Tychicus
Fold, bold, hold, sold, cold, told, gold, old;
But you spoke boldly to us! !
And to quench all the darts of the wicked ones,
For, whatever makes manifest is light!
Fitly,
But it is shameful to speak of the things done in secret! !
However, the light comes to overcome darkness;
And like the peace of a land far away from you.
I need to direct you on,
I need to lead you on,
For it is like the muse of Tychicus your friend!
But the narrowm path in the forest will lead the way.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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No Fault
Hold, told, bold, gold, cold, fold, sold;
They made a fire of coals for it was cold!
Coal, foal, goal;
I've found no fault in you!
But put your sword back in its own sheath.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Being Shaped
A cold drink in the desert!
Gold, sold, hold, cold, fold, old, told;
And like its own solid weight,
But, beaten with the hammer and being shaped.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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I Am The King!
I am the king!
For, i've travelled around the world and,
Seen many things about this world.
Hold, bold, sold, cold, fold, gold, old;
I will hold on that train for you!
For, you're a lover in my town;
And, i will try to understand you for, you are poor.
Early in the morning,
Moving around with the experiences of this world!
And, with the feelings of the blues;
But, i will hold on the train for you! !
For, you want to be on board as well.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Gold
Theres a mountain and its mighty high
U cannot see the top unless u fly
And theres a molehill of proven ground
There aint no where 2 go if u hang around
Everybody wants 2 sell whats already been sold
Everybody wants 2 tell whats already been told
Whats the use of money if u aint gonna break the mold?
Even at the center of fire there is cold
All that glitters aint gold
All that glitters aint gold, mmm
Theres an ocean of despair
There are people livin there
Theyre unhappy each and every day
But hell is not fashion so what u tryin 2 say?
Everybody wants 2 sell whats already been sold
Everybody wants 2 tell whats already been told
Whats the use of money if u aint gonna break the mold?
Even at the center of fire there is cold
All that glitters aint gold, no no
All that glitters aint gold, no no
Theres a lady, 99 years old
If she led a good life, heaven takes her soul
Now thats a theory and if u dont wanna know
Step aside and make a way 4 those who want 2 go
Everybody wants 2 sell whats already been sold (sold)
Everybody wants 2 tell whats already been told (told)
Whats the use of bein young if u aint gonna get old? (old)
Even at the center of fire there is cold (cold)
All that glitters (glitters) aint gold, no no no no no
All that glitters aint gold
Alright
All that glitters, all that glitters, all that glitters.. aint gold
Na na na na na na na (gold {x4})
Na na na na na na na (gold {x4})
Gold, gold, gold
All that glitters aint gold, gold, gold
All that glitters aint gold, gold, gold (na na na na na na na)
All that glitters aint gold, gold, gold (na na na na na na na)
All that glitters aint gold, oh
Oh yeah
1 2.. 1 2 3, lets go!
(na na na na na na na) {repeat}
U are now an official member of the new power generation
Welcome 2 the dawn
All that glitters aint gold (gold) {repeat & loop}
song performed by by Prince
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Gold!
Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold!
Bright and yellow, hard and cold
Molten, graven, hammered and rolled,
Heavy to get and light to hold,
Hoarded, bartered, bought and sold,
Stolen, borrowed, squandered, doled,
Spurned by young, but hung by old
To the verge of a church yard mold;
Price of many a crime untold.
Gold! Gold! Gold! Gold!
Good or bad a thousand fold!
How widely it agencies vary,
To save - to ruin - to curse - to bless -
As even its minted coins express :
Now stamped with the image of Queen Bess,
And now of a bloody Mary.
poem by Thomas Hood
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Words Of Warmth
Perhaps you have never been told,
that your heartbeat is a special treasure,
which cannot be bought or sold,
not with diamonds that are forever,
nor with a mountain of gold.
I’m not trying to be good or clever,
I just want you to see what I behold,
for you and my thoughts are together,
and I would even be so bold,
to say that no matter what the weather,
be it summer’s warmth or winter’s cold,
autumn’s leaves or even spring’s heather,
in my dearest memory; you I will always hold.
poem by Dale Mullock
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One Whose Heart
One whose heart
Is noble and bold.
One whose heart
Is crafted of gold.
One whose heart
Is to passion sold.
One whose heart
Is immune to cold.
One whose heart
Is born to be told.
One whose heart
Is done in faith's mold.
One whose heart
Is in fortune's hold.
One whose heart
Is not at all old.
poem by Obinna Kenechukwu Eruchie
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In Kharytass
In kharytass she is the sweetest to behold
Do not let her go like the best of gold
though i never heard even her voice
unknown to me why she opens my choice
just how this thoughts can't let me be
In kharytass she is the sweetest damsel to hold
presents to me a test to be bold
Why won't i want to learn her poise
Why won't i want to shut all noise
Just to listen to her talk to me
In kharitass she is the sweetest yet not cold
Watching while i rest with my arms fold
Those starry eyes the spark of diamond
Those very lips the smack of almond
Just be calm my soul and let fate be
In kharytass she is too priceless to be sold
Remains a love story yet to be told
Well curvy frame left with high chaste
All survey but left to my taste
Just don't let another bloke take thee
In kharytass she is the jwell of young and old
She took my arm less i be cold
Even if i live in a dome in Rome
I would never feel like someone home
Just unless she stays with me.
poem by Ray Anyasi
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Ballade to Our Lady of Czestochowa
I
Lady and Queen and Mystery manifold
And very Regent of the untroubled sky,
Whom in a dream St. Hilda did behold
And heard a woodland music passing by:
You shall receive me when the clouds are high
With evening and the sheep attain the fold.
This is the faith that I have held and hold,
And this is that in which I mean to die.
II
Steep are the seas and savaging and cold
In broken waters terrible to try;
And vast against the winter night the wold,
And harbourless for any sail to lie.
But you shall lead me to the lights, and I
Shall hymn you in a harbour story told.
This is the faith that I have held and hold,
And this is that in which I mean to die.
III
Help of the half-defeated, House of gold,
Shrine of the Sword, and Tower of Ivory;
Splendour apart, supreme and aureoled,
The Battler's vision and the World's reply.
You shall restore me, O my last Ally,
To vengence and the glories of the bold.
This is the faith that I have held and hold,
And this is that in which I mean to die.
Envoi
Prince of the degradations, bought and sold,
These verses, written in your crumbling sty,
Proclaim the faith that I have held and hold
And publish that in which I mean to die.
poem by Hilaire Belloc
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Wealth Wont Save Your Soul
(e) as we journey along, on (a) lifes wicked (e) road,
So selfish are we, for silver and (b7) gold,
You can (e) treasure your wealth, your (a) diamonds and (e) gold,
But my friends it wont save, your (b7) poor wicked (e) soul.
For when God calls, from his home up on high,
To your earthly wealth, you must say goodbye,
Then its useless to you, if youve strayed from the fold,
For my friend it wont save your poor wicked soul.
The rich man like all, will be judged at that time,
But all of his wealth, will be left behind.
For no matter how much earthly wealth you get hold,
Well my friend it wont save, your poor wicked soul.
This verse on demo record only * * * * *
When the world is on fire, on that judgement day,
For all of our wrongs, then we must pay,
But the debt cant be paid, with silver and gold,
No friends it wont save, your poor wicked soul.
song performed by by Hank Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Boldly Hold
Living life from the bottom to the top...
Looking back,
I don't want to drop.
Looking back,
I don't want to stop...
My goal.
Living life from the bottom to the top...
Looking back,
I don't want to drop.
Looking back,
I don't want to stop...
A goal,
I boldly hold.
I keep a faith I believe,
To boldly hold.
I keep a reach to receive,
As my main goal...
I feel I must succeed,
To manifest..
A crave I keep within me.
I keep a faith I believe,
To boldly hold.
I keep a reach to receive,
As my main goal...
I feel I must succeed,
To manifest..
A crave I keep within me.
Living life from the bottom to the top...
Looking back,
I don't want to drop...
A goal,
I boldly hold.
A goal I wont let go.
I keep a faith I believe,
To boldly hold.
I keep a reach to receive,
As my main goal...
I feel I must succeed,
To manifest..
A crave I keep within me.
A craving that wont leave me be.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Blackness
Venturing into a big black hole.
Emptiness surrounds, it fills my soul.
The grandness of the blackness takes control.
Hopeless, meaningless damn the blackness.
The blackness inside that does feed us and beats us.
It swallows me up and feeds my soul.
Heats the hate that makes me cold.
It reaches out and takes a hold.
To drive me further in blackness bold.
Further and further it's freakishly cold.
Enveloped yet to be told.
No boundries how far will it go?
We've got to see how dark the black can be.
So venture now to blackness hold.
You must be bold to take this road.
poem by Michael McParland
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Lines Written On Hearing The News Of The Death Of Napoleon
What! alive and so bold, O Earth?
Art thou not overbold?
What! leapest thou forth as of old
In the light of thy morning mirth,
The last of the flock of the starry fold?
Ha! leapest thou forth as of old?
Are not the limbs still when the ghost is fled,
And canst thou move, Napoleon being dead?
How! is not thy quick heart cold?
What spark is alive on thy hearth?
How! is not HIS death-knell knolled?
And livest THOU still, Mother Earth?
Thou wert warming thy fingers old
O’er the embers covered and cold
Of that most fiery spirit, when it fled--
What, Mother, do you laugh now he is dead?
'Who has known me of old,' replied Earth,
'Or who has my story told?
It is thou who art overbold.'
And the lightning of scorn laughed forth
As she sung, 'To my bosom I fold
All my sons when their knell is knolled,
And so with living motion all are fed,
And the quick spring like weeds out of the dead.
'Still alive and still bold,' shouted Earth,
'I grow bolder and still more bold.
The dead fill me ten thousandfold
Fuller of speed, and splendour, and mirth.
I was cloudy, and sullen, and cold,
Like a frozen chaos uprolled,
Till by the spirit of the mighty dead
My heart grew warm. I feed on whom I fed.
'Ay, alive and still bold.' muttered Earth,
'Napoleon's fierce spirit rolled,
In terror and blood and gold,
A torrent of ruin to death from his birth.
Leave the millions who follow to mould
The metal before it be cold;
And weave into his shame, which like the dead
Shrouds me, the hopes that from his glory fled.'
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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All In My Hands I Hold
All in my hands I hold
Money, silver, Jewell, and gold
All those things that man can love
I still have more though some I sold
All in my hands I hold
Brackets and jackets to drive all the cold
To keep me warm and act like a stove
That when you talk all I do is to nod
All in my hands I hold
All great names in the world I'm called
Angels can know who I am from above
And tell my deeds to the might lord
All in my hands I hold
Stories I made but some I was told
Tales still fly in my head like a dove
And some still hang in my brain they're stored
All in my hands I hold
Everything in the world to you I showed
All have
But still I'm bored.
poem by Walani Ndhlovu
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Take My Hold
my eyes calm and quiet
my heart dead and cold
i wish to be so bold
and let you be told
my heart i want you all the time
but not like the sunshine
which withers away
and not to be my shadow
because shadows appear in light
but not in dark and night
please take my hold
please take my hold
and be my soul
poem by Gule Rukhsar
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A tale i was told
Right as i was told their handwriting were'nt bold
so; our forefathers were sold
that their conscience they had sold
but to me; a fairy tale better not told
i was young
and the music seem dingdong
to me at dawn,
the story seem sown
not till i was told
it was a fairy tale better not told.
Unaware in the market; they haggle
to them, the reward a cry
and they saw no battle
but on this path, i dare not ply
To me; a fairy tale better not told.
What seem a tale
to me a dog without tail
on our fall i was
when the tale went on without a pause
to me a fairy better not told.
poem by Atimiwoaye Adetunji dayo
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A Living Queen
To be apart of a whole…
If I am to be so bold…
She is never fresh nor cold…
On that I am sold…
From her body I am told…
She is under no scold…
With a heart of gold…
A living queen…
To be heard as well as seen…
WOW! In those jeans…
My whole body screams…
That’s no dream…
A living queen…
From a rib came…
To man…
To give man a perfect chance…
For romance…
And with every touch…
She enhance…
Which is man…
Emerging ever forward…
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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Ballade Of The Dead Cities
The dust of Carthage and the dust
Of Babel on the desert wold,
The loves of Corinth, and the lust,
Orchomenos increased with gold;
The town of Jason, over-bold,
And Cherson, smitten in her prime -
What are they but a dream half-told?
Where are the cities of old time?
In towns that were a kingdom's trust,
In dim Atlantic forests' fold,
The marble wasteth to a crust,
The granite crumbles into mould;
O'er these--left nameless from of old -
As over Shinar's brick and slime,
One vast forgetfulness is roll'd -
Where are the cities of old time?
The lapse of ages, and the rust,
The fire, the frost, the waters cold,
Efface the evil and the just;
From Thebes, that Eriphyle sold,
To drown'd Caer-Is, whose sweet bells toll'd
Beneath the wave a dreamy chime
That echo'd from the mountain-hold, -
'Where are the cities of old time?'
ENVOY.
Prince, all thy towns and cities must
Decay as these, till all their crime,
And mirth, and wealth, and toil are thrust
Where are the cities of old time.
poem by Andrew Lang
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Wicked Angel
Wicked angel, I see your thorns,
Wicked angel, I feel your scorn,
Wicked angel, so forlorn,
Wicked angel, heart so torn
And now, I know where I must be,
in this place I fail to see,
what's right in front of me,
off the beaten path I'm free
In these times, of doing what we're told,
we're left alone in a world so cold,
now it's time, to break the mold,
wicked angel, your lie unfolds
I feel the heat, but not the blade,
I've buried my head, too deep for shade,
and now I know why my vision fades,
but this price, I've already paid
In these times, of doing what we're told,
we're left alone in a world so cold,
now it's time, to break the mold,
wicked angel, your lie unfolds
poem by Corey Culler
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We should remember
All that glitters are not gold
To admit it we have to be bold.
All that big are not big
Looking big talking big
Biggish really not big.
Giving a touch one can reach
To the pitch.
Going to the dark
One can see light
All lights are not to sparkle
Not to shine not to glitters.
We have light in our rock-body
That is not to vanish
Not to wear-out
We are not to vanguish.
We are gold cent percent pure
And we are here to glitters
All that glitters are not gold
We should remember we are told.
poem by Gajanan Mishra
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