The Writer's Hand
What is your want, perpetual invalid
Whose fist is always beating on my breast's
Bone wall, incurable dictator of my house
And breaker of its peace? What is your will,
Obscure uneasy sprite : where must I run,
What must I seize, to win
A brief respite from your repining cries?
Is it a star, the passionate short spark
Produced by friction with another's flesh
You ache more darkly after. Is it power :
To snap restriction's leash, to leap
Like bloodhounds on the enemy? There is no grip
Can crush the fate you fight. Or is it to escape
Into the dream-perspectives maps and speed create?
You never listen, disillusion's dumb
To your unheeding ear. But see my hand,
The only army to enforce your claim
Upon life's hostile land : five pale, effete
Aesthetic-looking fingers, whose chief feat
Is to trace lines like these across a page :
What small relief can they bring to your siege!
poem by David Gascoyne
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Lightning Rod
So you say you like the way I look
So you say you like the way I look
When I fall and no one's there to catch me
So you say you like the way I move
So you say you like the way I move
Into every storm I see above me
'Cause everybody's doing what they like
And what they like is not enough for me
I do not feel the same
Here we go 'cause
Tell me why we always sweat it
Everybody wants more but they never get it
Tell me why we always sweat it
Everybody wants more
(everybody wants everybody)
Tell me why we always sweat it
Everybody wants more but they never get it
Tell me why we always sweat it
Everybody wants more
(and everybody wants more)
What you want is never what you get
Here comes the wall, better lower your head
What you want is never what you get
You're going to fast
So you say you like the way I move
So you say you like the way I move
Into every storm I see above me
Breaker breaker one two
Break out to break through
You can swim slash drift where the tides take you
It's about your attitude
Extension of your latitude
Rejection of gratitude
What up, whatcha thinking dude?
Who said every day's gonna be fun?
Keep an eye on the web
Other people have spun
Who said every day's gonna be fun?
Best recognize or betcha you'll come undone
'Cause everybody's doing what they like
And what they like is not enough for me
I do not feel the same
Here we go 'cause
Tell me why we always sweat it
Everybody wants more but they never get it
Tell me why we always sweat it
Everybody wants more
(everybody wants everybody)
Tell me why we always sweat it
Everybody wants more but they never get it
Tell me why we always sweat it
Everybody wants more
(and everybody wants more)
What you want is never what you get
Here comes the wall, better lower your head
What you want is never what you get
You're going to fast
Grit your teeth, this is gonna be a bumpy ride
Loud and clear
Hi-fi, lo-fi
Hand fist, shape shifts to electrify
Sure enough showing up trying to climb sky high
Tell me why we always sweat it
Everybody wants more but they never get it
Tell me why we always sweat it
Everybody wants more
(everybody wants everybody)
Tell me why we always sweat it
Everybody wants more but they never get it
Tell me why we always sweat it
Everybody wants more
(and everybody wants more)
Tell me why we always sweat it
Everybody wants more but they never get it
Tell me why we always sweat it
Everybody wants more
(everybody wants everybody)
Tell me why we always sweat it
Everybody wants more but they never get it
Tell me why we always sweat it
Everybody wants more
(everybody wants more)
What you want is never what you get
Everybody wants more
What you want is never what you get
And everybody wants more
song performed by by Zebrahead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The only peace that can be made with a dictator is once that must be based on deterrence. For today, the dictator may be your friend, but tomorrow he will need you as an enemy.
quote by Natan Sharansky
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Perhaps He's Not Been Well Of Late
The Chief of staff in the White House on his war drum is beating
Perhaps he's not been well of late and his brains are over heating
For he talks of war and only war and he is brewing for trouble
And his bombers will reduce Baghdad to one big heap of rubble.
In his State of the Union address he talked of war with an angry facial expression
And the removal of Iraqi dictator Saddam from power with him
is an obsession
Wisdom comes with age to most apply but not to this Texan fellow
And just like the very dangerous bull be wary when he bellow
Some men in positions of power for to handle power not able
He and his right hand men only talk of war as they sit around the table
The table in the White House where decisions are made and where dreams of peace are torn asunder
For only death and tears and pain from the guns of war men thunder.
They tell the people of Iraq that they are doing them a big favour
But the majority of the Iraqi people do not see them as their saviour
From Saddam's autocratic regime who they loathe as oppressive
But they fear the to be invaders more as more dangerous and aggressive.
The Chief of Staff in the White House on his war drum is beating
Perhaps he's not been well of late and his brains are over-heating
For he can only talk of war and fear of terror he is spreading
And the fighter planes are set to go and the troops to war are heading.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Leda and the Swan
A sudden blow: the great wings beating still
Above the staggering girl, her thighs caressed
By the dark webs, her nape caught in his bill,
He holds her helpless breast upon his breast.
How can those terrified vague fingers push
The feathered glory from her loosening thighs?
And how can body, laid in that white rush,
But feel the strange heart beating where it lies?
A shudder in the loins engenders there
The broken wall, the burning roof and tower
And Agamemnon dead.
Being so caught up,
So mastered by the brute blood of the air,
Did she put on his knowledge with his power
Before the indifferent beak could let her drop?
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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None is invalid.
I begot many a child.
Some were invalid
But to me none is invalid.
So are all my verses.
That could appeal to some.
If not to all.
28.05.2002, pakd
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Obscure
How obscure
To heal a heart full of hatred
Through the light of forgiveness...
How obscure
To cure blindness
Through the light of open-mindedness...
How obscure
To cure deafness
Through the light of consciousness...
How obscure
To cure dumbness
Through the light of intelligence...
How obscure...
To heal a hand of hostility
Through the light of kindness...
How obscure
To cure a paralytic
Through the light of liberty...
How obscure
To cure sickness
Through the light of benevolence...
How obscure to understand
To heal physicality
Through the presence of spirituality
poem by Mary Joy Lumanog
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mine
O HOW my heart is beating as her name I keep repeating,
And I drink up joy like wine:
O how my heart is beating as her name I keep repeating,
For the lovely girl is mine!
She's rich, she's fair, beyond compare,
Of noble mind, serene and kind--
And how my heart is beating as her name I keep repeating,
For the lovely girl is mine!
O how my heart is beating as her name I keep repeating,
In a music soft and fine;
O how my heart is beating as her name I keep repeating,
For the girl I love is mine.
She owns no lands, has no white hands,
Her lot is poor, her life obscure;--
Yet how my heart is beating as her name I keep repeating,
For the girl I love is mine!
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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There are no incurable diseases but only incurable people.
Pray Away my Sin
Into my eyes you stare with a beating heart fueled by the fire of hate
Looking at me for a way to escape lives cruel daily rape
Is it up to me to find an answer to our questions of faith?
Escape from my eyes sprite of the phoenix...into summer air be free
Staring into the eyes of sadness
Staring into the eyes of pain
staring into the eyes engraved with the wrath of God
Upon me sprite of Adam, upon my eyes let me see the son of God
Bring and end to all that I know, end this life of long suffering
poem by Darius Fields
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Given The Dog A Bone
She take you down easy
Going down to her knees
Going down to the devil
Down down to ninety degrees
Oh, shes blowing me crazy
Till my ammunition is dry
Oh, shes using her head again
Shes using her head
Oh, shes using her head again
Chorus:
Im just a givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Im just a givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Im just a givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Yeow
Shes no mona lisa
No, shes no playboy star
But shell send you to heaven
Then explode you to mars
Oh, shes using her head again
Using her head again
Shes using her head
Using her head again
Oh, shes using her head again
Using her head
Chorus
Lets go
Oooh, oh, oh, oh
She got the power of union
Yeah, she only hits when its hot
And if she likes what youre doing
Yeah, shell give you alot
(given everything she got)
Ive just given the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Ive just given the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Im just givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Im just a givin the dog a bone
Givin the dog a bone
Im just a given a dog
Givin a dog
Givin a dog
Ooooh
Im just a givin a dog a bone
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Sea Is Very Calm This Morning
the sea is very calm this morning
the talisay leaves are not disturbed by the breeze
my mama is sitting on a bench
combing her long hair
saying nothing
under a tree
beside our little nipa hut
facing the horizon
on the other side is a big house
whose iron gate is painted red
a big man comes out
rushing as though
he is chasing someone
holding a stick on his hand
shouting at the child
playing with my small brother
inside the yard
of our house
the child of that man is frightened
and runs as fast as he can
back to their house
his father catches him
beating his legs
with the stick on his
right hand
i can still hear the cry of that frightened child
from the very beating of his own papa
what a mess!
i could have told you once again about the peace
and the calm and the quiet of the sea on a morning like this
but it is not true anymore
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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At Amber
Im calling you from the foyer
Of the sands hotel
Where the men and the women
Are acquainted quite well
And the drunkards keep on drinking
And oh, my room is cold
Im disputing the bill
I will sleep in my clothes
And you, my invalid friend
You slam the receiver when you say
If I had your limbs for a day
I would steam away
Im calling you from the foyer
Of this awful hotel
Where the slime and the grime
Gel
And I cannot - or, I do not
And oh, my room is cold
And Im envying you never having to choose
And you, my invalid friend
You slam the receiver when you say
If I had your limbs for a day
I would steam away
Im calling you from the foyer
Of the sands hotel
Its not low-life, its just people
Having a good time
And oh, my invalid friend
Oh, my invalid friend
In our different ways we are
The same
song performed by by Morrissey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ridiculous
Ridiculous
To tell the artist
What to sketch and what not
Ridiculous
To tell the poet
What to compose what not.
Only dictator can
Go against the artist
Only dictator can
Go against the poet
Dictator is the symbol of
Destroyer and aggressor.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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O come quickly!
NEVER weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore,
Never tired pilgrim's limbs affected slumber more,
Than my wearied sprite now longs to fly out of my troubled breast:
O come quickly, sweetest Lord, and take my soul to rest!
Ever blooming are the joys of heaven's high Paradise,
Cold age deafs not there our ears nor vapour dims our eyes:
Glory there the sun outshines; whose beams the Blessed only see:
O come quickly, glorious Lord, and raise my sprite to Thee!
poem by Thomas Campion
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Ballad Of Sir Frankie Crisp (Let It Roll)
They say they like it, but, now in the market it
May not go well as it's too laid back.
You need some oomph-papa, nothing like Frank Zappa
And not New Wave they don't play that crap
Try beating your head on a brick wall
Hard like a stone
Don't have time for the music
They want the blood from a clone
I hear a clock ticking
I feel the nit-picking
I almost quit kicking at the wall
There seems a confusion, under the illusion
That they know just what will suit you all
Beating my head on a brick wall
Hard like a stone
Ain't got time for the music
They want the blood from a clone
There is no sense to it
Pure pounds and pence to it
They're so intense too makes me amazed
Don't want no music but, they're making you sick with
Some awful noises that may get played
By beating their heads on a brick wall
Hard like a stone
Ain't no messing 'round with music
Give them the blood from a clone
Where will it all lead us
I thought we had freed us
song performed by by George Harrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Avoiding A Rejection
take a part of your
pelvic bone
close your eyes
let someone take
the flesh
and bone to bone
of your own bone
let it grow
smoothly
to get rid of the pain
and start anew
bone to bone
of my contention
following yours
nothing
opposing
blood following
the flow
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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To Avoid Rejection
take a part of your
pelvic bone
close your eyes
let someone take
the flesh
and bone to bone
of your own bone
let it grow
smoothly
to get rid of the pain
and start anew
bone to bone
of my contention
following yours
nothing
opposing
blood following
the flow
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Until The Silence Reigns
and so it happens
the clock strikes seven
you dream about curtains
catching flames
the house screams
and you discover you
are but a wall of this
structure
you look at the clock
on your side
it is seven
but seven what?
you get up from bed
and proceed to the CR
wash your face
feeling like a wall still
you rub the soap
and feel your cheek
you slap it
you feel like a wall
and the curtains continue to burn themselves
the house scream at its loud voice
you are still this wall
and you do not really care
to ash from ash
and to ash you shall return
there is no hurry no fright no panic
let death come with grace
the wall is flat and inanimate
let the curtains burn let the house scream
until the silence of the ash reigns
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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That Beating Of The Bush
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I have this 'thing' about honest and truth.
And those who become offended,
By declaring them too harsh to accept!
There has not been an experience I received,
I regretted with a wish to forget!
And those attempting to live their lives,
In pretense to deceive believing this is not deception...
Will always escape with excuses and alibis to make.
Charading as if...
No one recognizes,
Who is in masquerade.
And who amongst them fakes!
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
An honesty and truth spoken,
From deceivers is rare.
Those who deceive perceive...
Those who are direct and honest,
Are insensitive and do not care!
With a sharing of this mentality...
To those empathetic,
In a keeping of delusions...
Spared from despair!
But I know I'm not the only one...
Who elects to see,
Dishonesty from all people get up and leave.
I can't be!
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
I'm not into,
The beating of the bush.
That beating of the bush.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Bone Of The House
in the house
he is a bone,
not a flesh on
the side
dogs outside are
waiting
he is not the
kind of bone
that any dog
wants,
the useless bone
in the kitchen
mere shadow of
the soup-stock
left-over of the flesh
inside the garbage can.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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