Fruits of Victory
These be the fruits, O man who would out-loom
The proudest Caesar of Rome's proudest story,
When legion after legion marched to doom
That one man might be clothed in briefest glory;
Torn bodies, bloody fields and the rank lees
Of Conquest's maddening draft, and so a nation,
Fat with much spoil and many victories,
Drifted into decay and desolation.
These be the fruits: Dead men who die in vain,
Maimed broken men, to living death surrendered,
A myriad stricken homes to mourn the slain
Men? Cannon-fodder to the War God tendered,
Deluded boys, primed with vainglorious dreams
Of flashing steel, romance - war's outworn story
Sent forth to gasp young lives out in foul streams
Of fetid gas - meet attributes of glory!
These be the fruits: This tortured shred of flesh,
Lately a youth, with youth's bright gifts scarce tasted
Sent to the shambles, while, still clear and fresh
In minds of men, the Lesson lingers, wasted
The Lesson tought but lately; and so plain,
That even fools its wisdom here might borrow;
For victor and for vanquished, war's sole gain
Lies in long after years of pain and sorrow.
Fruits? Dead-sea fruits, most bitter with the taste
Of all war's grim bequest of worse confusion.
God and men's bodies, fruitful earth laid waste
Not in dire need, but for a vain delusion,
And, in the end, a tinsel god who prates
Of hollow victories, crying, 'Tomorrow
Shall we triumphant rise!' While at the gates
Lurks a land's heritage - relentless Sorrow.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Related quotes
Eatting Fruits
Eat fruits
Eat...
Every day...
Each
Break fast...
Lunch...
Dinner...
Eat...
Fruits...
Fruits is
Good for health...
Fruits is
Good for Taste
Fruits is
Good for mind...
Fruits is
Good for god...
So...
Fruits is
Good for hole and
Hoe body...
Any fruits...
Any time...
Eat eat eat...
Avoide all all
Disease...
Thats all...
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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The First Fruits
Once upon the rivers of hope,
Once upon the fountains of waters,
Once upon the valleys of dreams,
Once upon the mountains of love,
Singing as it went through the gardens;
The first fruits of the muse matters a lot.
A message to the walled city,
To it's appointed owners;
No more pain,
No more sorrow,
No more tears,
No more death,
No more crying,
Of the former things gone too soon;
With all things mad anew on a high mountain.
Walk with me in white to know about this story,
Like the potter's vessels;
The first fruits of love is with us all.
In a deep valley,
You should keep the fire burning;
Like brides adorned to their husbands.
To the first fruits of hope,
Like a sickle on the earth;
To the first fruits of dreams,
Like the leaves for healing;
This land of rivers do ned rest.
Life is like the mystery of a woman;
It is noted,
It is written,
It is done!
Like the bride and the groom in the deep valley! !
So, let the first fruits be enjoyable,
And let the artist's pens do judge the mystery;
It's all like a walled city at peace.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Like A Mango Tree
like a mango tree bearing so many fruits
this month of May
the unruly children gather around
with stones and sticks
and beat each branch
and both the young and
mature fruits fall
without a careful
segregation
what a waste!
the moral lesson is:
do not be too fruitful, just be leaves and twigs.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Only one fruit
Fruits is
Not fast food...
Fruits is
Not...
Junk food...
Fruits is
Not...
Bad food...
Fruits is
Natural food...
Not waste
At home eat
Every day
Atleast one fruit...
With your taste...!
poem by Otteri Selvakumar
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Earl
The frist fruits of manhood and the first fruits of love,
The first fruits of womanhood and the first fruits of love,
And like a warrior rejoicing from wine;
But i am always ready for Earl my lover.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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My personal attitude toward atheists is the same attitude that I have toward Christians, and would be governed by a very orthodox text: "By their fruits shall ye know them." I wouldn't judge a man by the presuppositions of his life, but only by the fruits of his life. And the fruits — the relevant fruits — are, I'd say, a sense of charity, a sense of proportion, a sense of justice. And whether the man is an atheist or a Christian, I would judge him by his fruits, and I have therefore many agnostic friends.
quote by Reinhold Niebuhr
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Food and hunger go wasted
Cheep is she, who I can get.
But to get access, my pride forbids.
The other is worthy to befriend.
But to get her, her pride forbids.
The withered fruits lie unpicked.
The hanging fruits are untouched.
The fruits are in decay.
My hunger is in dismay.
6.11.2000, pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Fruits of Mankind
Taste the bitterness of the fruits
that grow and rot within.
They lack the kindness that erupts
and oozes out as sin.
These fruits are part of every tree,
the tree from which they've grown.
They look like all the other fruit
but are different and they've known.
what lies within them is not right
and still they do conceal,
hoping to blend in with all the rest
until the skin does peel.
The tree cannot be blamed for this.
It's just the way things are.
We must discard these fruits to protect the rest
or they will leave their scar.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Green Olive Tree
Green Olive Tree,
Lovely and righteous with your fruits!
But try to remember my name always,
For i am ever ready to pluck your fruits of love and taste them;
Because you are my only hope on this earth! !
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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God cares for all Creatures
The guava sapling planted has grown big;
The tree is laden with ripe fruits many;
How many can I pluck or eat each day?
Lie fruits unseen at heights, I cannot reach.
I see the parrots enjoy tasty fruits;
I see the squirrels gnaw the fine ripe ones;
I see bats with voracious appetites;
And many more fall down by force of winds.
God fills the tree with fruits for each season;
Man cannot eat all fruits the tree can bear;
God feeds each bird of the air with care;
He made them all and that’s the chief reason.
When God can feed His other creatures well,
So many human beings starve to death;
Oh, what a man-made tragedy, we see,
As tons of food goes rotten every day!
God loves all human beings even more
Than all His other creatures whom He made;
Both food and drink turn scarce by acts of men;
Why blame God for our misdemeanor, then?
Copyright by Dr John Celes 4-3-2008
poem by John Celes
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We Decided To Cut Some Trees
we planted the seeds together
we were thinking of fruits
for our children
we were thinking of the shade
where they can
in the future play
then the fruits in bounty came
mangoes loaded
and some water apples
shining on the twigs
the fruits ripen and some birds
came and ate them
the fruits ripen and some fell
on the ground and some
worms came and ate them
the trees get tired finally of the
seasons
flowering, fruiting, falling and
rotting and trying to
repeat the cycle all over
again
for years and years
we got old of waiting for something
new and exciting
we got bored of the fruits
the children of the neighbors
got married and left the place
we got old and tired and this day
we decided to cut the trees
some for the first time
we are too shaded
we want to see light come
we want to know what sunshine is
again, after all those years
of coldness and darkness under
the shady trees
perhaps, this is something new now
light and sun and another way to look
at our lives
something exciting something to open
to see blue skies to see the full moon
to feel warmth to let the worms sing
to see some precious stones
hidden all these years in our common paths
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Eventide Planting
I dare to plant a seed today
full of dreams, full of promise
though I die before it fruits
the eater's joy may my labours bring.
I've come to eat so much of fruits
not knowing how they came to be
some planter's labours, my heart has fed
their toils, their pains, my joy has brought.
And so today I dare to plant
though I die before it fruits
someday, somehow, others would taste
may their own joy, my labours bring.
poem by Michael Nkwocha
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Topsy-Turvy
You would have seen
Flowers bearing fruits.
Have you seen
Fruits producing flowers?
Yes! Nature is made artificial!
How is it? Can you surmise?
It is the art
Of carving colourful flowers
From different fruits!
Nature is turned topsy-turvy!
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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Following No Rules
...is like going towards a house
on a mountaintop
the trees there have
ripe fruits for the picking
lots of jack
fruits spreading a map
of smell
and you focus your gaze
and you do not know
which way
you follow a scent
a view
and you bow down
to a thick grass
finding your way in there
you are not lost
you are tired
the house is still there
the fruits are about to fall
no one has gone there yet
in your wild
imagination
a native tells you frankly
sir, it is only the top of the mountain
nothing more
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Despair
Beneath this gloomy shade,
By Nature only for my sorrows made,
I'll spend this voyce in crys,
In tears I'll waste these eyes
By Love so vainly fed;
So Lust of old the Deluge punished.
Ah wretched youth! said I,
'Ah, wretched youth!' twice did I sadly cry:
'Ah, wretched youth!' the fields and floods reply.
When thoughts of Love I entertain,
I meet no words but 'Never,' and 'In vain.'
'Never' alas that dreadful name
Which fuels the infernal flame:
'Never,' My time to come must waste;
'In vain,' torments the present and the past.
'In vain, in vain!' said I;
'In vain, in vain!' twice did I sadly cry;
'In vain, in vain!' the fields and floods reply.
No more shall fields or floods do so;
For I to shades more dark and silent go:
All this world's noise appears to me
A dull ill-acted comedy:
No comfort to my wounded sight,
In the suns busy and imperti'nent Light.
Then down I laid my head;
Down on cold earth; and for a while was dead,
And my freed soul to a strange somewhere fled.
'Ah, sottish Soul' said I,
When back to its cage again I saw it fly;
'Fool to resume her broken chain!
And row her galley here again!'
'Fool, to that body to return
Where it condemn'd and destin'd is to burn!
Once dead, how can it be,
Death should a thing so pleasant seem to thee,
That thou should'st come to live it o're again in me?'
poem by Abraham Cowley
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Young Fruits
Your love will sustain my old age and,
I need the young fruits of your breasts;
So kiss me and embrace me with your sweet love.
Of the land of my fathers and the land of my mothers,
Your young fruits of love are all that i need;
So come and let me walk through the wilderness of your love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Learnıng From You, Learnıng From Us.
The rule of the game is this:
I have this basket filled with truths
That I cannot tell you
Because these are all bitter fruits
Of broken trees
This is the game of poetry
I can tell you something else
But it will be the same basket filled with
Bitter fruits
Only that
It will be artistically put
And shall be more pleasing to your eyes
For I cannot make you sad
And be like us
What is uglier than truth
Now appears to you as
The most fashionable lies
But soon you shall learn the trick
And be another expert
At telling truths that cannot hurt
At knowing no departures
That gives you
Never a sense of abandon
But all cheers
And welcomes
Those which must be redeeming
Like the way we put back the broken wings of the birds
Who have refused for days
To fly
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Mango Tree And The Children
the mango tree
blooms on the month
of May
fruits are heavy
soon
on all its branches
is opulence
Comes June
the children come
with their sticks
and slings
and stones
the mango tree is
hit once again
and all the fruits
fall to the
ground
the children
have all the fun
saliva flows from
tongues
dipping in
salt
as early as that
they know what fun is
by hurting those
that fruit so well
by taking the fruits
beyond
what they actually
need
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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After Many Days
The mist hangs round the College tower,
The ghostly street
Is silent at this midnight hour,
Save for my feet.
With none to see, with none to hear,
Downward I go
To where, beside the rugged pier,
The sea sings low.
It sings a tune well loved and known
In days gone by,
When often here, and not alone,
I watched the sky.
That was a barren time at best,
Its fruits were few;
But fruits and flowers had keener zest
And fresher hue.
Life has not since been wholly vain,
And now I bear
Of wisdom plucked from joy and pain
Some slender share.
But, howsoever rich the store,
I'd lay it down,
To feel upon my back once more
The old red gown.
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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John Mitchel
I.
DEAD, with his harness on him:
Rigid and cold and white,
Marking the place of the vanguard
Still in the ancient fight.
The climber dead on the hill-side,
Before the height is won:
The workman dead on the building,
Before the work is done!
O, for a tongue to utter
The words that should be said—
Of his worth that was silver, living,
That is gold and jasper, dead!
Dead—but the death was fitting:
His life, to the latest breath,
Was poured like wax on the chart of right,
And is sealed by the stamp of Death!
Dead—but the end was fitting:
First in the ranks he led;
And he marks the height of his nation's gain,
As he lies in his harness—dead!
II.
Weep for him, Ireland—mother lonely;
Weep for the son w'ho died for thee.
Wayward he was, but he loved thee only,
Loyal and fearless as son could be.
Weep for him, Ireland—sorrowing nation
Faithful to all who are true to thee:
Never a son in thy desolation
Had holier love for thy cause than he.
Sons of the Old Land, mark the story—
Mother and son in the final test:
Weeping she sits in her darkened glory,
Holding her dead to her stricken breast.
Only the dead on her knees are lying—
Ah, poor mother beneath the cross!
Strength is won by the constant trying,
Crowns are gemmed by the tears of loss!
Sons of the Old Land, mark the story—
Mother and son to each other true:
She called, and he answered, old and hoary,
And gave her his life as a man should do.
She may weep—but for us no weeping:
Tears are vain till the work is done;
Tears for her—but for us the keeping
Our hearts as true as her faithful son.
poem by John Boyle O'Reilly
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