The Onondaga Madonna
She stands full-throated and with careless pose,
This woman of a weird and waning race,
The tragic savage lurking in her face,
Where all her pagan passion burns and glows;
Her blood is mingled with her ancient foes,
And thrills with war and wildness in her veins;
Her rebel lips are dabbled with the stains
Of feuds and forays and her father's woes.
And closer in the shawl about her breast,
The latest promise of her nation's doom,
Paler than she her baby clings and lies,
The primal warrior gleaming from his eyes;
He sulks, and burdened with his infant gloom,
He draws his heavy brows and will not rest.
poem by Duncan Campbell Scott
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Related quotes
Dai Butsu
He sits. Upon the kingly head doth rest
The round-balled wimple, and the heavy rings
Touch on the shoulders where the swallow clings;
The downward garment shows the ambiguous breast;
The Face--that Face one scarce can look on, lest
One learn the secret of unspeakable things;
But the dread gaze descends with shudderings
To the veiled couched knees, the hands and thumbs close-pressed.
O lidded downcast eyes that bear the weight
Of all our woes and terrible wrongs increase,
Proud nostrils, lips proud-perfecter than these,
With what a soul within you do you wait--
Disdain and pity, love late-born of hate,
Passion eternal, patience, pride and peace!
poem by Francis William Lauderdale Adams
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Depressed Bubble
His eyes twinkled,
When water bowled along,
With a heavy heart full of grief he stood there,
Feeling out of sorts.
Thinking what would happen to his mother,
When she'll know he got a D,
Thinking what would happen to his father,
Knowing his son couldn't reach his expectations.
Hearing his father's footsteps the boy ran away,
How would he face his father,
How would he face his mother,
What would he say to them?
Only this that they shouldn't have expected much from him,
Or rather blame himself?
His father called out his name,
He couldn't bare the pain,
It was the third time his hard work had went in vain,
The boy thought of nothing,
And while the father reached,
He was horrified for he saw blood stains on the floor,
And no sign of his child.
Teardrops wetted his clothes,
And all that he cited was,
Did you came to see me,
Or did you wished me to go with just tears in my eyes and blood on my hands.....
Written on 10/20/10
poem by Ayesha Riaz
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The Mother's Prayer
A mother kneels by the cradle,
Where her little infant lies,
And she sees the ghastly shadows
Creeping around his eyes.
And she clasps her hands together,
And her heart beats loud and wild,
And she cries in a gush of anguish,
'O Father! save my child.
'Oh! do not, do not take him
So soon to the home on high;
My beautiful, dark-eyed darling,
O God! he must not die.
I cannot pray in meekness,
'My Father's will be done.'
I can only cry in anguish,
'Oh! save my infant son.''
Slowly the ghastly shadows
Crept from the baby's eyes,
And the mother saw the bright orbs
Open in sweet surprise.
And she heard the lisping prattle
And the childish laugh again,
And she clasped him close to her bosom,
And her glad tears fell like rain.
The mother stands at the window,
Watching the night come down,
As it settles slowly, slowly,
Over the busy town.
And the withered face is troubled,
And she sighs in a weary way:
'Oh! where does my darling tarry,
Now at the close of day?
'Surely his task is ended:
Why is it he does not come?'
Ah! mother, one word will answer,
And that one word is Rum.
He stands at the bar this moment,
Draining the tempter's bowl;
And your beautiful boy has entered
His name on the drunkards' roll.
Ah! well, your prayer was answered:
You prayed that he might not die,
That he might not join the angels
Who dwell in their home on high.
O mother! say, is it better,
Or is it worse than death,
To see your darling stagger,
And feel his rum-foul breath?
You could not pray, 'My Father,
Thy will, not mine, be done,'
But cried, in your deaf, blind sorrow,
'Oh! save my infant son.'
And is he saved, fond mother?
And which is better, pray,
To know he is there in the rum-shop,
Or under the grass, to-day?
O God of a mighty nation!
When shall the glad day be
That the liquor reign is ended,
And our land is truly free?-
When our darling boys may wander
Through all its length and breadth,
With never a serpent lurking
To slay them in their strength?
Full many a year has vanished
Since the grand triumphant day
When we stood in bold defiance
Of a tyrant monarch's sway;
And now in a blood-red torrent,
At the price of a million graves,
We have swept the bonds and shackles
From the hands of a million slaves.
And yet we are under a tyrant,
And yet we are slaves to-day,
And we do not bid defiance
To the baleful liquor sway.
Up! O ye mourning captives!
Strike at the tyrant's hand!
Loosen his hold for ever-
Deliver a bondaged land!
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Im A Rebel
They say I wont make it to the top of the hill
Wont take the fruit of a tree
And evrybody says Im out for the kill
Theyre all laughing at me
Theyre all laughing at me
Im a rebel - rebel - dont you just know it
Im a rebel - rebel
And theyre all laughing at me
They say Im a danger to the public and all
I only wish they would see
Im just a product of a screwed up world - but theyre all
Theyre all laughing at me
But theyre all laughing at me
Im a rebel - rebel - dont you just know it
Im a rebel - rebel - dont you just know it
Im a rebel - rebel
But theyre all laughing at me
Never ever wash my old blue jeans
And brush the smile off my face
But still Im a member of the
Human race - human race - human race - human race
Im a rebel - rebel - dont you just know it
Im a rebel - rebel - dont you just know it
Im a rebel - rebel - dont you just know it
Im a rebel - rebel
And theyre all laughing at me
Im a rebel
song performed by by U. D. O.
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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White Magic
Is it not a wonderful thing to be able to force an astonished plant to bear rare flowers which are foreign to it. . . and to obtain a marvelous result from sap which, left to itself, would have produced corollas without beauty? -VIRGIL.
I stood forlorn and pale,
Pressed by the cold sand, pinched by the thin grass,
Last of my race and frail
Who reigned in beauty once, when beauty was,
Before the rich earth beckoned to the sea,
Took his salt lips to taste,
And spread this gradual waste-
This ruin of lower, this doom of grass and tree.
Each Spring could scarcely lift
My brows from the sand drift
To fill my lips with April as she went,
Or force my weariness
To its sad, summer dress:
On the harsh beach, I heard the grey sea rise,
The ragged grass made ceaseless, dim lament,
And day and night scarce changed the mournful skies.
Foot on the sand, a shadow on the sea!
A face leaned over me.
Across each wasted limb
Passed healingly a warm, great, god-like hand.
I was drawn up to him,
From my frail feet fell the last grains of sand.
Then haste and darkness stooped and made me theirs;
Deep handed me to deep; . . .
I faded then as names fade from men's prayers,--
As a sigh at last made friends with sleep.
But the same hand that bore me from the sea,
Waking me tenderly,
Bound me to a rough stranger of my race,--
Me weary and pale to him, and him to me.
I turned my piteous face
Aside ashamed; I struggled to be free.
I slept, I dreamed, I woke to that embrace! . . .
Sweet tides stole through my veins,
Strange fires and thrills and pains;
To my cold lips the bloom crept back once more
I glowed as a bride glows;
I watched the day with delicate hands restore
My kinship with the rose.
About my throat my hair went like a flame,
My brows were wreathed, in purple I was dressed,
I bore my bride's name,
A great star burned my breast.
No longer bound, I leaned the same sweet way
Towards her lover. Now astonished I
Who was a beggar stand obediently
Beside Cophetua.
poem by Muriel Stuart
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A Voice From the Dungeon
I'm buried now; I've done with life;
I've done with hate, revenge and strife;
I've done with joy, and hope and love
And all the bustling world above.
Long have I dwelt forgotten here
In pining woe and dull despair;
This place of solitude and gloom
Must be my dungeon and my tomb.
No hope, no pleasure can I find:
I am grown weary of my mind;
Often in balmy sleep I try
To gain a rest from misery,
And in one hour of calm repose
To find a respite from my woes,
But dreamless sleep is not for me
And I am still in misery.
I dream of liberty, 'tis true,
But then I dream of sorrow too,
Of blood and guilt and horrid woes,
Of tortured friends and happy foes;
I dream about the world, but then
I dream of fiends instead of men;
Each smiling hope so quickly fades
And such a lurid gloom pervades
That world - that when I wake and see
Those dreary phantoms fade and flee,
Even in my dungeon I can smile,
And taste of joy a little while.
And yet it is not always so;
I dreamt a little while ago
That all was as it used to be:
A fresh free wind passed over me;
It was a pleasant summer's day,
The sun shone forth with cheering ray,
Methought a little lovely child
Looked up into my face and smiled.
My heart was full, I wept for joy,
It was my own, my darling boy;
I clasped him to my breast and he
Kissed me and laughed in childish glee.
Just them I heard in whisper sweet
A well known voice my name repeat.
His father stood before my eyes;
I gazed at him in mute surprise,
I thought he smiled and spoke to me,
But still in silent ecstasy
I gazed at him; I could not speak;
I uttered one long piercing shriek.
Alas! Alas! That cursed scream
Aroused me from my heavenly dream;
I looked around in wild despair,
I called them, but they were not there;
The father and the child are gone,
And I must live and die alone.
poem by Anne Brontë
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Pagan Baby
Pagan baby, wont you walk with me?
Pagan baby, come on home with me.
Pagan baby, take me for a ride.
Roll me, baby, roll your big, brown eyes.
Yeah! ooh! ooh!
Pagan baby, let me make your name.
Drive it, baby, drive your big love game.
Pagan baby, what you got, I need.
Dont be savin, spread your love on me.
Aah! mm-mm-mm!
Pagan baby, now wont you rock with me?
Pagan baby, lay your love on me.
Yeah, yeah!
Aah! hey, hey!
Aah! hey! yeah!
Hey! hey! haaaaaaay!
song performed by by Creedence Clearwater Revival
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Late Loved--Well Loved
He stood beside her in the dawn
(And she his Dawn and she his Spring),
From her bright palm she fed her fawn,
Her swift eyes chased the swallow's wing:
Her restless lips, smile-haunted, cast
Shrill silver calls to hound and dove:
Her young locks wove them with the blast.
To the flush'd, azure shrine above,
The light boughs o'er her golden head
Toss'd em'rald arm and blossom palm.
The perfume of their prayer was spread
On the sweet wind in breath of balm.
'Dawn of my heart,' he said, 'O child,
Knit thy pure eyes a space with mine:
O chrystal, child eyes, undefiled,
Let fair love leap from mine to thine!'
'The Dawn is young,' she smiled and said,
'Too young for Love's dear joy and woe;
Too young to crown her careless head
With his ripe roses. Let me go--
Unquestion'd for a longer space,
Perchance, when day is at the flood,
In thy true palm I'll gladly place
Love's flower in its rounding bud.
But now the day is all too young,
The Dawn and I are playmates still.'
She slipped the blossomed boughs among,
He strode beyond the violet hill.
Again they stand (Imperial noon
Lays her red sceptre on the earth),
Where golden hangings make a gloom,
And far off lutes sing dreamy mirth.
The peacocks cry to lily cloud,
From the white gloss of balustrade:
Tall urns of gold the gloom make proud,
Tall statues whitely strike the shade,
And pulse in the dim quivering light
Until, most Galatea-wise--
Each looks from base of malachite
With mystic life in limbs and eyes.
Her robe, (a golden wave that rose,
And burst, and clung as water clings
To her long curves) about her flows.
Each jewel on her white breast sings
Its silent song of sun and fire.
No wheeling swallows smite the skies
And upward draw the faint desire,
Weaving its myst'ry in her eyes.
In the white kisses of the tips
Of her long fingers lies a rose,
Snow-pale beside her curving lips,
Red by her snowy breast it glows.
'Noon of my soul,' he says, 'behold!
The day is ripe, the rose full blown,
Love stands in panoply of gold,
To Jovian height and strength now grown,
No infant he, a king he stands,
And pleads with thee for love again.'
'Ah, yes!' she says, 'in known lands,
He kings it--lord of subtlest pain;
The moon is full, the rose is fair--
Too fair! 'tis neither white nor red:
'I know the rose that love should wear,
Must redden as the heart had bled!
The moon is mellow bright, and I
Am happy in its perfect glow.
The slanting sun the rose may dye--
But for the sweet noon--let me go.'
She parted--shimm'ring thro' the shade,
Bent the fair splendour of her head:
'Would the rich noon were past,' he said,
Would the pale rose were flush'd to red!'
Again. The noon is past and night
Binds on his brow the blood red Mars--
Down dusky vineyards dies the fight,
And blazing hamlets slay the stars.
Shriek the shrill shells: the heated throats
Of thunderous cannon burst--and high
Scales the fierce joy of bugle notes:
The flame-dimm'd splendours of the sky.
He, dying, lies beside his blade:
Clear smiling as a warrior blest
With victory smiles, thro' sinister shade
Gleams the White Cross upon her breast.
'Soul of my soul, or is it night
Or is it dawn or is it day?
I see no more nor dark nor light,
I hear no more the distant fray.'
''Tis Dawn,' she whispers: 'Dawn at last!
Bright flush'd with love's immortal glow
For me as thee, all earth is past!
Late loved--well loved, now let us go!'
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Amakeia
Protected by the mountains
and covered by bushes
the ruin of an old farmhouse stands,
where the shadow
of the past
still falls heavy and menacing.
Lulling the old black house maid Amakeia
rocked the baby of a white pioneer
softly to sleep
and she was faithful
to her promise,
to try and raise the child.
When she discovered
that danger was sneaking nearer,
she went to hide
in the mountains
with the baby.
As the dark night came
the assegais rattled
against the shields
of a horde of Maxosas,
that jeered like animals
and gathered around the woman and child.
No pleading could stop the blades
where the woman with her body
tried to protect the child
and the wild savage war gang,
speared the woman and child
again and again.
When the winter wind cries in the Amatola cliffs
no devil can still hide there
and the song
of the old woman
cuts right trough marrow and bone,
while she sings
for the child to be silent
and the murder of woman and child
still hits right through
a nation of savages.
[Reference: Amakeia by A.G. Visser. An incident during 1834 war. Assegai = A spear.]
poem by Gert Strydom
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The face reveals
In a revealing or provocative pose
It's easy for a woman to catch men's eyes.
In a concealing pose if one does it,
It's due to her face, which reveals the rest.
28.04.2012
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Love The African Woman
I Love The African Woman
I love the African woman
Her golden eyes
Burnt by smoke yet remained pure
Her black hair
Burdened by loads yet remained long
I love the African woman
Her dark lips
Kissed and chewed by men, Black and White
Yet remained full and thick
Her tender breast
Fondled by hands, smooth and callous
Yet remained firm and tall
At her back great men slept
On her laps heroes were nursed
At the meeting of her thighs all men dream
Her feet, hardened and bruised
Yet she keep moving
With pride
With dignity
I love her African heart
I love her African passion
I love the African woman
poem by Joseph Eli Atisu
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Pagan Place
How did he come here?
Who gave him the key?
Slipped it in his hand
So secretly
And who put the colour
Like lines on his face?
Brought him here
To a pagan place
Now who shot his arrow?
How high did it fly?
When he tipped it with poison
Did he even know why?
What unseen hand
Brought him face to face to face to face with
All this and more
In a pagan place?
Come into my parlour
Sail in at my shore
Drink my soul dry
There is always more
There is always more after now
Fly on my carpet
Look into my face
See the heart of man
In a pagan
In a pagan
In a pagan
In a pagan
In a pagan
Pagan...
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heart Attack
The heart of our nation's had an attack.
Its beat has slowed right down.
No cardiac surgeon could ever fix
the problem that's brought it around
It' s been brewing for years like arrhythmia
with its on and off woes
that come and go with our nation throbbing
forgetting the promise of those
who told us we were the shining stars,
the land of the free and the brave.
While all along the heart of its people
becomes harder and harder to save.
The woes of this nation start from the top
where the money like blood circulates.
While the heart of our nation slowly bleeds
as the oil of the rich coagulates.
The middle class works the jobs that are left
and the poor are left in the cold.
The peacemakers of song and words they tell
are forgotten and lies are sold.
We are the surgeons who must fix the problem
or the heart of our nation will die,
never again to beat or breathe free.
Together we all must try.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Wild Fire Woman
I'm gonna drive my car, way
across the border,
'Cos she's the only one, she keeps my mind in order.
I'm not a bad man, but I know
where I stand:
If I have your love, gotta have your love in my hand.
Yeah, come on boys......
It takes a good man, yeah, to know
a good woman.
I ain't so much a good man as one who needs loving.
I'm a driving down the highway getting closer to your love,
I'm going pretty fast now, but it ain't fast enough.
Listen.
Wild fire shooting thru my veins,
Burns a fever to my brain.
Wild fire woman, something
you got,
I start to shiver when you do that,
Do that baby, now.
It takes a good man, to know a good woman.
I ain't so much a good man as one who needs loving.
So I'm a burning up the freeway, ain't nothing in sight,
You know it takes a whole lotta loving,
To keep me driving all night, hey.
Wild fire shooting thru my veins,
Burns a fever to my brain.
Wild fire woman, something you got,
I start to shiver when you do that,
Do that baby.
Wild fire shooting thru my veins,
Burns a fever to my brain, oh.
Wild fire woman, something you got,
I start to shiver when you do that.
Wild fire shooting thru my veins,
Burns a fever to my brain.
Wild fire woman, something you got,
I start to shiver when you do that,
do that, baby. Do that, do that, baby.
I start to shiver and shake, I just can't wait,
I start to shiver and shake,
I just can't wait.
I start to shiver and shake, ha, now baby,
I just can't wait, driving down the highway,
Yeah, yeah, oh.
I'm driving all night......
song performed by by Bad Company
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Three Concerned
The Man
He lies forgotten 'neath the watching skies,
the blood upon his bayonet scarlet bright;
the red moon shining in his glazed eyes,
the 'Last Post' crying, crying in the night.
The Woman
She proudly sits within her home of gloom,
and reads and reads his lines with wistful smile,
then, eyes aglisten, seeks the empty room
(and he within his bloody grave the while.)
The Child
His wooden war-horse stands beside his bed,
his tiny pillow holds a head of gold.
He dreams of all the things his father said,
he dreams of all the tales his father told.
poem by Leon Gellert
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It Is Not Beauty I Demand
It is not Beauty I demand,
A crystal brow, the moon's despair,
Nor the snow's daughter, a white hand,
Nor mermaid's yellow pride of hair.
Tell me not of your starry eyes,
Your lips that seem on roses fed,
Your breasts where Cupid trembling lies,
Nor sleeps for kissing of his bed.
A bloomy pair of vermeil cheeks,
Like Hebe's in her ruddiest hours,
A breath that softer music speaks
Than summer winds a-wooing flowers.
These are but gauds; nay, what are lips?
Coral beneath the ocean-stream,
Whose brink when your adventurer sips
Full oft he perisheth on them.
And what are cheeks but ensigns oft
That wave hot youth to fields of blood?
Did Helen's breast though ne'er so soft,
Do Greece or Ilium any good?
Eyes can with baleful ardor burn,
Poison can breath that erst perfumed,
There's many a white hand holds an urn
With lovers' hearts to dust consumed.
For crystal brows--there's naught within,
They are but empty cells for pride;
He who the Syren's hair would win
Is mostly strangled in the tide.
Give me, instead of beauty's bust,
A tender heart, a loyal mind,
Which with temptation I could trust,
Yet never linked with error find.
One in whose gentle bosom I
Could pour my secret heart of woes.
Like the care-burdened honey-fly
That hides his murmurs in the rose.
My earthly comforter! whose love
So indefeasible might be,
That when my spirit won above
Hers could not stay for sympathy.
poem by George Darley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Rebel Without A Clue
(jim steinman)
Producer for bonnie: jim steinman
Youre a tough tail-gunner in a pitch black chevy
Cruising in the moonlight
Ooh your aim is steady
Your eyes are hungry and your hands are ready
You shot me where you wanted
You put me in a daze
No matter where youre going, youll always be a stranger
Getting into trouble, getting off on danger
Riding out of town like a cool lone ranger
When theres nothing to lose, you gotta call your own plays
Did anybody say something incredibly stupid
Like there isnt any paradise
But I remember the songs and I remember the story
I remember the thrills and I remember the glory
So hold me - hold me in your arms
Deliver me from growing old
Hold me - hold me in your arms
Shelter me from going cold
Im a shot in the dark without you
A rebel without a clue
Rebel without a clue
I dont know what to say and I dont know what to do
Standing on the corner in my boots and my leather
A little over the edge, a little under the weather
Just a rebel without a clue
Im tired and lonely and crying for you
I know just when to sulk and I know just how to pose
Dirty harry to madonna
Ive been learning all the roles
So hold me baby, hold me a little longer
Need me baby just a little stronger tonight
Move it darling move a little quicker
Prove it darling blood is really thicker tonight
Drive on darling drive a little farther
Dream on darling dream a little harder tonight
Teach me baby teach me how to love you
Without me youre just another rebel without a clue
Its been a long hot summer and its just the beginning
So keep our motor running and your tires spinning
So many places that Ive wanted to be in
Take me where youre going - away beyond above -
Well see a little action, relieve a little tension
Stuff Id like to try that I shouldnt even mention
Ive gone so far that - Im way beyond redemption
Theres nothing to it really - I think they call it love
Did anybody say something incredibly stupid
Like there isnt any paradise
But I remember the songs and I remember the story
I remember the thrills and I remember the glory
So hold me - hold me in your arms
Deliver me from growing old
Hold me - hold me in your arms
Shelter me from going cold
Im a shot in the dark without you
A rebel without a clue
Rebel without a clue
Dont know what to say and I dont know what to do
Standing on the corner in my boots and my leather
A little over the edge, a little under the weather
Just a rebel without a clue
Im tired and lonely and crying for you
I know just when to sulk and I know just how to pose
Dirty harry to madonna
Ive been learning all the roles
So hold me baby, hold me a little longer
Need me baby just a little stronger tonight
Move it darling move a little quicker
Prove it darling blood is really thicker tonight
Drive on darling drive a little farther
Dream on darling dream a little harder tonight
Teach me baby teach me how to love you
Without me youre just another rebel without a clue
Instrumental
So hold me baby, hold me a little longer
Need me baby just a little stronger tonight
Move it darling move a little quicker
Prove it darling blood is really thicker tonight
Drive on darling drive a little farther
Dream on darling dream a little harder tonight
Teach me baby teach me how to love you
Without me youre just another rebel without a clue
song performed by by Bonnie Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mocking Grin
Seated at my Uncle's funeral fire
Are family close, all well attired
In the middle of them like a well fed hen
Is he who took aim, and recompense
A virgin's vow, a promise given.
My face burns as his chin mocks mine
Three lies told, only one is closed.
Husband bare, he stripped me-
Of the future promise given by another.
Leaving me to deal with the fruit within
Without bother from any other hand.
A father extracts a lie,
A promise, a plead of things that are not -
It doesn't matter, now, the blood cleanses all.
I sit up taller, holding a new husband's vow
In my closed palm-
Promises that never faltered.
He mocks me
His eyes dance with the secret he holds.
The virgin's lie is finally over.
poem by Charlotte Ballard
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Les Silhouettes
The sea is flecked with bars of grey,
The dull dead wind is out of tune,
And like a withered leaf the moon
Is blown across the stormy bay.
Etched clear upon the pallid sand
Lies the black boat: a sailor boy
Clambers aboard in careless joy
With laughing face and gleaming hand.
And overhead the curlews cry,
Where through the dusky upland grass
The young brown-throated reapers pass,
Like silhouettes against the sky.
poem by Oscar Wilde
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Impressions I. Les Silhouettes
THE sea is flecked with bars of grey
The dull dead wind is out of tune,
And like a withered leaf the moon
Is blown across the stormy bay.
Etched clear upon the pallid sand
The black boat lies: a sailor boy
Clambers aboard in careless joy
With laughing face and gleaming hand.
And overhead the curlews cry,
Where through the dusky upland grass
The young brown-throated reapers pass,
Like silhouettes against the sky.
poem by Oscar Wilde
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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