Atherton's Gambit
The Master played the bishop’s pawn,
For jest, while Atherton looked on;
The master played this way and that,
And Atherton, amazed thereat,
Said “Now I have a thing in view
That will enlighten one or two,
And make a difference or so
In what it is they do not know.”
The morning stars together sang
And forth a mighty music rang—
Not heard by many, save as told
Again through magic manifold
By such a few as have to play
For others, in the Master’s way,
The music that the Master made
When all the morning stars obeyed.
Atherton played the bishop’s pawn
While more than one or two looked on;
Atherton played this way and that,
And many a friend, amused thereat,
Went on about his business
Nor cared for Atherton the less;
A few stood longer by the game,
With Atherton to them the same.
The morning stars are singing still,
To crown, to challenge, and to kill;
And if perforce there falls a voice
On pious ears that have no choice
Except to urge an erring hand
To wreak its homage on the land,
Who of us that is worth his while
Will, if he listen, more than smile?
Who of us, being what he is,
May scoff at others’ ecstasies?
However we may shine to-day,
More-shining ones are on the way;
And so it were not wholly well
To be at odds with Azrael,—
Nor were it kind of any one
To sing the end of Atherton.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Standoff
Laurence Fishburne, Thomas Jane, Jim Watson, Ella Ballentine, Ted Atherton, John Tench, Laura de Carteret
by Adam Alleca from Standoff (2015)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Jinn
Faran Tahir, Serinda Swan, Ray Park, William Atherton, Amber Whelan, Dominic Rains, Milica Govich, Walter Phelan, Danny Mooney, Sibylla Deen
by Ajmal Zaheer Ahmad from Jinn (2014)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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To Keep My Love Alive
Ive been married, and married, and often Ive sighed
Im never a bridesmaid, Im always a bride
I never divorced them, I hadnt the heart
Yet remember these sweet words, 'till death do us part
I married many men, a ton of them
Because I was untrue to none of them
Because I bumped off every one of them
To keep my love alive
Sir paul was frail, he looked a wreck to me
At night he was a horses neck to me
So I performed an appendectomy
To keep my love alive
Sir thomas had insomnia, he couldnt sleep at night
I bought a little arsenic, hes sleeping now all right
Sir philip played the harp, I cussed the thing
I crowned him with his harp to bust the thing
And now he plays where harps are just the thing
To keep my love alive
To keep my love alive
(bridge)
I thought sir george had possibilities
But his flirtations made me ill at ease
And when Im ill at ease, I kill at ease
To keep my love alive
Sir charles came from a sanitorium
And yelled for drinks in my emporium
I mixed one drink, hes in memorium
To keep my love alive
Sir francis was a singing bird, a nightingale, thats why
I tossed him off my balcony, to see if he, could fly
Sir atherton indulged in fratricide,
He killed his dad and that was patricide
One night I stabbed him by my mattress-side
To keep my love alive
To keep my love alive
To keep my love alive
song performed by by Ella Fitzgerald
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lydia Puckett
Knowlt Hoheimer ran away to the war
The day before Curl Trenary
Swore out a warrant through Justice Arnett
For stealing hogs.
But that's not the reason he turned a soldier.
He caught me running with Lucius Atherton.
We quarreled and I told him never again
To cross my path.
Then he stole the hogs and went to the war --
Back of every soldier is a woman.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Dad-Father
A father is someone who cares
for their child. He is
caring, loving, and a good person.
A dad is always there, standing by his children -
ready to catch whatever is thrown his way.
He will take responsibility for his children,
giving praise and discipline where appropriate.
He is unique; sharing a bond with his children that no one else
will ever have.
poem by Shannon Atherton
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Love Is Life
Without love we dont have life,
Without life we dont have a future,
Without a future we have nothing to live for.
poem by Wayne Atherton
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The Musicians
The strings of my heart were strung by Pleasure,
And I laughed when the music fell on my ear,
For he and Mirth played a joyful measure,
And they played so loud that I could not hear
The wailing and mourning of souls a-weary -
The strains of sorrow that floated around,
For my heart's notes rang out loud and cheery,
And I heard no other sound.
Mirth and Pleasure, the music brothers,
Played louder and louder in joyful glee;
But sometimes a discord was heard by others -
Though only the rhythm was heard by me.
Louder and louder, faster and faster
The hands of the brothers played strain on strain,
When all of a sudden a Mighty Master
Swept them aside; and Pain,
Pain, the musician, the soul-refiner,
Restrung the strings of my quivering heart,
And the air that he played was a plaintive minor,
So sad that the tear-drops were forced to start;
Each note was an echo of awful anguish,
As shrill as solemn, as sharp as slow,
And my soul for a reason seemed to languish
And faint with its weight of woe.
With skilful hands that were never weary,
This Master of Music played strain on strain,
And between the bars of the miserere,
He drew up the strings of my heart again,
And I was filled with a vague, strange wonder,
To see that they did not snap in two.
'They are drawn so tight, they will break assunder, '
I thought, but instead, they grew,
In the hands of the Master, firmer and stronger;
And I could hear on the stilly air -
Now my ears were deafened by Mirth no longer -
The sound of sorrow, and grief, and despair;
And my soul grew kinder and tender to others,
My nature grew sweeter, my mind grew broad,
And I held all men to be my brothers,
Linked by the chastening rod.
My soul was lifted to God and heaven,
And when on my heart-strings fell again
The hands of Mirth, and Pleasure, even,
There was never a discord to mar the strain.
For Pain, the musician, and soul-refiner,
Attuned the strings with a master hand,
And whether the music be major or minor,
It is always sweet and grand.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Homer Clapp
Often Aner Clute at the gate
Refused me the parting kiss,
Saying we should be engaged before that;
And just with a distant clasp of the hand
She bade me good-night, as I brought her home
From the skating rink or the revival.
No sooner did my departing footsteps die away
Than Lucius Atherton,
(So I learned when Aner went to Peoria)
Stole in at her window, or took her riding
Behind his spanking team of bays
Into the country.
The shock of it made me settle down,
And I put all the money I got from my father's estate
Into the canning factory, to get the job
Of head accountant, and lost it all.
And then I knew I was one of Life's fools,
Whom only death would treat as the equal
Of other men, making me feel like a man.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Am I a master
I am the master, master of art
have painted true pictures,
of rising sun, mountain, sea
through jungles flowing rivers,
shining stars, birds, cloudy sky,
can paint anything and everything.
insects, lions, bear and deer.
just like the living things.
I am the master, master of art,
can make my own paint and brush
Alas! but cannot create raw material
of any of paint, brush or canvas.
Oh! can not paint these seven
which are made only in heaven:
smell, touch, look, hear and taste,
emotions, thought and breathe.
No, I am not the master, master of art
can paint uncountable things yet not.
Not possible to paint love and laugh
I have to go again and again to learn
to the supreme master, who painted
the universe, stars, moon and sun
(C) S. D. Tiwari
poem by S.D. Tiwari
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Aner Clute
Over and over they used to ask me,
While buying the wine or the beer,
In Peoria first, and later in Chicago,
Denver, Frisco, New York, wherever I lived,
How I happened to lead the life,
And what was the start of it.
Well, I told them a silk dress,
And a promise of marriage from a rich man --
(It was Lucius Atherton).
But that was not really it at all.
Suppose a boy steals an apple
From the tray at the grocery store,
And they all begin to call him a thief,
The editor, minister, judge, and all the people --
"A thief," "a thief," "a thief," wherever he goes.
And he can't get work, and he can't get bread
Without stealing it, why, the boy will steal.
It's the way the people regard the theft of the apple
That makes the boy what he is.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Plymouth Rock Joe
Why are you running so fast hither and thither
Chasing midges or butterflies?
Some of you are standing solemnly scratching for grubs;
Some of you are waiting for corn to be scattered.
This is life, is it?
Cock-a-doodle-do! Very well, Thomas Rhodes,
You are cock of the walk, no doubt.
But here comes Elliott Hawkins,
Gluck, Gluck, Gluck, attracting political followers.
Quah! quah! quah! why so poetical, Minerva,
This gray morning?
Kittie -- quah -- quah! for shame, Lucius Atherton,
The raucous squawk you evoked from the throat
Of Aner Clute will be taken up later
By Mrs. Benjamin Pantier as a cry
Of votes for women: Ka dook -- dook!
What inspiration has come to you, Margaret Fuller Slack?
And why does your gooseberry eye
Flit so liquidly, Tennessee Claflin Shope?
Are you trying to fathom the esotericism of an egg?
Your voice is very metallic this morning, Hortense Robbins --
Almost like a guinea hen's!
Quah! That was a guttural sigh, Isaiah Beethoven;
Did you see the shadow of the hawk,
Or did you step upon the drumsticks
Which the cook threw out this morning?
Be chivalric, heroic, or aspiring,
Metaphysical, religious, or rebellious,
You shall never get out of the barnyard
Except by way of over the fence
Mixed with potato peelings and such into the trough!
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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I played baseball, and that's pretty much it. Basketball came late, this was, basketball was the sport that I tried to master, I kind of mastered baseball, so basketball was one of those things where I wanted to master this game, so that's why I probably play it the way I do.
quote by Eric Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lord of the Flies
Oh Master my Master
Oh where have you been
I wallowed in filth and
I drowned in sin
Oh Master my Master
It's my rotten luck
To swim in the decay
And swallow the muck
Oh Master my Master
I stand in the fires
Surrounded by murderers
Thieves, cheaters, and liars
Oh Master my Master
the earth has turned red
Fluid with blood
Of the recently dead
Oh Master my Master
What's wrong with the world
The blackness unfolds
Like a flag that's unfurled
Oh Master my Master
You ignore my cries
And now I'm quite sure
You're the Lord of the Flies
poem by Anonymous Ghurl
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Old Upright Piano
For as long as I remember, when friday night came round
The family would gather out at grandpas house.
With supper over and the dishes done
It was then the best time came
At an old upright piano that only grandma played.
She played beautiful dreamer, my wild irish rose;
She never played em perfect, but there was love in every note.
Grandpa sat beside her, in harmony they sang,
At the old upright piano that only grandma played.
Grandpa was a stubborn man, they said it was his style.
Grandma called him ornery, but she said it with a smile.
Even he could not disguise the love he felt so strong;
We all could see it in his eyes when she played his favorite song.
She played beautiful dreamer, my wild irish rose;
She never played em perfect, but there was love in every note.
Grandpa sat beside her, in harmony they sang,
At the old upright piano that only grandma played.
I was almost 17 when my grandma died;
I stayed all night with grandpa; the old man never cried.
He sat at her piano, there was nothing we could say
It was the first time in my life I ever heard my grandpa play.
It wasnt beautiful dreamer or my wild irish rose
It was a song he played from memory & he never missed a note
I sat right there beside him until the morning came
What a friend we have in jesus was the only song he played.
She played beautiful dreamer, my wild irish rose;
She never played em perfect, but there was love in every note.
Grandpa sat beside her, in harmony they sang,
At the old upright piano that only grandma played.
song performed by by Nitty Gritty Dirt Band
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Don't Forget to Write Your Funeral Plan
Michael Jackson's 'SMILE' played, as the coffin entered everyone stood tall
Mum's poem was read and felt by all
The Mourners were smiling at the photo's of Mum
As the DVD played, no one was glum
Happy pictures were played of Mum's life with a tear
To the tune of the music 'If I Lay Here'
Friends got up for the Eulogy
Wonderful Words spoken of Mum... Now free
Free to move on, to follow a new life
Happy if Dad, finds a new wife
Everyone looked like they were enjoying the moment
In a room full of love; as if Heaven sent
For Mum was so kind and by all adored
Yet sadly the Funeral Conductor looked everso bored
He looked like he had something better to do
This was just a job and he really didn't care just who...
Who had died Or who was grieving
About the life of this person or the world they were leaving
So... Make sure you write.. Your Funeral Plan
It saves pain for the family, A real helping hand
You can choose your Funeral Home, coffin, Cemetery and your music too
It will take away some pain Of losing you
Can't Stop The Music (He Played It Much Too Long)
He's the star of the stage, and he screams all night
'Cause he can't get to sleep at all
And his favorite book, by the T.V. light, can't stop the matinee,
He's played it over and over
He Can't Stop The Music, or remember the ending to his song
He played it much too long
All those hard-earned words, that he's fought from his pen
Have been forgotten in some empty hall
And the wide-eyed looks, on those wiped-out faces
Make some dreams in such places over and over
He Can't Stop The Music, or remember the ending to his song
He played it much too long
Wouldn't believe your ears, if he told you what the papers use to say
But that was in his hey-day
Back in his prime he had the fans in line
You should have seen him then, now look at him
His hair is getting thin
There's one last show before the glory ends
There in the wings, waits his only friend,
The record that he prayed to over and over
He Can't Stop The Music, or remember the ending to his song
He played it much too long
Then we go like this, and we go like that (music)
Then we go like this, and we go like that,
Can't Stop The Music
Then we go like this, and we go like that (music)
Then we go like this and we go like that.
song performed by by Hall & Oates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cant Stop The Music
Hes the star of the stage, and he screams all night
cause he cant get to sleep at all
And his favorite book, by the t.v. light, cant stop the matinee,
Hes played it over and over
He cant stop the music, or remember the ending to his song
He played it much too long
All those hard-earned words, that hes fought from his pen
Have been forgotten in some empty hall
And the wide-eyed looks, on those wiped-out faces
Make some dreams in such places over and over
He cant stop the music, or remember the ending to his song
He played it much too long
Wouldnt believe your ears, if he told you what the papers use to say
But that was in his hey-day
Back in his prime he had the fans in line
You should have seen him then, now look at him
His hair is getting thin
Theres one last show before the glory ends
There in the wings, waits his only friend,
The record that he prayed to over and over
He cant stop the music, or remember the ending to his song
He played it much too long
Then we go like this, and we go like that (music)
Then we go like this, and we go like that,
Cant stop the music
Then we go like this, and we go like that (music)
Then we go like this and we go like that.
song performed by by Hall & Oates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Singing Bird, I was!
Bird, singing Bird, I am!
Got trapped myself,
lured by desires and
Effects of my own karma!
I found myself in cage,
Made by my own fate,
who become my master!
But when I started singing,
Praise of my lord, not caring my master,
Softer and softer became
my master's heart!
I started singing for the one who placed me here,
Slowly wiping my eyes,
With my own wings,
singing melodious songs
I was amusing my heart,
And singing became my integral part!
I sang because I saw smile on lips of both,
My master as well as my Lord,
And I sang because it pleaseth all!
Nought I couldn't do more,
Eat, sleep then awake,
Pat my back with my own wings then sit and sing!
I was trying to find way out,
Dashed against nuts and bolts of the Cage,
And broke my wings and legs!
My pain was doubled,
soar multiplied as I tried more and more to get myself free!
Master was laughing at me but he had sympathy,
He took me out and cleansed my wounds with his divine power and told me to cool down and wait and sing than try something great
and great will be the pain,
if act impatient!
I sang to Lord, O! Lord,
Thou hast ears to hear
this painful song!
Come on and free me!
I slept exhausted of weeping Lord came in dream and said,
'Child look, bother not of wing that are mortal,
Look into heart, heart has wings that never fail
Wings that are ever strong,
Even heart can sing when it fly, and even it can fly where air is not, fairies that land!
They call it heaven!
Woke up and saw my cage!
Cage that allow me not,
never it allowed me to fly!
I sat like meditating on God!
Then my mind absorbed in lord,
Body was stiff like a corpse,
Seeing that master opened the cage,
Lord appeared and said,
My child it is now or never!
Suddenly I got out and flew to my Lord, where my master, Karma and his cage have no entry!
I sang to Lord, 'O Lord, I praise you thee,
Thy will be my will!
Thy wish be my wish!
thy mighty will is done,
That saved me, thy love and
Thy mercy showed the path
Thee, is my only savior!
thy merciful hands lifted me! '
AUM, AMEN AMEEN!
poem by Ramdas Bhandarkar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Weekend Blues Session
Three days and three nights
playing the guitar blues of life
my mind and body taken back
I can see
the old streets and the seats
where the blues players of old
used to meet
They'd sing of the pain
and the hate
and we'd respect what they
had to say
All these memories coming back
as we played for the times
when blues was our life
We played for the joy
we played for our minds
we played for our souls
we played until the monday morning blues
poem by Dave Alan Walker
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Master
Master went a-hunting,
When the leaves were falling;
We saw him on the bridle path,
We heard him gaily calling.
'Oh master, master, come you back,
For I have dreamed a dream so black!'
A glint of steel from bit and heel,
The chestnut cantered faster;
A red flash seen amid the green,
And so good-bye to master.
Master came from hunting,
Two silent comrades bore him;
His eyes were dim, his face was white,
The mare was led before him.
'Oh, master, master, is it thus
That you have come again to us?'
I held my lady's ice-cold hand,
They bore the hurdle past her;
Why should they go so soft and slow?
It matters not to master.
poem by Arthur Conan Doyle
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