Intoxication
Under osiers with ivy ingrown
We are trying to hide from bad weather.
I am clasping your arms in my own,
In one cloak we are huddled together.
I was wrong. Not with ivy-leaves bound,
But with hops overgrown is the willow.
Well then, let us spread out on the ground
This our cloak as a sheet and a pillow.
poem by Boris Pasternak
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Love Is All Is Alright
(chorus)
Love is all is alright
But you left it a little to late
Love is all is alright
But you've got to find a little more hate.
Take the man in the white cloak
A pointed mask to hide his face
Murders in the name of religion
If you're not the right colour or race.
Take the man in the black cloak
He's holding justice in his hands,
Lets the man in the white cloak go,
Calls it the law of the land.
(chorus)
Love is all is alright.......etc
Take the man in the brown shirt
A burning hatred in his eyes
Fired by ignorant reaction,
Fanned by political lies
Take the man in the blue cap
His back's against the wall
Links arms with the man in the brown shirt
He's trying to break his own fall.
(chorus)
Love is all is alright.....etc
song performed by by Ub40
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hops
Beneath the willow wound round with ivy
we take cover from the worst
of the storm, with a greatcoat round
our shoulders and my hands around your waist.
I've got it wrong. That isn't ivy
entwined in the bushes round
the wood, but hops. You intoxicate me!
Let's spread the greatcoat on the ground.
poem by Boris Pasternak
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Old Cloak
THIS winter's weather it waxeth cold,
And frost it freezeth on every hill,
And Boreas blows his blast so bold
That all our cattle are like to spill.
Bell, my wife, she loves no strife;
She said unto me quietlye,
Rise up, and save cow Crumbock's life!
Man, put thine old cloak about thee!
He. O Bell my wife, why dost thou flyte?
Thou kens my cloak is very thin:
It is so bare and over worn,
A cricke thereon cannot renn.
Then I'll no longer borrow nor lend;
For once I'll new apparell'd be;
To-morrow I'll to town and spend;
For I'll have a new cloak about me.
She. Cow Crumbock is a very good cow:
She has been always true to the pail;
She has helped us to butter and cheese, I trow,
And other things she will not fail.
I would be loth to see her pine.
Good husband, counsel take of me:
It is not for us to go so fine--
Man, take thine old cloak about thee!
He. My cloak it was a very good cloak,
It hath been always true to the wear;
But now it is not worth a groat:
I have had it four and forty year'.
Sometime it was of cloth in grain:
'Tis now but a sigh clout, as you may see:
It will neither hold out wind nor rain;
And I'll have a new cloak about me.
She. It is four and forty years ago
Sine the one of us the other did ken;
And we have had, betwixt us two,
Of children either nine or ten:
We have brought them up to women and men:
In the fear of God I trow they be.
And why wilt thou thyself misken?
Man, take thine old cloak about thee!
He. O Bell my wife, why dost thou flyte?
Now is now, and then was then:
Seek now all the world throughout,
Thou kens not clowns from gentlemen:
They are clad in black, green, yellow and blue,
So far above their own degree.
Once in my life I'll take a view;
For I'll have a new cloak about me.
She. King Stephen was a worthy peer;
His breeches cost him but a crown;
He held them sixpence all too dear,
Therefore he called the tailor 'lown.'
He was a king and wore the crown,
And thou'se but of a low degree:
It 's pride that puts this country down:
Man, take thy old cloak about thee!
He. Bell my wife, she loves not strife,
Yet she will lead me, if she can;
And to maintain an easy life
I oft must yield, though I'm good-man.
It 's not for a man with a woman to threap,
Unless he first give o'er the plea:
As we began, so will we keep,
And I'll take my old cloak about me.
If the weather is fine, put on you cloak; if it rains, do as you please.
A Winter Morning In Gippsland
The wattle wears her cloak of flowers so lovely bright and yellow
But in the paddocks there's no grass and for hay the cattle bellow
It has been frosty over night and the ground with frost is hoary
And the only beauty I can see is the wattle in her glory.
The farmer says too cold and dry as dry as he remember
The Spring will come in late this year and no grass in September
The hereford cow hunched with the cold and she as tough as leather
For two months it's been cold and dry we need a change of weather.
The trainer on the trotting track watch his trotters exercising
And near ten o clock the sun comes out and the temperature starts rising
And across the paddock's uneven ground the old farm tractor rattle
As the farmer brings big bale of hay to feed his hungry cattle.
A Winter morning in Gippsland and for hay the cattle bellow
And the wattle wears her cloak of flowers so lovely, bright and yellow
And the farmer says too cold and dry as dry as he remember
And we need a week or two of rain for grass growth in September.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Willow Weep For Me
Ann ronell
Willow weep for me
Willow weep for me
Bent your branches down along the ground and cover me
Listen to my plea
Hear me willow and weep for me
Gone my lovely dreams
Lovely summer dreams
Gone and left me here
To wheep my tears along the stream
Sad as I can be
Hear me willow and weep for me
Whisper to the wind and say thay love has sinned
To leave my heart a sign
And crying alone
Murmur to the night
Hide her starry light
So none will find me sighing
Crying all alone
Wheeping willow tree
Wheeping sympathy
Bent your branches down along the ground and cover me
Listen to me plee
Hear me willow and weep for me
Willow
Willow
Wheep for me
song performed by by Billie Holiday
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A wise man carries his cloak in fair weather, an' a fool wants his in rain.
Afternoon View When The Office Is About To Close
from my window
you must have probably heard me about saying the same thing all over again
but i will say it again
the sea is very calm like a sky blue silk spread on the floor
the horizon is pale white like the color of shyness
at a distance there is a boat
the man just spread the fish net
a tiny bird hops from one dry twig to another
another leaf on the other branch falls because it is bound to fall
yellow leaves, those dead ones
caught by the fingers of the grasses below
and then the sound of sirens comes
it is now time to go
now my heart sings with joy
for another night perhaps with the stars high on the roof of my house
in my solitude.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Alice Fell, Or Poverty
THE post-boy drove with fierce career,
For threatening clouds the moon had drowned;
When, as we hurried on, my ear
Was smitten with a startling sound.
As if the wind blew many ways,
I heard the sound,-and more and more;
It seemed to follow with the chaise,
And still I heard it as before.
At length I to the boy called out;
He stopped his horses at the word,
But neither cry, nor voice, nor shout,
Nor aught else like it, could be heard.
The boy then smacked his whip, and fast
The horses scampered through the rain;
But, hearing soon upon the blast
The cry, I bade him halt again.
Forthwith alighting on the ground,
'Whence comes,' said I, 'this piteous moan?'
And there a little Girl I found,
Sitting behind the chaise, alone.
'My cloak!' no other word she spake,
But loud and bitterly she wept,
As if her innocent heart would break;
And down from off her seat she leapt.
'What ails you, child?'-she sobbed 'Look here!'
I saw it in the wheel entangled,
A weather-beaten rag as e'er
From any garden scare-crow dangled.
There, twisted between nave and spoke,
It hung, nor could at once be freed;
But our joint pains unloosed the cloak,
A miserable rag indeed!
'And whither are you going, child,
To-night alone these lonesome ways?'
'To Durham,' answered she, half wild-
'Then come with me into the chaise.'
Insensible to all relief
Sat the poor girl, and forth did send
Sob after sob, as if her grief
Could never, never have an end.
'My child, in Durham do you dwell?'
She checked herself in her distress,
And said, 'My name is Alice Fell;
I'm fatherless and motherless.
'And I to Durham, Sir, belong.'
Again, as if the thought would choke
Her very heart, her grief grew strong;
And all was for her tattered cloak!
The chaise drove on; our journey's end
Was nigh; and, sitting by my side,
As if she had lost her only friend
She wept, nor would be pacified.
Up to the tavern-door we post;
Of Alice and her grief I told;
And I gave money to the host,
To buy a new cloak for the old.
'And let it be of duffil grey,
As warm a cloak as man can sell!'
Proud creature was she the next day,
The little orphan, Alice Fell!
poem by William Wordsworth
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Renouveau. (From The French)
Now Time throws off his cloak again
Of ermined frost, and cold and rain,
And clothes him in the embroidery
Of glittering son and clear blue sky.
With beast and bird the forest rings,
Each in his jargon cries or sings;
And Time throws off his cloak again
Of ermined frost, and cold and rain.
River, and fount, and tinkling brook
Wear in their dainty livery
Drops of silver jewelry;
In new-made suit they merry look;
And Time throws off his cloak again
Of ermined frost, and cold and rain.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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0192 Always there is wisdom
Always there are wizards.
They don’t hide themselves.
That would be wrong for them.
They don’t advertise themselves.
That would be wrong for them.
They wait.
That could be boring. Or painful, even.
But that’s their job.
There may be one in the next street.
You need to look.
Then they meet you halfway.
They may look like anybody. Or nobody. Or everybody.
When you go to them, they may dress up in cloak and pointed hat.
That’s just symbolic.
Just at the point of the hat, there’s space.
That’s what they’ll tell you about.
That space is full.
Like your heart.
No one cares much about wizards.
Except those who seek them.
Wizards are wise.
But only if you ask them questions.
Then the answer comes out of space.
And lives in your heart.
Of course.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Metamorphose
There are days in everybody’s life,
days when turmoil strikes every mortal fibre
and drives us down into a seemingly bottomless pit.
It is up to us to struggle out of it
and when we see the sunlight
a metamorphose takes place
and we chuck away that cloak of darkness,
replacing it with a cloak of light.
Our smile is returned
and again we faced the world
with a smile on our face.
22 October 2009
poem by David Harris
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The incognito of lower class employment is an effective cloak for any dagger one might wish to hide.
quote by Margaret Cho
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To William Theodore Peters On His Renaissance Cloak
The cherry-coloured velvet of your cloak
Time hath not soiled: its fair embroideries
Gleam as when centuries ago they spoke
To what bright gallant of Her Daintiness,
Whose slender fingers, long since dust and dead,
For love or courtesy embroidered
The cherry-coloured velvet of this cloak.
Ah! cunning flowers of silk and silver thread,
That mock mortality? the broidering dame,
The page they decked, the kings and courts are dead:
Gone the age beautiful; Lorenzo's name,
The Borgia's pride are but an empty sound;
But lustrous still upon their velvet ground,
Time spares these flowers of silk and silver thread.
Gone is that age of pageant and of pride:
Yet don your cloak, and haply it shall seem,
The curtain of old time is set aside;
As through the sadder coloured throng you gleam;
We see once more fair dame and gallant gay,
The glamour and the grace of yesterday:
The elder, brighter age of pomp and pride.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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Scarlet Cloak
The scarlet cloak of loneliness
covers my sorrowed soul
and my gentle heart is benign
to any chosen fact.
Each day I gather straws
I reach out to cling to
but each one snaps within my grasp
and I wonder what I’ll do.
The hollow world I live in
echoes my vacant thoughts.
Even the hues of colours that
surround me everyday
cannot remove this scarlet cloak
that wants to smother me away.
25 September 2009
poem by David Harris
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Weeping Willow
When morning breaks
When morning breaks
We hide our eyes and our loves aching
We hide our eyes and our loves aching
Nothings strange
Nothings strange
It was in our hands from 6 to 10
It slipped right out again
It was in our hands from 6 to 10
It slipped right out again
Therell be no better time
Therell be no better way
Therell be no better day to save me
Therell be no better time
Save me
Therell be no better way
Yeah, save me
Therell be no better day to save me
Save me
I hope you see like I see
Yeah, save me
I hope you see what I see
I hope you feel like I feel
I hope you see like I see
And the world dont stop
I hope you see what I see
There is no time for cracking up
I hope you feel like I feel
Believe me friend
cause when freedom comes
Ill be long gone
And the world dont stop
You know it has to end
There is no time for cracking up
Believe me friend
Therell be no better time
cause when freedom comes
Therell be no better way
Ill be long gone
Therell be no better day to save me
You know it has to end
Save me
Yeah, save me
Yeah, save me
Therell be no better time
I hope you see what I see
Therell be no better way
I hope you feel like I feel
Therell be no better day to save me
Someone to stand beside me
Save me
Beside me
Yeah, save me
Beside me
Yeah, save me
Beside me
I hope you see what I see
Beside me
I hope you feel like I feel
Someone to stand beside me
Weeping willow
Beside me
The pills under my pillow
Beside me
Weeping willow
Beside me
Pills under my pillow
Beside me
Weeping willow
The gun under your pillow
Weeping willow
Weeping willow
Beside me
The pills under my pillow
Beside me
Weeping willow
Beside me
Pills under my pillow
Beside me
Weeping willow
The gun under your pillow
Weeping willow
Beside me
Beside me
Beside me
Beside me
song performed by by Verve
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cloak to Gloat
I am not inspired by those who conspire,
To undo what the good ones do.
I am so tired by the backstabbing done...
By those who cloak to gloat and run.
I am not pleased by any of this.
And wish this evilness dismissed.
But this is how we live today and breathe!
It's got to flee!
Maybe someone like Barack will stop it.
Blocking ignorance that mocks it!
Hopefully this sleaze will up and leave.
And a peace to feed we'll greed.
I am not pleased by any of this.
And wish this evilness dismissed.
But this is how we live today and breathe!
It's got to flee!
Maybe someone like Barack will stop it.
Blocking ignorance that mocks it!
Hopefully this sleaze will up and leave.
And a peace to feed we'll greed.
I am not inspired by those who conspire,
To undo what the good ones do.
I am so tired by the backstabbing done...
By those who cloak to gloat and run.
Maybe someone like Barack will stop it.
Blocking ignorance that mocks it!
Hopefully this sleaze will up and leave.
And a peace will feed our needs.
Hopefully Barack will stop it!
Blocking ignorance that mocks it.
To undo what the good ones do we see.
And those who cloak to gloat will leave.
Put those who cloak to gloat on the run!
Put those who cloak to gloat on the run!
Put those who cloak to gloat on the run!
To redo all the good deeds done we need.
And those who cloak to gloat will leave.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Scarlet Cloak
ONE may go a-many leagues a-questing yon and hither;
One may look on queens and kings, and think the vision bliss;
But he who has the wholesome heart, as lightsome as a feather,
Can find a joy in everything, no matter what it is.
Golden Miles to Burrawang, when the morn was tender! —
How your memory rises up, how it haunts and smiles!
Back again, and back it comes — all the early splendour —
All your length made beautiful, O you Golden Miles!
You that wore the scarlet cloak in the pearly morning,
When the sun came up the East, and through the heavens strode
Like a prince of great account, cloud and mist-wreath scorning —
What was in the heart of you, waiting by the road?
Birds of all the bush around were at their greeting matins,
Some with little twitterings, and some with loud acclaim;
Cloth-of-gold is fine wear, and fine are silks and satins —
Finer was the scarlet cloak that wrapped you like a flame.
You that wore the scarlet cloak in the early morning,
When the leaves were dancing all, and the dewdrops glowed,
Like a flower — a flower of flowers, the dewy way adorning —
Love was in the heart of you, waiting by the road!
poem by Roderic Quinn
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