there is only one number
that number is one
and that one stretches on
through infinitude.
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sex & The Church
Though the idea of compassion
Is said to be
The union of christ
And his bride, the christian
Its all very puzzling
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
And the church
And the church
All the great mystic religions
Put strong emphasis, on
Redeame this spiritual qualities
Of sex of sex
Chrstianity
Has been pretty modern
About sex
Of sex of sex of sex of sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
I think there is a union
Between the flesh and the spirit
Its sex and the church
Sex and the church
All religions mother
Give me youre freedom of spirit
And the joys of the flesh
Of sex sex sex and the church
Give me youre freedom of spirit
And the joys of the flesh
Of sex sex sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
And the church
And the church
Sex sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
And the church
And the church
Sex sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
Sex
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex and the church
Sex sex
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
How vivid is the suffering of the few when the people are few and how the suffering of nameless millions in two world wars is blurred over by numbers.
quote by Edwin Way Teale
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Evil Edna
Evil Edna she wore sequins to the funeral
Looked just like a gypsy
Never shed a tear
Everybody said she looked just like a hooker
Everyone mistook her for the loser of the year
Still the voices of the prophets
Tell us we should live just so
Ah Edna didn't care
Enda did not know
Two weeks later, Edna laughed at her confession
Laughed just like a gypsy
Gave the nuns a chill
Everybody said she'd never be forgiven
Everybody cursed her, said that she was ill
Still the voices of the prophets
Tell us we should live just so
Ah Edna didn't care
Oh she did not know
Just the other day I heard some people talkin'
Edna went out walkin' and she passed away
No one knew exactly just what happened
No one came to mourn her, we all stayed away
song performed by by Bob Seger
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Little Mountain Church House
There's a little mountain church in my thoughts of yesterday
Where friends and family gathered for the Lord
Where an ol' fashioned preacher taught the straight and narrow way
For what few coins the congregation could afford
Dressed in all our Sunday best, we sat on pews of solid oak
and I remember how our voices filled the air
How Mama sounded like an angel on those high soprano notes
and
song performed by by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Gathering Mushrooms
As he knelt by the grave of his mother and father
the taste of dill, or tarragon-
he could barely tell one from the other-
filled his mouth. It seemed as if he might smother.
Why should he be stricken
with grief, not for his mother and father,
but a woman slinking from the fur of a sea-otter
In Portland, Maine, or, yes, Portland, Oregon-
he could barely tell one from the other-
and why should he now savour
the tang of her, her little pickled gherkin,
as he knelt by the grave of his mother and father?
*
He looked about. He remembered her palaver
on how both earth and sky would darken-
'You could barely tell one from the other'-
while the Monarch butterflies passed over
in their milkweed-hunger: 'A wing-beat, some reckon,
may trigger off the mother and father
of all storms, striking your Irish Cliffs of Moher
with the force of a hurricane.'
Then: 'Milkweed and Monarch 'invented' each other.'
*
He looked about. Cow's-parsley in a samovar.
He'd mistaken his mother's name, 'Regan, ' for Anger';
as he knelt by the grave of his mother and father
he could barely tell one from the other.
poem by Paul Muldoon
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
We Couldn't Stop Laughing
we hid out in my room
we ate candy
and we couldn’t stop laughing
we joked around
we told our stories
and we couldn’t stop laughing
we looked into the distance
we opened the window
and we couldn’t stop laughing
there was a UPS truck
i stuck my feet out the window
thinking it was a trash truck
and we couldn’t stop laughing
we looked at old yearbooks
we told “do you remember when” stories
and we couldn’t stop laughing
we laughed at each other
we laughed at ourselves
and we couldn’t stop laughing
we laughed at the past
at the present and future
so as friends,
we couldn’t stop laughing
Men's Rules
The Organized Church gathered to pass some new church policy today,
But why not just check to see what the Eternal Word of God might say?
They spout we will be a stronger organization, just you wait and see,
But it isn't man who makes you strong, but obeying God's Holy Decree.
But, as a body of men they go on saying we've voted like this before,
It is true, but usually major truths of God's Word have been ignored.
The Pharisees were admonished by Christ for such man made tradition,
I ask you friend; what is the difference with the church's situation?
It's present day Pharisaical doctrine this body molds and rearranges,
The True Foundation, The Lord Himself, The Word of God never changes.
If Jesus Christ the very Head of The Church, today remains the same,
How can a body of sinful men make change and still profess His Name?
For The Lord asked men why call me Lord, and do not the things I say.
Is this question at the root of all the trouble these men face today?
The Lord clearly said call no one else Father for He is up in Heaven,
But they call a man Father, say he's infallible and incapable of sin.
Isaiah warned in the end there'd be people, who follow men's rules,
And just like the Pharisees, The Lord will rebuke hypocritical fools.
So today is the day to get back to The Bible for Godly instruction,
For those who choose to distort God's Word, will come to destruction.
(Copyright © 07/2002)
End Of The Road
That day I was severely bitten
I was hungry had not even eaten
Father had angrily roughed me up
I was heavily charged and couldn't stand or jump
It is very hard for child to bear
I was shaken and remained in tears
I failed to understand abut his wrath
Some thoughts entered mind to accept death
I am hardly grown up and faced such ire
I always looked at him with respect and admired
At no stage I caused him worry or tension
But this event forced me to think with lot many questions
I am from the village and could see dusty road
Little air or wind may lift sand and add the load
Any thing you do may have some dependence
You can't think of partial or complete independence
I sat on the road mouth and looked at far end
Barren path with no one to accompany as friend
I knew now how it may be difficult to survive!
It is do or die battle to carry on with life and live
I saw some reason behind father's anger
He was not at all educed or good manager
He had meager means to carry on and face
Lot many challenges that might come in race
Like any other father he had sustained struggle
Underwent lot many ups and downs with troubles
I was easy target for him to vent the feeling
Yet I felt no bad for him and kept on smiling
He came to me and asked for some desire or wish
To go out for play with friends and have sweets
I said 'No dad' it is Albright with me
The tears rushed abruptly and very free
He sensed some pride hurt
Even though I was child but looked cute
He had soft corner for me but was victim of circumstances
I was beaten but it happened only at once
Many parents see it as bad sign
Child should never be felt to resign
It crates adverse impact on growing mind
Child sees it as rare out burst and wishes never to find
I looked again at the end of road
The horizon looked me vast and broad
It reminded me of coming days
'One should not be lost on the ways'
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
when I met my father
When I met my Father
There are many cargo ships in the bay of Cascais this Monday afternoon
and I thought of my father; he too had been a seafarer.
Last time I saw him I was eighteen, sat on a bus going into town, he saw
me but I looked out of the widow pretending I didn´t see him.
When he looked straight ahead again his face was impassive but I saw
tears trickling down his chin. When the bus stopped I hurriedly left,
this old fool I thought, most likely drunk. Rain cooled my flushed face.
During the war years of 1940-45 my father sailed on ship delivering
war material to Britain and Russia and he had seen ships being hit by
torpedoes and men drown in the cold Arctic sea. When he came home
He couldn´t settle for a normal life and back then there was no help
for war damaged seamen, and many of them became drifters and only
slowly died. My father was a drunk I had seen him before sharing
a bottle of booze with his mates in the park, and I despised him and them.
No, my father never played a role in my upbringing and my childhood
was needlessly hard because of him. But today, sitting on the terrace
overlooking the blue bay, I remember his tears.
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Angry Young Man
He had so much anger, so much hate
To lash out at someone he couldn’t wait
An innocent bystander walking down the street
This was the one that he would beat.
If she had suspected what lied ahead
She would have turned her back and fled.
With fists flaring he knocked her to the ground
Her jaw broken - she couldn’t make a sound
They say they don’t know how she survived
With the extent of her injuries
they was sure she would die.
She gave a description of what he looked like
And before blacking out she started to fight
They caught him with the description she gave
They saw that he was full of anger and rage.
They say from his step father he had been abused
And fighting back was of no use.
His mother did not believe what he had said
And she turned - and sent him to bed.
He now blamed his mother for what
His step father had done
no one to turn to, no where to run.
She should have - defended her son.
He and his step father are both in jail
Because his mother had truly failed
To hold a man she did not watch her son
Now look at what he has gone and done.
(child abuse can create stories such as this)
poem by Louis Rams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Our society distributes itself into Barbarians, Philistines and Populace; and America is just ourselves with the Barbarians quite left out, and the Populace nearly.
quote by Matthew Arnold
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
My mother and my father were teachers. My grandmother and my grandfather were teachers. This is something I really know about. Even when I was a kid, it was a profession my father couldn't stay in, because he couldn't make enough money.
quote by Warren Beatty
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!