Miscast I
I have whetted my brain until it is like a Damascus blade,
So keen that it nicks off the floating fringes of passers-by,
So sharp that the air would turn its edge
Were it to be twisted in flight.
Licking passions have bitten their arabesques into it,
And the mark of them lies, in and out,
Worm-like,
With the beauty of corroded copper patterning white steel.
My brain is curved like a scimitar,
And sighs at its cutting
Like a sickle mowing grass.
But of what use is all this to me!
I, who am set to crack stones
In a country lane!
poem by Amy Lowell
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
z-Octogans and Revelation
I see the intricacies there
octagons and fractals;
web designs
varying.
Tensile steel it is said
characterize
the spider's web;
its strong.
At the corner of this beauty-ville
the spider lies
awaiting the kill
here death and beauty
mix
in darken night.
I can shake the cobwebs
from my head
but where in there
does my spider live?
Do the brain's spider webs
hide and reveal too
human spider kills?
How else to explain
the beauty the brain presents
and in that same brain
a killer spider lives.
So walk thee into the night
and as you brush aside that
spider web
or admire the tensile delicates
its beauty presents
understand too there lies
mayhem
and Revelation's Vision.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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The Night Before The Mowing
ALL shimmering in the morning shine
And diamonded with dew,
And quivering in the scented wind
That thrills its green heart through,--
The little field, the smiling field,
With all its flowers a-blowing,
How happy looks the golden field
The day before the mowing!
All still 'neath the departing light,
Twilight, though void of stars,
Save where, low westering, Venus hides
From the red eye of Mars;
How quiet lies the silent field
With all its beauties glowing;
Just stirring,--like a child asleep,--
The night before the mowing.
Sharp steel, inevitable hand,
Cut keen, cut kind! Our field
We know full well must be laid low
Before its wealth it yield:
Labor and mirth and plenty blest
Its blameless death bestowing:
And yet we weep, and yet we weep,
The night before the mowing.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Bad Brain
I used to be an A student
I never used to complain
I used to be a truant
But I'm still the same
Bad bad brain
Bad bad brain
I used to go to parties
I used to drink champagne
Now I'm beginning to feel the strain
Bad bad brain
I used to be in show biz
I used to have fortune and fame
I used to have pleasure and pain
I used to have a name
Bad bad brain
Now I'm on the Bowery
I can't remember my name
Bad bad brain
Bad bad brain
Bad bad brain...bad bad brain...
song performed by by Ramones from Road To Ruin
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Brogan's Lane
There's a crack in the city—down that sharp street
In couples, and armed, tramp rozzers on beat.
Like a joss, silhouetted across the pane,
A Chinese face watches down Brogan’s Lane,
Brogan’s Lane, Brogan’s Lane,
A reeling moon blinks over Brogan’s Lane.
Flash Fred, when he dives on a red lot, sneaks thro’
To moscow the swag with a Polaky Jew.
Tho’ rooked by old Shylock, he needn’t complain,
The melting pot bubbles in Brogan’s Lane,
Brogan’s Lane, Brogan’s Lane,
Rats pinch from their cobbers down Brogan’s Lane.
And Jenny, fresh down from the country, goes gay
And drives to the races and laughs at the play;
Till one morn, lying out in the cold and the rain,
A body is perished in Brogan’s Lane,
Brogan’s Lane, Brogan’s Lane,
There’s only one turn to the long last lane.
With opium dens, sly cribs, bones and rags,
’Tis the haunt of thieves, wastrels, poor women and vags.
They booze to bring joy, they sin to numb pain,
But there’ll come a stretch at the end of the lane,
Brogan’s Lane, Brogan’s Lane,
The river and morgue shadow Brogan’s Lane.
poem by Louis Esson
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The Mowing
The clock has struck six,
And the morning is fair,
While the east in red splendor is glowing;
There’s a dew on the grass, and a song in the air—
Let us up and be off to the mowing.
Wouldst know why I wait
Ere the sunlight has crept
O’er the fields where the daisies are growing?
Why all night I’ve kept my own vigils, nor slept?
’Tis to-day is the day of the mowing.
This day and this hour
Maud has promised to tell
What the blush on her cheek was half showing.
If she waits at the lane, I’m to know all is well,
And there’ll be a good time at the mowing.
Maud’s mother has said,
And I’ll never deny,
That a girl’s heart there can be no knowing.
Oh, I care not to live, and I rather would die,
If Maud does not come to the mowing.
What is it I see?
’Tis a sheen of brown hair
In the lane where the poppies are blowing.
Thank God! it is Maud—she is waiting me there,
And there’ll be a good time at the mowing.
Six years have passed by,
And I freely declare
That I scarcely have noticed their going;
Sweet Maud is my wife, with her sheen of brown hair,
And we had a good time at the mowing.
poem by Samuel Hawkins Marshall Byers from Harper's, Volume 59, Issue 350 (1879)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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To One Who Bade Him Work
EACH day Work bids my heart anew,
Fold wings and watch my brain at play;
But brain and heart will fly your way,
And find their natural home in you!
Come to me--'tis the only way!
For heart and brain have had to learn
Such carrier-pigeon feats of flight,
That were you here, my heart's delight,
My brain and heart to Work would turn,
Spread wings, and flutter from your sight.
poem by Edith Nesbit
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Bladesmith Alchemy
He toils over fire fueled by coke
Forging a fine Damascus blade
Coaxes, cajoles, at last invokes
A sacred fire totem…unafraid
The Bladesmith knows;
Salamanders can pass thru fire
Unburnt/unharmed by such heat
A tempered blade its one desire
Lest, this fine sword be incomplete
Thru blade salamander does pass
Pursued by fiery flames from hell
Thru blinding smoke of sulfur gas
Mission done, he bids “farewell”
Revealed here the secret of 'Damascus Steel'
Perfected by one tiny amphibian's ordeal
(Inspired by Howlin Dervish)
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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Brain
Lord giveth the brain
To be sane
Which we all
Have profaned.
Made amongst us
Few insane
Mirrored reflection
For the sane.
But this brain
Of the sane
Has become
A source of bane.
Boon!
For him
Who
Lacks the brain.
No I, No my
No boundaries
To restrict
The flight.
Oh brain
Why
Thou has
This animal tamed.
poem by Sanjay Mehta
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Brains and Brawns
The brain is sharper than the brawn.
The brawn is stronger than the brain.
The brain is a blade and the brawn, an axe.
The brain employs the brawn for its use.
22.09.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A Alcoholic's Puppy Dog Happiness
I dog fooded long gone I home come
Miles high respect I for animal dumb,
He me look see I love him
Unconditional licking him no whim.
Dollars bring when he come born
Children million money look puppy see forlorn,
Joy in walls house paws thru door
Puppy love wants fooded for whining more.
Whining, more, name brain twisted will call Oliver
Oliver gobbled enough menu no deliver,
Licking frenzy children laugh sadness delete
Puppy dog happiness make family complete, except
If only his loving sloppy lick
Could rid my painful life, a drowning alcoholic
Puppy give life a happy kick
maybe one more drink will do the trick.
nb. Written in the style what alcohol
can do to the brain and start life's
spiral downwards.
poem by Ken e Hall
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Brain Dead
Turn me off
Pull the plug
Leave me with some dignity
I am not
What I was
And I dont need the sympathy
Alive inside me
No one can hear me
Brain dead
Im not
Brain dead
Sentenced
Forgot
Paralysed
In my shell
Enduring every
Endless day
Immobilized
On my back
Aware of everything
They say
Extricate me
Eliminate me
Brain dead
Im not
Brain dead
Drip fed
Forgot
I cant blink my eye or cry
Or even speak
They crowd around my bed
Condescending words are said
Thinking I dont hear or know
What is going on - hello!
Cant you suckers hear my cries
From inside Im still alive
Its my decision to abort
Turn off the goddamn life support
Let me pass
From this world
So I fade away in peace
Comprehending
Unrelenting
Brain dead
Im not
Brain dead
Sentenced
Forgot
Brain dead
Im not
Brain dead
Drip fed
Forgot
song performed by by Judas Priest
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Blades
Do not mean to me with my blade,
Confusing and skilled is the request.
Nothing like roads, the daggers shift
With their curved edges and skills to carve.
The moment it is pulled apart
The steel weapon pierces the heart
So wholesome and weathered
That gorgeous glances afford.
To efforts we shift the neck,
Nights of use shall beget blocks of stone.
Do not be mean to my building
Of blind work, the very same work has occurred.
He was sniffing hungrily (whole fruits disappoint me) ,
As he was licking and smelling the staff.
This dog of a house bellows steam at me,
With no connivance of intelligence,
Just barks were heard from afar.
This blade may lick me
Halving the complete river
With the absorption by the sun.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Only as you do know yourself can your brain serve you as a sharp and efficient tool. Know your own failings, passions, and prejudices so you can separate them from what you see.
quote by Bernard Baruch
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gain Using Brain
Think carefully thrice
Throw decisions' dice
On the fine brain-floor
Success will knock at your door
You must be brave
Do not think about the grave
Surely from worry-fever
You will soon recover
The World you must leave
But before leaving, you must leave
Principles for ambitious youth
Living in East, West, North and south
Make cowardice face death
For this stop fear's breath
Valuable thoughts you must contribute
Forever then the World will pay tribute
If thought -fertilizers are scant
How can grow brain-plant?
Let brain make the right move
Then only obstacles you can remove
Wonderful plans brain can easily invent
Any hardship it can surely circumvent
A sharp brain is hard-work's gift
For coming up in life, it is the lift
Man has developed great cultures
Remain the same all other creatures
The obvious reason is brain
Thinking is to the brain grain
Life-river when you cross
Hindrances will come across
So skilfully construct the brain-bridge
Keep guiding thought-boards in the edge
If brain remains dull and negative
How can actions become superlative?
Brain is the basic root
That gives sweet success-fruit
If life-land is arid
Sweat can help get rid
Of aridity which is a success -killer
Provided brain becomes an expert-tiller.
poem by Mailrangam Visvanathan Venkataraman
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They The People
they the people, united by flashing lights
huddeled alone with sharp words taken flight
they the people, who love things that do not move
and cower before them lest otherwise be proved
they the people, with passion for throwing stones
to hit any target except for their bones
they the people, guarding piles of shells
to rally against neighbor at the ringing of bells
they the people, dumb deaf to distant cries
but the belief that two plus two equals christ
they the people, praying forever for more
tithing thier children to the shadows of war
they the people, they the people, they
choke on thier blood like wolves licking a blade.
poem by David Grant Sinclair
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I Love Your Brain
He was hurting for the answers
He was serving up the questions
He was searching for a guru he was lucky that he knew you
When I saw your fine physique I was into you like a train
And I love it when you speak youre so urbane
Oh, I love your brain
Yes, I love your brain
Ooh, I love your brain
Im gonna say it again
Love your brain
Its a beautiful brain
I wanna be with your brain
I wanna sleep with your brain
She was looking like a roman
She was cooking it with fire
She was talking right to me
And I couldnt unglue me
Though I am no duke of earl you are my chatelaine
I love the way the world drives you insane
song performed by by Frank Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Voyeur Of Utter Destruction
Turn and turn again
Turn and turn again
I shake
And stare the sun
Till my eyes burn
I shake
At the mothers
Brutal vermin
I shake
And stare
At the watery moon
With the same desire
As the sober philistine
And i shake
Turn and turn again
Turn and turn again
Worm, the pain and blade
Turn and turn again
The screw
Is a tightening atrocity
I shake
For the reeking flesh
Is as romantic as hell
The need
To have seen it all
The voyeurof utter destruction
As beauty
And i shake
Worm, the pain and blade
Turn and turn again
I shake
Turn and turn again
I shake
I shake
I shake
Research has pierced
All extremes of my sex
Call it a day
Call it a day
Needle point life
Blinds the will to be next
Call it a day
Call it a day
Research has pierced
All extremes of my sex
Call it a day
Call it a day
Needle point life
Blinds the will to be next
Call it a day
Call it a day
Call it a day
Call it a day
Call it a day
Call it a day
Call it a day
Call it a day
Call it a day
Call it a day
Call it a day
Call it a day
Call it a day
Call it a day
Call it a day
Call it a day
Call it a day
Today
Today
Today
Today
Today
Today
Today
Today
Today
Today
Today
Today
Today
Today
song performed by by David Bowie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Crystal
Hand of gold stretches out
to touch a rose’s scented petal.
Kissed by dew and now by hand,
it holds out thorns like some sharp nettle.
Beauty it has unbound,
regardless of surrounding around.
Head held high in fragrant air,
sun looks down plentiful there.
Diamonds, rubies, emeralds adorn,
round necks and arms are worn.
Stones that gleam and formate suns,
beauty that startles and stuns.
Stones of glory, stones of death.
Rainbow colours as light passes through.
Evil, good and happiness follows them too.
Waves under the sun shimmer,
like the silvery glint of a flashing scimitar.
People pass each other daily,
never knowing what the other thinks.
Wrapped in dreams of some passed glory,
lives that see no coloured tinsel.
Things they do they are never sorry,
their whole lives trapped within a crystal.
poem by David Harris
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Wolves
(Wolf Howls)
I'm not a hunter but i am told,
that, uh, in places like in the arctic,
where indiginous people sometimes might, might, hunt a wolf,
they'll take a double edged blade,
and they'll put blood on the blade,
and they'll melt the ice and stick the handle in the ice,
so that only the blade is protruding,
and that a wolf will smell the blood and wants to eat,
and it will come and lick the blade trying to eat,
and what happens is when the wolf licks the blade,
of course, he cuts his tongue, and he bleeds,
and he thinks he's really having a good thing,
and he drinks and he licks and he licks,
and of course he is drinking his own blood and he kills himself,
thats what the Imperialists did with us with crack cocaine,
you have these young brothers out there who think they are getting something
they gonna make a living with,
they is getting something they can buy a car,
like the white people have cars, why can't i have a car?
they getting something they can get a piece of gold,
white people have gold, why can't i have gold?
they getting something to get a house,
white people have a house, why can't i have a house?
and they actually think that theres something thats bringing resources to them,
but they're killing themsleves just like the wolf was licking the blade,
and they're slowly dying without knowing it.
thats whats happening to the community, you with me on that?
thats exactly, precisely what happens to the community,
and instead of blaming the hunter who put the damn handle and blade in the ice
for the wolf,
that what happens is the wolf gets the blame, gets the blame for trying to live,
thats what happens in our community,
you don't blame the person, the victim,
you blame the oppressor, Imperialism, white power is the enemy,
was the enemy when it first came to Africa,
and snatched up the first African brothers here against our will,
isss the enemy today,
and thats the thing that we have to understand.
(Clapping)
song performed by by Dead Prez
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Arrogant And Irritating Bosses
The puppy goes yap! yap! yap!
And you also go yap! yap! yap!
And the brain takes a nap
And Mr stupidity starts his lap
You ought to know there's a small gap
Between daft and sharp
I wonder why irony put you up
While your brain is no better than scrap
MR BOSS
poem by Kariuki Samuel Mutiga
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