En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Sin Of Detection

SHE bowed her face among them all, as one
By one they rose and went. A little scorn
They showed—a very little. More forlorn
She seemed because of that: she might have grown
Proud else in her turn, and have so made known
What she well knew—that the free—hearted corn,
Kissed by the hot air freely all the morn,
Is better than the weed which has its own
Foul glut in secret. Both her white breasts heaved
Like heaving water with their weight of lace;
And her long tresses, full of musk and myrrh,
Were shaken from the braids her fingers weaved,
So that they hid the shame in her pale face.
Then I stept forth, and bowed addressing her.

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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You Bowed Down

I expect youre entitled to know why Im making contact
With acquaintances scattered all over the land
Id promise you now and again that Id honour the contract
If it hadnt crumbled away in my hand
So we broke that vow independently now
But I dont know why you absolutely deny
You bowed down (you bowed down, you bowed down)
You bowed down (you bowed down, you bowed down)
When you first looked away I might say it was really a kindness
It must have hurt you to see how dreams sour
Now they say that justice and love are the next things to blindness
Well youre getting plenty of both of them now
And so you parade where appointments are made
And never meant to be kept
Unless you accept
You bowed down (you bowed down, you bowed down)
You bowed down (you bowed down, you bowed down)
You value the burnt amber of falling leaves
And you long to delay
As you feel their breath as they whisper
It wont hurt you now to betray
If you just bow down
And now every time that we meet on the edge of hysteria
Youre helping them sell off some new party line
I remember a time when you would have seemed so superior
Now you say will you please meet this good friend of mine?
So youre in demand as long as you kiss their hand
But all the applause is for their name not yours
You bowed down (you bowed down, you bowed down)
You bowed down (you bowed down, you bowed down)
You bowed down (you bowed down, you bowed down)
You bowed down (you bowed down, you bowed down)
You bowed down
You bowed down
You bowed down
You bowed down

song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Undesired Revenge

Sorrow and sin have worked their will
For years upon your sovereign face,
And yet it keeps a faded trace
Of its unequalled beauty still,
As ruined sanctuaries hold
A crumbled trace of perfect mould
In shrines which saints no longer fill.

I knew you in your splendid morn,
Oh, how imperiously sweet!
I bowed and worshipped at your feet,
And you received my love with scorn.
Now I scorn you. It is a change,
When I consider it, how strange
That you, not I, should be forlorn.

Do you suppose I have no pain
To see you play this sorry part,
With faded face and broken heart,
And life lived utterly in vain?
Oh would to God that you once more
Might scorn me as you did of yore,
And I might worship you again!

poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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Beauty Is Vain

While roses are so red,
While lilies are so white,
Shall a woman exalt her face
Because it gives delight?
She's not so sweet as a rose,
A lily's straighter than she,
And if she were as red or white
She'd be but one of three.

Whether she flush in love's summer
Or in its winter grow pale,
Whether she flaunt her beauty
Or hide it away in a veil,
Be she red or white,
And stand she erect or bowed,
Time will win the race he runs with her
And hide her away in a shroud.

poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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The Dada Da-da da. (Call Everything By Its Proper Name)

So you call 'the rain' in pain.
In pain you call 'the rain'
the rain, the rain, the rain
that molten lava rain,
that beats the windowpane,
that is the blade tht cuts your face.
the rain that runs down swollen face,
water like lace,
water like lace on your face,
so the lace, lace, lace
traces your face, face, face
rain, pane, train
and everything' in pain.
The rain is the pain,
that cuts your face with a blade,
so your blood it runs like lace,
blood lace, bloodied lace,
on your face
your face, your face.

poem by Ursula De La Mer
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The Love Sonnets Of Proteus. Part II: To Juliet: XLVII

THE SAME CONTINUED
I see you, Juliet, still, with your straw hat
Loaded with vines, and with your dear pale face,
On which those thirty years so lightly sat,
And the white outline of your muslin dress.
You wore a little fichu trimmed with lace
And crossed in front, as was the fashion then,
Bound at your waist with a broad band or sash,
All white and fresh and virginally plain.
There was a sound of shouting far away
Down in the valley, as they called to us,
And you, with hands clasped seeming still to pray
Patience of fate, stood listening to me thus
With heaving bosom. There a rose lay curled.
It was the reddest rose in all the world.

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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A Woman’s Sonnets: IV

Should ever the day come when this drear world
Shall read the secret which so close I hold,
Should taunts and jeers at my bowed head be hurled,
And all my love and all my shame be told,
I could not, as some doughtier women do,
Fling jests and gold and live the scandal down,
Nor, knowing all fame's bruitings to be true,
Keep a proud face and brave the talk of town.
I have no courage for such tricks and ways,
No wish to flaunt a once well--honoured name.
I have too dear a thought of earlier days,
Too deep a dread of my deserved shame.
So, when it comes, with one last suppliant cry
For pardon from my wronged ones, I must die.

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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The Path Through The Corn

WAVY and bright in the summer air,
Like a pleasant sea when the wind blows fair,
And its roughest breath has scarcely curled
The green highway to a distant world,--
Soft whispers passing from shore to shore,
As from hearts content, yet desiring more--
Who feels forlorn,
Wandering thus down the path through the corn?

A short space since, and the dead leaves lay
Mouldering under the hedgerow gray,
Nor hum of insect, nor voice of bird,
O'er the desolate field was ever heard;
Only at eve the pallid snow
Blushed rose-red in the red sun-glow;
Till, one blest morn,
Shot up into life the young green corn.

Small and feeble, slender and pale,
It bent its head to the winter gale,
Hearkened the wren's soft note of cheer,
Hardly believing spring was near:
Saw chestnuts bud out and campions blow,
And daisies mimic the vanished snow
Where it was born,
On either side of the path through the corn.

The corn, the corn, the beautiful corn,
Rising wonderful, morn by morn:
First, scarce as high as a fairy's wand,
Then, just in reach of a child's wee hand;
Then growing, growing, tall, brave, and strong:
With the voice of new harvests in its song;
While in fond scorn
The lark out-carols the whispering corn.

A strange, sweet path, formed day by day,
How, when, and wherefore, we cannot say,
No more than of our life-paths we know,
Whither they lead us, why we go;
Or whether our eyes shall ever see
The wheat in the ear or the fruit on the tree;
Yet, who's forlorn?--
He who watered the furrows can ripen the corn.

poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
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Netley Abbey

Fallen pile! I ask not what has been thy fate;
But when the winds, slow wafted from the main,
Through each rent arch, like spirits that complain,
Come hollow to my ear, I meditate
On this world's passing pageant, and the lot
Of those who once majestic in their prime
Stood smiling at decay, till bowed by time
Or injury, their early boast forgot,
They may have fallen like thee! Pale and forlorn,
Their brow, besprent with thin hairs, white as snow,
They lift, still unsubdued, as they would scorn
This short-lived scene of vanity and woe;
Whilst on their sad looks smilingly they bear
The trace of creeping age, and the pale hue of care!

poem by William Lisle Bowles
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Braiding

1.
We two sit on our bed, you
between my legs, your back to me, your head
slightly bowed, that I may brush and braid
your hair. My father
did this for my mother,
just as I do for you. One hand
holds the hem of you hair, the other
works the brush. Both hands climb
as the strokes grow
longer, until I use not only my wrists,
but my arms, then my shoulders, my whole body
rocking in a rower's rhythm, a lover's
even time, as the tangles are undone,
and brush and bare hand run the thick,
fluent length of your hair, whose wintry scent
comes, a faint, human musk.

2.
Last night the room was so cold
I dreamed we were in Pittsburgh again, where winter
persisted and we fell asleep in the last seat
of the 71 Negley, dark mornings going to work.
How I wish we didn't hate those years
while we lived them.
Those were days of books,
days of silences stacked high
as the ceiling of that great, dim hall
where we studied. I remember
the thick, oak tabletops, how cool
they felt against my face
when I lay my head down and slept.

3.
How long your hair has grown.

Gradually, December.

4.
There will come a day
one of us will have to imagine this: you,
after your bath, crosslegged on the bed, sleepy, patient,
while I braid your hair.

5.
Here, what's made, these braids, unmakes
itself in time, and must be made
again, within and against
time. So I braid
your hair each day.
My fingers gather, measure hair,
hook, pull and twist hair and hair.
Deft, quick, they plait,
weave, articulate lock and lock, to make
and make these braids, which point
the direction of my going, of all our continuous going.
And though what's made does not abide,
my making is steadfast, and, besides, there is a making
of which this making-in-time is just a part,
a making which abides
beyond the hands which rise in the combing,
the hands which fall in the braiding,
trailing hair in each stage of its unbraiding.

6.
Love, how the hours accumulate. Uncountable.
The trees grow tall, some people walk away
and diminish forever.
The damp pewter days slip around without warning
and we cross over one year and one year.

poem by Li-Young Lee
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Aima

The burden of guilt,
Self abuse;
But Aima came in and told me what went wrong!
And like narrowing the boundaries in the land of your muse;
But, i am seriously watching you.

The face of a broken hearted man,
The face of a broken hearted woman,
The face of a broken hearted boy,
The face of a broken hearted girl,
The face of a broken hearted lady,
The face of a broken hearted gentleman,
And like your bedtime stories with your bed-mates;
But, i have no customer service on this issue at hand.

poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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I Knew A Man By Sight

I knew a man by sight,
A blameless wight,
Who, for a year or more,
Had daily passed my door,
Yet converse none had had with him.

I met him in a lane,
Him and his cane,
About three miles from home,
Where I had chanced to roam,
And volumes stared at him, and he at me.

In a more distant place
I glimpsed his face,
And bowed instinctively;
Starting he bowed to me,
Bowed simultaneously, and passed along.

Next, in a foreign land
I grasped his hand,
And had a social chat,
About this thing and that,
As I had known him well a thousand years.

Late in a wilderness
I shared his mess,
For he had hardships seen,
And I a wanderer been;
He was my bosom friend, and I was his.

And as, methinks, shall all,
Both great and small,
That ever lived on earth,
Early or late their birth,
Stranger and foe, one day each other know.

poem by Henry David Thoreau
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Mary and Gabriel

Young Mary, loitering once her garden way,
Felt a warm splendour grow in the April day,
As wine that blushes water through. And soon,
Out of the gold air of the afternoon,
One knelt before her: hair he had, or fire,
Bound back above his ears with golden wire,
Baring the eager marble of his face.
Not man's nor woman's was the immortal grace
Rounding the limbs beneath that robe of white,
And lighting the proud eyes with changeless light,
Incurious. Calm as his wings, and fair,
That presence filled the garden.
She stood there,
Saying, 'What would you, Sir?'
He told his word,
'Blessed art thou of women!' Half she heard,
Hands folded and face bowed, half long had known,
The message of that clear and holy tone,
That fluttered hot sweet sobs about her heart;
Such serene tidings moved such human smart.
Her breath came quick as little flakes of snow.
Her hands crept up her breast. She did but know
It was not hers. She felt a trembling stir
Within her body, a will too strong for her
That held and filled and mastered all. With eyes
Closed, and a thousand soft short broken sighs,
She gave submission; fearful, meek, and glad. . . .

She wished to speak. Under her breasts she had
Such multitudinous burnings, to and fro,
And throbs not understood; she did not know
If they were hurt or joy for her; but only
That she was grown strange to herself, half lonely,
All wonderful, filled full of pains to come
And thoughts she dare not think, swift thoughts and dumb,
Human, and quaint, her own, yet very far,
Divine, dear, terrible, familiar . . .
Her heart was faint for telling; to relate
Her limbs' sweet treachery, her strange high estate,
Over and over, whispering, half revealing,
Weeping; and so find kindness to her healing.
'Twixt tears and laughter, panic hurrying her,
She raised her eyes to that fair messenger.
He knelt unmoved, immortal; with his eyes
Gazing beyond her, calm to the calm skies;
Radiant, untroubled in his wisdom, kind.
His sheaf of lilies stirred not in the wind.
How should she, pitiful with mortality,
Try the wide peace of that felicity
With ripples of her perplexed shaken heart,
And hints of human ecstasy, human smart,
And whispers of the lonely weight she bore,
And how her womb within was hers no more
And at length hers?
Being tired, she bowed her head;
And said, "So be it!"
The great wings were spread
Showering glory on the fields, and fire.
The whole air, singing, bore him up, and higher,
Unswerving, unreluctant. Soon he shone
A gold speck in the gold skies; then was gone.

The air was colder, and grey. She stood alone.

poem by Rupert Brooke (1912)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Long, Long Way To Go

You held my hand and then you slipped away
And I may never see your face again
So tell me how do to fill the emptiness inside
Without love, what is life?
And anyone who knew us both can see
We always were the better part of me
I never wanted to be this free
All this pain, does it go away?
Then every time I turn around
And youre nowhere to be found
I know I got a long, long way to go
Before I can say goodbye to you
Oh, I got a long, long way to go
Before I can say goodbye to all I ever knew
To you, to you
From memory, there is no hiding place
Turn on the tv and I see you there
In every crowd theres always someone with your face
Everywhere, trying not to care
Then every time I turn around
And youre nowhere to be found
I know I got a long, long way to go
Before I can say goodbye to you
Oh, I got a long, long way to go
Before I can say goodbye to all I ever knew
To you, I wish you everythin
And all the best that life can bring
I only hope you think of me sometimes, oh
And even though I feel the pain
I know that I will love again
The time will come, oh, and Ill move on
I got a long, long way to go
Before I can say goodbye to you
Oh, I got a long, long way to go, got a long way to go
Before I can say goodbye, before I say goodbye
To all I ever knew, to all I ever knew
I got a long, I got a long, long way to go, long way to go
Before I can say, before I say, goodbye to you
Say goodbye, say goodbye
Oh, I got a long, long way to go
Before I can say goodbye to all I ever knew
Girl, I wish you the best I know, oh and all of the rest, to you
I got a long, long way to go
Before I can say goodbye to you

song performed by by Def Leppard
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Banu’s son has had no water for days

Banu’s son has had no water for days
His pulse is weak and his mother prays
No hope in sight of getting water or milk
Helpless, she lingers by his cradle in a daze

“Pray tell me, what shall I do now Ya Husain?
The baby’s eyes now roll back in pain”

“Oh Ya Ali, Ya Ali where can I go?
I cannot watch my baby suffer so
How do I find a way to make him live?
Ya Ali he needs water, which I cannot give”

“Last night I saw him open his eyes
But today he lays still, doesn’t move, doesn’t cry”

Then everyone said, “Lets call the Imam
For God’s sake somebody, go get the Imam
The baby is dying, go tell the Imam
His face is blue, his body calm”

“Taking Akber’s body to lay it to rest
The Imam’s on his way, with grief beset “

Face stained with the blood of His eighteen year old
The Imam entered, his head bowed
And everyone led Him to the baby’s crib
And showed Him the baby’s still fingers and toes

“He barely breathes Oh Noble Prince” they cried
“Its seems as though he has already died”

At the head of the crib, the Prince knelt down
In the baby’s ear He whispered, head bowed
Hearing the Prince’s voice, the baby smiled
Toward Husain he extended his arms and glowed

“It is indeed a miracle” Sakina cried
“Oh mother, my brother has opened his eyes”

The baby in His arms, the Prince left the camp
And death followed, eyeing them askance
To shelter her baby from the midday sun
The mother draped a sheet over the Imam’s arms

Holding Asgher close, Husain walked, head bowed
In the arms of the heavens, a snow white cloud

As He neared the lowly enemy, Husain stood silent in pause
Couldn’t ask for water, couldn’t utter the words
With embarrassment He paled, He bowed His head
He uncovered the baby, to the army He showed

Head bowed, he said, “I’ve brought my son to you
Seeking water Asgher now has come to you”

Then He kissed the baby’s parched lips and mouth
And whispered “My son I’ve said what I could
There are no words to describe your pain my son
So maybe you can show them your dry, parched tongue”

In response the baby licked his lips parched and dry
And Husain shuddered and looked up to the skies

And as Husain looked to the heavens so
The cursed Hurmula strung an arrow in his bow
And aimed the arrow at Asgher’s throat
Pulling taut the bow, let the arrow go

As the tiny neck the arrow gashed
Asgher lurched and clung to his dad

A six month old baby and an arrow’s force
Blood poured from the tiny, thirsty throat
Once more he lurched and then went still
His cap fell to the ground and he breathed his last

Tiny fists curled over his chest, body numb
A minute ago he was sucking his thumbs

And the desolate Father, watched His son
Saw the devastation the arrow had done
And watched the baby in the throes of death
The tiny hands groping at the injured neck

The lifeless eyes rolling back in the head
Blood gushing forth from the battered neck

Gently pulling out the arrow from the baby’s neck
Husain lifted His son toward the heaven and said
“My God please accept my last sacrifice
For your cause, in your path, my son is now dead”

“Little in age but magnanimous in deeds
Thus are the children of Allah’s creed”

poem by Mir Babar Ali Anees
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Bowed by the weight of centuries he leans upon his hoe and gazes on the ground, the emptiness of ages in his face, and on his back the burden of the world.

quote by Edwin Markham
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Long Night Of Love

Sweet kisses like wine,
Upon my face.
From an angel devine,
In Spanish lace.
Fragrant raven tresses,
Caress my face,
My soul confesses,
Into her gaze.
Sparkling green eyes,
Stare into my soul,
No need for replies,
With a woman this bold.
A long night of love,
I'll spend with you.
My precious white dove,
That's what I'll do.

9/17/10 Alton Texas

poem by Juan Olivarez
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Above the Battle

Honor and pity for the smitten field,
The valorous ranks mown down like precious corn,
Whose want must famish love morn after morn,
Till Death, the good physician, shall have healed
The craving and the tearspent eyelids sealed.
Proud be the homes that for each cannon-torn,
Encrimsoned rampart have been left forlorn;
Holy the knells o'er fallen patriots pealed.

But they, above the battle, throng a space
Of starry silences and silver rest.
Commingled ghosts, they press like brothers through
White, dove-winged portals, where one Father's face
Atones their passion, as the ethereal blue
Serenes the fiery glows of east and west.

poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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My Secret Joy

If it were not for you
It seems that every day would be
A life unfulfilled.
Winter then forever and no smile of spring.
An icy lake without a melted heart within.
You are my secret joy.
When first I saw your face
A satisfaction took the place of sad distraction.
I knew my mind had been in a phase of leaving,
You drew me back a pace, with you I saw commitment,
This time there could be no dreaming,
No time for grieving what was past.
My secret joy was here with me.
So many times, I saw her face in your face.
That special wisdom of her eyes in your eyes,
I knew a child I thought was gone for always
Had brought joy home.
I watch you watch the joy you have made
Wonder if you know the joy that you gave
Would like you to know that the joy that you made
Is my joy too.
However long before the joy that you made.
That little blue the two of you gave.
I had a little joy of my own.
Even though the joy that I made,
Has gone the road that life takes.
Singing love songs to the joys of her own,
I see reflections of the Joy that I made,
In the eyes and the heart of the Joy, she has made.
I can see pink joy reflected in blue joy,
When I see it.
My secret joy.

poem by Susan Casey
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Peeping through the Window of my past

Peeping through the
Window of my past
I saw my weaknesses
At last
Mistakes I committed,
Were written on a wall
They made me look
Very small
My head bowed
In shame
Decided not to
Repeat the same
Never judge others
By what they do
I’ll also be judged
On what I do
Keeping my fingers
Crossed
Slowly I walked
On the path of duty
To do it with all my
Ability
Never to think of the
Result
Without fear of
Shame and insult

poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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Greenhouse

In the greenhouse
Among the flowers
You would linger, linger there for hours
Thats where I saw your face
Your body dressed in lace
Your secret hiding place
In the greenhouse
What were you thinking
Was this the jungle?
I felt the good earth, I felt the good earth rumble
Thats where I saw your face
Your body dressed in lace
Your secret hiding place
In the greenhouse
Thats where I saw your face
Your body dressed in lace
Your secret hiding place
In the greenhouse
You were smiling
The heat was rising
The blood-red roses hypnotizing
In the greenhouse
You were waiting
And the perfume was suffocating
Thats where I saw your face
Your body dressed in lace
Your secret hiding place
In the greenhouse

song performed by by America
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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