Crowds
It is not given to every man to take a bath of multitude; enjoying a crowd is an art; and only he can relish a debauch of vitality at the expense of the human species, on whom, in his cradle, a fairy has bestowed the love of masks and masquerading, the hate of home, and the passion for roaming.
Multitude, solitude: identical terms, and interchangeable by the active and fertile poet. The man who is unable to people his solitude is equally unable to be alone in a bustling crowd.
The poet enjoys the incomparable privilege of being able to be himself of someone else, as he chooses. Like those wandering souls who go looking for a body, he enters as he likes into each man's personality. For him alone everything is vacant; and if certain places seem closed to him, it is only because in his eyes they are not worth visiting.
The solitary and thoughtful stroller finds a singular intoxication in this universal communion. The man who loves to lose himself in a crowd enjoys feverish delights that the egoist locked up in himself as in a box, and the slothful man like a mollusk in his shell, will be eternally deprived of. He adopts as his own all the occupations, all the joys and all the sorrows that chance offers.
What men call love is a very small, restricted, feeble thing compared with this ineffable orgy, this divine prostitution of the soul giving itself entire, all it poetry and all its charity, to the unexpected as it comes along, to the stranger as he passes.
It is a good thing sometimes to teach the fortunate of this world, if only to humble for an instant their foolish pride, that there are higher joys than theirs, finer and more uncircumscribed. The founders of colonies, shepherds of peoples, missionary priests exiled to the ends of the earth, doubtlessly know something of this mysterious drunkenness; and in the midst of the vast family created by their genius, they must often laugh at those who pity them because of their troubled fortunes and chaste lives.
poem by Charles Baudelaire
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Related quotes
The poet enjoys the incomparable privilege of being able to be himself and others, as he wishes.
quote by Charles Baudelaire
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ode To A Solitary Mind - 2
Oh mind what is that magnitude
attracting you always to solitude
without any sort of gratitude
for the goodness of the world.
with solitude when you campaign
with it's effects like the champagne
you fell and think of the orgies,
That teach you ungreatfulness
for the world with some goodness,
It, thus, dipicts your hollowness.
Solitude makes melancholy to you
Driving the mirth from you away
Deprieving you of the worldly joys
You get nothing though you grieve.
Lonely and binding yourself in a trance
Of solitude you forgo the chance
To give goodness & get it in return
From the world in your turn
from the society into spiteful
Aloofness which is too painful.
Poet: Ratnakar D Mandlik
poem by Ratnakar Mandlik
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Catholic Priesthood and ‘Year of the Priests’
‘The sheep are calling;
The flocks are swelling;
Good shepherds are a dearth,
Upon the mighty earth! ’
All sheep need good shepherds;
Sans shepherds good, they are mere herds,
That cannot find the pastures green,
With grass that’s fit on global scene.
Good shepherds know each sheep by name;
They do not work for pay or fame;
They know the wolf’s, many a game;
Their staff protects the sheep that’s lame!
Priests are the good shepherds of God;
They woo the souls away from rod;
They serve by being celibate,
And show humanity, God’s Gate.
They say the Holy Mass each day;
They preach and fast, fervently pray;
They drive the devils out, away,
Suffer for Jesus, come what may!
They change bread to body of Christ;
They change the wine to blood of Christ;
They forgive sins like Jesus Lord;
They tell the world the Divine Word.
Priesthood is one of sacraments;
Priests know the Old, New Testaments;
Their work is worth more than all gold;
They bring more souls unto God’s fold!
This is the ‘Year of Catholic priest’.
Lord Jesus waits with His great Feast;
Happy are souls, even the least;
God saves all sinners from the Beast.
Priests take vows for a divine role –
To lead souls to God’s Abode – goal.
Those worldly ones are merely fools!
God chooses priests to be pure souls.
‘Priesthood is passion great for Christ –
The profession that’s one highest;
The goal of men who are wisest –
Who live for Jesus’ sake, diest.’
Dedicated to all Catholic Priests world-over,
On behalf of ‘Holy Family Church Parish, Perundurai, TN, India.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 28-6-2009
poem by John Celes
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Star-Gazers
WHAT crowd is this? what have we here! we must not pass it by;
A Telescope upon its frame, and pointed to the sky:
Long is it as a barber's pole, or mast of little boat,
Some little pleasure-skiff, that doth on Thames's waters float.
The Showman chooses well his place, 'tis Leicester's busy Square;
And is as happy in his night, for the heavens are blue and fair;
Calm, though impatient, is the crowd; each stands ready with the fee,
And envies him that's looking;--what an insight must it be!
Yet, Showman, where can lie the cause? Shall thy Implement have blame,
A boaster, that when he is tried, fails, and is put to shame?
Or is it good as others are, and be their eyes in fault?
Their eyes, or minds? or, finally, is yon resplendent vault?
Is nothing of that radiant pomp so good as we have here?
Or gives a thing but small delight that never can be dear?
The silver moon with all her vales, and hills of mightiest fame,
Doth she betray us when they're seen? or are they but a name?
Or is it rather that Conceit rapacious is and strong,
And bounty never yields so much but it seems to do her wrong?
Or is it, that when human Souls a journey long have had
And are returned into themselves, they cannot but be sad?
Or must we be constrained to think that these Spectators rude,
Poor in estate, of manners base, men of the multitude,
Have souls which never yet have risen, and therefore prostrate lie?
No, no, this cannot be;--men thirst for power and majesty!
Does, then, a deep and earnest thought the blissful mind employ
Of him who gazes, or has gazed? a grave and steady joy,
That doth reject all show of pride, admits no outward sign,
Because not of this noisy world, but silent and divine!
Whatever be the cause, 'tis sure that they who pry and pore
Seem to meet with little gain, seem less happy than before:
One after One they take their turn, nor have I one espied
That doth not slackly go away, as if dissatisfied.
poem by William Wordsworth
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lenexa Poet Most Published On The Web!
LENEXA POET MOST PUBLISHED ON THE WEB!
I’m God’s most humble poet
Whose poems have meter and rhyme.
Stories of love, faith, hate, honor and duty,
Obedience, war, heroes, history and crime.
I’ve performed my gift on T.V. and radio
Before millions I’ve never met.
Preached my praise of God and country
With 450 poems on the net.
Satan’s soldiers, shepherds and bards
Spew forth their foulness and grief.
They attack the joy and goodness of man
Dishonoring life, family, country and belief.
Prospering through work, love and conviction
Enables us to remain whole and how we should be.
Fortifying our soul with fulfillment of faith
Lets our worst tribulations be shouldered by Thee.
Moses, Samson, David, Solomon and Jonah
All failed God in their own human way.
He chose to forgive them and bless their powers
So they might dwell in hearts of man today.
Without God’s grace, wisdom and glorious domain
There’s no doubt all would soon cease to survive.
Through purpose, morals and Christian conviction
We are able to transform and keep hope alive.
GOD’S POETS
The prize jewels of any nation
Are the philosophers of the heart.
How they think is universal
For it’s God who makes them so smart.
Most poets tell the truth of life
Though they may wrap it in beauty.
It's their passion, not their purpose
To compose is but their duty.
Poets have no reason to lie
When the truth is always so clear.
All that others say and do
Is but food for the poet's ear.
One merit of a poet's work
Which most cannot deny.
They say more and in fewer words
To illuminate you and I.
God sent his poets down to earth
With words of wisdom and of worth.
That they might touch the souls of men
And bring them back to Him again.
A GOOD POEM
A good poem paints a picture
For both your heart and brain.
It doesn't need a second chance
To make its meaning plain.
A good poem is like the flower
The lily or the rose.
God plants it in a poet's brain
And there its beauty grows.
A good poem like a cardinal
Is pregnant with song
You can’t help but hear its message
As it sings what's right or wrong.
A good poem helps us remember
What the joys of life are for
It makes us want to love someone
Till death comes knocking at our door.
Tom Zart Poems Are Free To Share To Teach Or Show Love And Support!
By God’s Poet
Tom Zart
Most Published Poet
On The Web!
To Listen To Tom Zart’s Poems Go To =
http: //new.pivtr.com/en/schedule/tom-zart/
www.bill crain.net/musicpage.htm
http: //www.veteranstodayforum.com/viewforum.php? f=38
Love is made by two people, in different kinds of solitude. It can be in a crowd, but in an oblivious crowd.
quote by Louis Aragon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Mysterious Man Or A Deja Vu Experience?
I'm walking on the street and a lot of people passing by,
I'm just in a middle of a crowd and suddenly i felt shivers on my spine,
I met his eyes and i want to keep on walking,
But i've noticed my body didn't responding.
His charming eyes than, i could see,
He was stopping also to stare at me,
He has something special that i feel i know,
Our eyes meet and we smiled with glow.
I feel something different that i can't explain,
It's like i know him forever or it seems to me,
The warmth of his look is melting me with a smile,
Why i'm feeling so, my face is burning like fire.
The sparkle in his eyes, his look so divine,
It makes my lips sealed, i couldn't say a thing,
I'm keep on gaze at him and i saw in his amazing eyes,
All my life developing with my sorrows, my success, my dreams.
Do i know him, he seem familiar to me,
I feel hypnotize by his eyes, i can't move, i can't do a thing,
I keep stare at him and asking myself,
Do i know you mysterious man, do we met in this life or another galaxy?
I feel his warmth, his love,
And i don't want to lose him,
Who is this man standing in front of me,
Is he a mysterious man or a deja vu experience?
poem by Cristina Teodor
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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374
tell me honey
how does it feel to be lonely
to be faceless
to be loveless
in a crowd
of people, thousands of them walking
roaming this earth
all looking for love and not finding any
in a crowd of namelessness
always looking at each other
in short glimpses
without saying
hello?
tell me how does it feel now
when he left you and when you told him
i do not need you
when your heart
calls for his name saying
i still love you,
but you didn't
tell me how to tell myself when i have pretended too much
not needing anyone
when alone in my room now
i wish
i in an instant dies,
begging for company
for someone
to touch
warmth
tell me how to breathe now
tell me how to live
tell me how to love and keep love and live
this broken
heart
in this faceless, loveless
locomotion in a
crowd
where there is practically no one
to say
hello
not even goodbye.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Be Faceless To Be Loveless In A Crowd Alone
tell me honey
how does it feel to be lonely
to be faceless
to be loveless
in a crowd
of people, thousands of them walking
roaming this earth
all looking for love and not finding any
in a crowd of namelessness
always looking at each other
in short glimpses
without saying
hello?
tell me how does it feel now
when he left you and when you told him
i do not need you
when your heart
calls for his name saying
i still love you,
but you didn't
tell me how to tell myself when i have pretended too much
not needing anyone
when alone in my room now
i wish
i in an instant dies,
begging for company
for someone
to touch
warmth
tell me how to breathe now
tell me how to live
tell me how to love and keep love and live
this broken
heart
in this faceless, loveless
locomotion in a
crowd
where there is practically no one
to say
hello
not even goodbye.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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God's Most Publisghed Poet & A Good Poem
GOD'S MOST PUBLISGHED POET
I'm God's most published poet
Whose poems have meter and rhyme.
Stories of love, faith, hate, honor and duty,
Obedience, war, heroes, history and crime.
I've performed my gift on T.V. and radio
Before millions I've never met.
Preached my praise of God and country
With 462 poems on the net.
Satan's soldiers, shepherds and bards
Spew forth their foulness and grief.
They attack the joy and goodness of man
Dishonoring life, family, country and belief.
Prospering through work, love and conviction
Enables us to remain whole and how we should be.
Fortifying our soul with fulfillment of faith
Lets our worst tribulations be shouldered by Thee.
Moses, Samson, David, Solomon and Jonah
All failed God in their own human way.
He chose to forgive them and bless their powers
So they might dwell in hearts of man today.
Without God's grace, wisdom and glorious domain
There's no doubt all would soon cease to survive.
Through purpose, morals and Christian conviction
We are able to transform and keep hope alive.
GOD'S POETS
The prize jewels of any nation
Are the philosophers of the heart.
How they think is universal
For it's God who makes them so smart.
Most poets tell the truth of life
Though they may wrap it in beauty.
It's their passion, not their purpose
To compose is but their duty.
Poets have no reason to lie
When the truth is always so clear.
All that others say and do
Is but food for the poet's ear.
One merit of a poet's work
Which most cannot deny.
They say more and in fewer words
To illuminate you and I.
God sent his poets down to earth
With words of wisdom and of worth.
That they might touch the souls of men
And bring them back to Him again.
A GOOD POEM
A good poem paints a picture
For both your heart and brain.
It doesn't need a second chance
To make its meaning plain.
A good poem is like the flower
The lily or the rose.
God plants it in a poet's brain
And there its beauty grows.
A good poem like a cardinal
Is pregnant with song
You can't help but hear its message
As it sings what's right or wrong.
A good poem helps us remember
What the joys of life are for
It makes us want to love someone
Till death comes knocking at our door.
Tom Zart's 462 Poems Are Free To Share To Teach Or Show Support!
By God's Poet
Tom Zart
Most Published Poet On The Web!
Google = Tom Zart's Radio Shows
The Dreaded Word, And Mindset
Ones who dwell alone don’t mean they are lonely
Priest who’ll wear a collar don’t make them lowly
There are many who are, at times, lonely in a crowd
Faring not to get close to these, for demands to loud
I empathize, once, a muse about this needed theme
Thus, the crowd scatters like a dreaded scary dream
Inevitably, I’m breaking through mindsets, you can bet
Dynamically changing the strongholds of the mind and yet
Few weight 'the whole scenario' and come to Truth’s logic
If we can’t put some concept in a box then let’s dodge-it
My passion of Truth’s whole has freed my soul from fear
Presumption can stir a fear of others lonely, not to care
Language created loneliness denoting the pain of alone
While the word solitude to expresses the glory of a thone
Little do men know what solitude is, and how far it extends
A crowd's not company, faces but pictures; talk not all of friends
poem by ArmourQuill Hunter
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Poet Becomes The Poetry
THE POET BECOMES THE POETRY
After years of striving to write Poetry
The Poet becomes the Poetry
No word is not poetry in him
And no silence is not the sound
his own writing makes
Wherever he is
Whatever he does
is Poetry
Mediocre or not
Real or not
Loved or not
Understood or not
The Poet is Poetry
Unable forever to escape
what he Lives.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Poet and Chivalry
Poet, an industry not of mankind
An era that poet’s in awe to partake a rite
Poetry belongs to the ancient tribe
An era that poet’s dissolute and roaming
Poetry ascribes to nature and wildness
An era that poet a jester praised in comic to entertain the king
Poetry is the plaything of an empire
The era that poet yields to the media, pursuing fame and fortune
Poetry is a consuming product
Poet holds in awe since the heaven and earth are vast
Poet’s degenerated because of his nature
Poet’s comical because ironical the self derision
Poet capitulates because of human’s weakness
Although poet hasn’t always been an industry of mankind
Its luster would shine upon the darkness that poet ever survived
Lighting a light in darkness of history and showing its courage
Lighting a light in darkness of future and proving its foresight
Compromised the life
But allows not to compromise of poetry
The spirit and vitality of a chivalry is the case
Poet, still not an industry of mankind
Today
The chivalry has sealed his sword and pen
The page of poetry gradually stained and spotted yellow
The sharp sword conceals a smoked silver flash
poem by DePen Chang
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Click
Hoo Wah!!!!
Just because i walk like Obie Won Kenobie
you people talk but you dont even know me
and all these guys they think they want to fight me
and all these girls i know that they dont like me
i made them laugh
they do it just to spite me
a . . . . crowd
and none of them are like me
I dont care what u say
I dont need u anyway
I'll just go about my day
but anyway
You go out on Friday nights
i'll stay in but thats all right
cuz i have found a planet to call my own
in crowd out crowd I dont care
Your crowd my crowd we can share
cuz i have found a planet to call my own
Lets go!!
They call and talk to me on my computer screen
the best years of our lives arent as easy as they seem
and one day we'll look back and then we'll have to laugh
they use to call us babes and they want our autographs
so i dont care what u say
i dont need u anyway
i'll just go about my day but anyway
i dont care what u say
i dont need you anyway
i'll just go about my day
but anyway
u go out on friday nights
i'll stay in but thats all right
cuz i have found a planet to call my own
in crowd out crown i dont care
your crowd my crowd we can share
cuz i have found a planet to call my own
she said she'd call
but i know she won't
she wont
she wont
but anyway
You go out on friday nights
i stay in but thats all right
cuz i have found a planet to call my own
in crowd out crowd i dont care
your crowd my crowd we can share
cuz i have found a planet to call my own
Lets go!
But anyway
I dont need you anyway
i dont need you anyway
i dont need you anyway
song performed by by Good Charlotte
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Soldier's Mother
With a loud knock, entered a sheet, as white as a shroud!
Nobody knew what it had, solitude or crowd!
With her shaking slim hands,
the shrunken shivering Mother received
and, turned back
to find, no one for who could read.
It had brought her solitude and crowd, together.
She accepted.
How could she not?
She knew her son, has truly returned to her forever
She knew she was the mother of a brave soldier!
So she lives her solitary life,
yet
says with perfect ease 'Yes, my son laid his life, for Her!
Her, The Mother of the Mothers! !
poem by Googi Sweety
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Until Something Loved Comes Along
One loves what is done.
Another enjoys what is done.
And a third likes what is done.
Which one does what is done,
Because there is nothing else to do?
'I would say it is the one who loves what is done!
Since what is done is all that one wishes to do.'
What about the one that likes what is done?
'That one neither loves or enjoys it.
It is just something to do,
Until something loved comes along...
That can be enjoyed! '
It does seem that those who love what is done,
Have little time for anything else to do!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Stranger In The Crowd
(words & music by winfield scott)
Ive been standing on a corner
Since a quarter after seven
I was down to my last cigarette
And the clock in the window
At a quarter to eleven
I was watching all the people
Passing by me going places
Just the loneliest guy in the town
Looking for a friendly smile
But all I see were faces
And then, just like the taste of milk and honey
I found the stranger Ive been looking for
Like a wave, my cup of love was overflowing
I knew the stranger in the crowd
And I would be stranger no more
The love that comes on the corner
At a quarter to eleven
I thought you were to good to be true
All my life I had believed
That angels only live in heaven
But now, we share the taste of milk and honey
Each day is sweeter than the day before
My cup runned overflowing
Because the stranger in the crowd
And I would be stranger no more
Deep inside, my cup of love was overflowing
I found the stranger Ive been looking for
Like a wave, my cup of love was overflowing
I knew the stranger in the crowd
And I would be stranger no more
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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God's Poets, Love & A Good Poem
GOD'S POETS
The prize jewels of any nation
Are the philosophers of the heart.
How they think is universal
For it's God who makes them so smart.
Most poets tell the truth of life
Though they may wrap it in beauty.
It's their passion, not their purpose
To compose is but their duty.
Poets have no reason to lie
When the truth is always so clear.
All that others say and do
Is but food for the poet's ear.
One merit of a poet's work
Which most cannot deny.
They say more and in fewer words
To illuminate you and I.
God sent His poets down to earth
With words of wisdom and of worth.
That they might touch the souls of men
And bring them back to Him again.
EVERY OTHER NIGHT
If it was left to me and my desire
I would seek satisfaction every other night.
I would enjoy your divine, God given love
And hold you forever close and tight.
Every other night would be Heavenly for me
Though I must respect and honor what you do and say.
My need for you is far greater than your need for me
As I patiently wait for our time of play.
I will always remain watchful, loving and caring
Not to hurt, destroy, mistrust, dissatisfy or offend.
Out of all God's blessings from Heaven to Earth
You're my greatest treasure, passion and friend.
A GOOD POEM
A good poem paints a picture
For both your heart and brain.
It doesn't need a second chance
To make its meaning plain.
A good poem is like the flower
The lily or the rose.
God plants it in a poet's brain
And there its beauty grows.
A good poem like a cardinal
Is pregnant with song
You can't help but hear its message
As it sings what's right or wrong.
A good poem helps us remember
What the joys of life are for
It makes us want to love someone
Till death comes knocking at our door.
Tom's 465 Poems Are Free To Share!
By God's Poet
Tom Zart
Most Published Poet
On The Web!
Tom Zart www.internetvoicesradio.com/t_zart/
Being A Poet
being a poet
is not an ambition
it is ironic
that i do poetry and
yet i do not want
to be called a poet
nor be identified with
any movement in poetry
nor take the challenge and opportunity
of being crowned by laurel leaves
and be dragged on the stage of
an island of light focusing my head and body
and they shall all clap and say
this is the poet, this is our poet
not in the figment of my imagination
not an ambition not a profession not a career in the field of literature
to be a poet on a certain degree
you see, i live in a crowded universe
i am a fish in the sea of people
and i, never imagine once in my whole life
that i will be swimming so meaninglessly in the corridors
of this vast ocean of men and mice and snakes
and goats and pigs and eagles
poetry is what i do but i am not a poet
this poet, that poet
their poet
the reason is here inside my heart
this is my place &
this is my only chance to be alone
to be myself to be human again for out there
i, we, you have become pillars
and dams.and walls and continental shelves
it is only here in this spot
that i become my island
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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God's Poets A Good Poem & Love
GOD'S POETS
The prize jewels of any nation
Are the philosophers of the heart.
How they think is universal
For it's God who makes them so smart.
Most poets tell the truth of life
Though they may wrap it in beauty.
It's their passion, not their purpose
To compose is but their duty.
Poets have no reason to lie
When the truth is always so clear.
All that others say and do
Is but food for the poet's ear.
One merit of a poet's work
Which most cannot deny.
They say more and in fewer words
To illuminate you and I.
God sent His poets down to earth
With words of wisdom and of worth.
That they might touch the souls of men
And bring them back to Him again.
A GOOD POEM
A good poem paints a picture
For both your heart and brain.
It doesn't need a second chance
To make its meaning plain.
A good poem is like the flower
The lily or the rose.
God plants it in a poet's brain
And there its beauty grows.
A good poem like a cardinal
Is pregnant with song
You can't help but hear its message
As it sings what's right or wrong.
A good poem helps us remember
What the joys of life are for
It makes us want to love someone
Till death comes knocking at our door.