Terror in the house does roar
Terror in the house does roar
But Pity stands before the door
poem by William Blake from Songs and Ballads (1794)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Related quotes
The House You Live In
Go first in the world, go forth with your fears
Remember a price must be paid
Be always too soon, be never too fast
At the time when all bets must be laid
Beware of the darkness, be kind to your children
Remember the woman who waits
And the house you live in will never fall down
If you pity the stranger who stands at your gate
When youre caught by the gale and youre full under sail
Beware of the dangers below
And the song that you sing should not be too sad
And be sure not to sing it too slow
Be calm in the face of all common disgraces
And know what theyre doin it for
And the house you live in will never fall down
If you pity the stranger who stands at your door
When youre out on the road and feelin quite lost
Consider the burden of fame
And he who is wise will not criticize
When other men fail at the game
Beware of strange faces and dark dingy places
Be careful while bending the law
And the house you live in will never fall down
If you pity the stranger who stands at your door
When youre down in the dumps and not ready to deal
Decide what it is that you need
Is it money or love, is it learnin to live
Or is it the mouth you must feed
Be known as a man who will always be candid
On questions that do not relate
And the house you live in will never fall down
If you pity the stranger who stands at your gate
And the house you live in will never fall down
If you pity the stranger who stands at your gate
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Ghost Of Roger Casement
O WHAT has made that sudden noise?
What on the threshold stands?
It never crossed the sea because
John Bull and the sea are friends;
But this is not the old sea
Nor this the old seashore.
What gave that roar of mockery,
That roar in the sea's roar?
The ghost of Roger Casement
Is beating on the door.
John Bull has stood for Parliament,
A dog must have his day,
The country thinks no end of him,
For he knows how to say,
At a beanfeast or a banquet,
That all must hang their trust
Upon the British Empire,
Upon the Church of Christ.
The ghost of Roger Casement
Is beating on the door.
John Bull has gone to India
And all must pay him heed,
For histories are there to prove
That none of another breed
Has had a like inheritance,
Or sucked such milk as he,
And there's no luck about a house
If it lack honesty.
The ghost of Roger Casement
Is beating on the door.
I poked about a village church
And found his family tomb
And copied out what I could read
In that religious gloom;
Found many a famous man there;
But fame and virtue rot.
Draw round, beloved and bitter men,
Draw round and raise a shout;
The ghost of Roger Casement
Is beating on the door.
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Feel Like Talking
“There is a talk about you at the house,
Sit down for it is not a tale but a sad pity;
Your master is a liar, and you have no goal,
So happen like a lad of distress to gain pity,
Like the one lodged in the throat.”
At this snatch was a key to discussion,
For the master was a scoundrel always;
The master refused the lad and so innocence
Arrives, with queer things, queer ways,
Like the pity of a lifetime at the house.
“Flit out of doors so that you arrive,
Feeling able as you do, like a fine lad”;
The keys turn the door to alleviate the suffering
And then knowledge arrives to mock,
Feeling the fire of the mansion and everything.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Pity, pity, pity
Look at to the unwanted child
Look at to the divorced wife
Look at to the homeless man
What people do other than saying
“Pity, pity, pity”
Look at to the tragic hero
Look at to the sympathized villain
Look at to the clueless victim
What witnesses do other than staring
“Pity, pity, pity”
Look at to the crazy dreamer
Look at to the unlucky gambler
Look at to the stubborn fighter
What friends do other than whispering
“Pity, pity, pity”
Look at to the withering flower
Look at to the starving animal
Look at to the extinct nature
What human do other than howling
“Pity, pity, pity”
Look at to the empty spaces
Look at to the blank faces
Look at to the lost traces
What devils do other than laughing
“Pity, pity, pity”
poem by Maria Sudibyo
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The Three Knocks
WHEN the owl that scared the mouse
Fluffed his feathers and sat still,
And the night around was chill,
On the door of yonder house
Someone knocked,
And a hand the door unlocked.
While the owl, aloof and drear
Yellow-eyed his vigil kept,
Down the breeze a crying crept,
And it seemed to tell of fear —
Fear and care —
It was Life that entered there!
When the owl had greyer grown
By a score of years and more,
On the selfsame cedar door
Of yon house that stands alone,
Someone knocked,
And a hand the door unlocked.
Yet, though many gracious flowers
Wreathed the house from floor to roof,
In his shadowed haunt aloof
Staring sat he through the hours,
Unaware
It was Love that entered there!
When the owl had passed away,
And the mouse, no more afraid,
In the tree-glooms frisked and played,
On that door at end of day
Someone knocked,
And a hand the door unlocked.
Once and twice that knock had come,
Once for Life, and once for Love;
Towards the night the shadows move,
And the land lies still and dumb
Everywhere —
It is Death that enters there!
poem by Roderic Quinn
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Who stands by the door of his house is not yet gone away.
That Pity B-Gone!
Let that pity b-gone!
No more from me you get pity.
That pity b-gone!
You indulged and had to rid of it.
That pity b-gone.
And also going are those benefits.
If you carry on...
Like you can't handle it!
Let that pity b-gone!
No more from me you get pity.
That pity b-gone!
You indulged and had to rid of it.
That pity b-gone.
And also going are those benefits.
If you carry on...
Like you can't handle it!
We knew that pity had to split!
B-gone.
We knew that our hearts would split, and soon...
B-gone.
If we let that pity sit,
Between us....
Both of us would have a fit.
If we let that pity sit,
Both of us would have a fit.
If we let that pity sit...
Between us!
And...
You'd believe,
That I could never love you.
To leave me feeling sorry,
And blue.
But...
I would know,
How deep inside my love goes.
And protecting what I love,
Before it overflows.
Let that pity b-gone!
No more from me you get pity.
That pity b-gone!
You indulged and had to rid of it.
That pity b-gone.
And also going are those benefits.
If you carry on...
Like you can't handle it!
So...
No more from me you get pity.
That pity b-gone!
You indulged and had to rid of it.
That pity b-gone.
And maybe not so much the benefits.
Since I would miss too much your many moods.
That pity b-gone.
No more from me you get pity.
That pity b-gone!
You indulged and had to rid of it.
That pity b-gone.
No more from me you get pity.
That pity b-gone!
You indulged and had to rid of it.
That pity b-gone.
No more from me you get pity.
That pity b-gone!
You indulged and had to rid of it.
That pity b-gone.
No more from me you get pity.
That pity b-gone!
You indulged and had to rid of it.
That pity b-gone!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Dead Next Door
Watch the sky
For a reason why
Im safe here
Sunday it was part
Monday it was none
Monday was none
For the dead next door
One pair of silent terror reins
And were the dead next door
The heat of the day fades away
Fades into the night
The heat of the day
Offering a wedding
Suffering away
For the dead next door
You see
One error, silent terror
And were the dead next door
In animal land
And dark is in command
One thing you should know
Dont hear that knocking
Dont eat out of their hand
Dont stumble, die
You say
Dont stumble, cry
They see you and me
You and me
With the dead next door
You and me
With the dead next door
You and me
With the dead next door
song performed by by Billy Idol
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In The City Of Slaughter (excerpt)
Proceed thence to the ruins, the split walls reach,
Where wider grows the hollow, and greater grows the breach;
Pass over the shattered hearth, attain the broken wall
Whose burnt and barren brick, whose charred stones reveal
The open mouths of such wounds, that no mending
Shall ever mend, nor healing ever heal…
Terror floating near the rafters, terror
Against the walls in darkness hiding,
Terror through the silence sliding.
Didst thou not hear beneath the heap of wheels
A stirring of crushed limbs?
Much suffering and tribulation–tried
Which in this house of bondage binds itself.
It will not ever from its pain be pried.
Brief-weary and forespent, a dark Shekhinah
Runs to each nook and cannot find its rest;
Wishes to weep, but weeping does not come;
Would roar; is dumb….
poem by Hayyim Nahman Bialik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Love Of The Unknown
mankind has invented the love of the unknown.
unknown has no face. Or if it has, it is masked.
only the eyes can be viewed, and the one viewing it has no
emotions.
it is honored. Loving the unknown is fame.
The mask is glorified.
One does not reveal
what love is, no one has it anyway.
the whole face is wrapped
the other stands without a heart
by the door.
the only sun there is the bulb
and shadows make their show.
Pity looks at you with pity.
This the hour for giving and
forgiving.
You take a body, like you take God.
It is given with another cup of blood,
and then the ceremony begins.
at the end both are satisfied.
names are not called. The bulb is turned off.
The time for departure has come.
The rule is still: secrecy,
this is the meeting place of the mundane
and the divine,
the giver and the recipient,
respect and honor is there
leaving a door and then locking it forever.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Shitty Kitty City
There's a lobby by my study where my visitors may enter
which, since we got the kittens, has a dirtbox at the centre.
They're still too young to go outside, that's why I ask for pity:
they've turned my quiet oasis into Shitty Kitty City.
Pity, pity, isn't it a pity?
They've turned my quiet oasis into Shitty Kitty City.
Their mother trained them very well to go into the tray.
They do their stuff and cover it - that's fair enough, you say;
but litter gets flicked everywhere, so underfoot is gritty:
you need your wellies on indoors for Shitty Kitty City.
Pity, pity, isn't it a pity?
You need your wellies on indoors for Shitty Kitty City.
Mind the crap... Mind the crap... Stand clear of the turds, please.
I scoop the jobbies off the floor: the cats think I collect 'em,
so each one keeps on squeezing me a present from its rectum.
There's steaming heaps all over, and it isn't smelling pretty -
it's best to wear a gasmask when in Shitty Kitty City.
Pity, pity, isn't it a pity?
It's best to wear a gasmask when in Shitty Kitty City.
Ip dip dog shit, you are not it.
But soon they will be big enough to do it in the garden.
I'm putting out my begging bowl, for which I beg your pardon.
And now you see, good people all, the reason for my ditty -
a whipround for a catflap door for Shitty Kitty City.
Pity, pity, isn't it a pity?
I need to buy a catflap door for Shitty Kitty City.
poem by Wild Bill Balding
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The House With Many Doors
the house i love is a house
with many doors
the usual house you have
a front door and the back door
when one enters and there is nothing
to hide, one simply takes the back door
and be gone to the woods,
i can be imaginative at times
one door must open to the earth
another door must open to
the sky
and now, i must find a way
how to grow wings
or if destiny is too cruel
i must grow sharper claws
for digging the rocks of this
earth
now you must know that i have
many choices
up or
down.....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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What Makes the Clouds Echo Roar
What makes the clouds echo roar?
As thunder, makes it's pitch
dark and dreary, becomes the sky
What makes the clouds echo roar?
As the sky opens up, and it begins to pour,
no where to run, no where to hide, as I,
head for cover, and still wonder,
what makes the clouds echo roar?
I look around, and see a door
swiftly as a rabbit, I reach there,
I'm really drenched, and still I ask,
What makes the clouds echo roar?
I shake off the water, on to the floor
the rain has stopped now, as I ask once again,
what makes the clouds echo roar?
do you know what? It dosn't really matter anymore.
The House of Clay
THERE was a house, a house of clay,
Wherein the inmate sat all day,
Merry and poor;
For Hope sat with her, heart to heart,
Fond and kind, fond and kind,
Vowing he never would depart, --
Till all at once he changed his mind:
"Sweetheart, good by!" He slipped away
And shut the door.
But Love came past, and, looking in,
With smile that pierced like sunbeam thin
Through wall, roof, floor,
Stood in the midst of that poor room,
Grand and fair, grand and fair,
Making a glory out of gloom: --
Till at the window mocked cruel Care:
Love sighed; "All lose, and nothing win?" --
He shut the door.
Then o'er the close-barred house of clay
Kind clematis and woodbine gay
Crept more and more;
And bees hummed merrily outside,
Loud and strong, loud and strong,
The inner silentness to hide,
The patient silence all day long;
Till evening touched with finger gray
The bolted door.
Most like, the next step passing by
Will be the Angel's, whose calm eye
Marks rich, marks poor:
Who, fearing not, at any gate
Stands and calls, stands and calls;
At which the inmate opens straight, --
Whom, ere the crumbling clay-house falls,
He takes in kind arms silently,
And shuts the door.
poem by Dinah Maria Mulock Craik
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Get Up Off That Pity Pot
Why don't you,
Get up off that pity pot...
You've sat on quite a lot.
Why don't you get up off that pot.
Why don't you get up off that pot.
Why don't you,
Get up off that pity pot...
You've sat on quite a lot.
Why don't you get up off that pot.
Why don't you get up off that pot.
No need to keep weeping tears,
That long ago overflowed.
Why don't you,
Get up off that pity pot...
You've sat on quite a lot.
Holding onto woes,
Have eroded your motives.
Get up off that pity pot...
You've sat on quite a lot.
So wipe your eyes to dry,
And realize...
You are not alone.
You're not alone.
You are not alone.
You're not alone.
Get up!
Off your butt!
Get up off that pity pot...
You've sat on quite a lot.
Why don't you get up off that pot.
Why don't you get up off that pot.
Why don't you,
Get up off that pity pot...
You've sat on quite a lot.
Why don't you get up off that pot.
Why don't you get up off that pot.
And realize...
You are not alone.
You're not alone.
You are not alone.
You're not alone.
Get up!
Get up off that pity pot...
You've sat on quite a lot.
You need to get up off that pot.
Why don't you get up off that pot.
Why don't you,
Get up off that pity pot...
You've sat on quite a lot.
You need to get up off that pot.
Why don't you get up off that pot,
And stop those woes to drop.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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With A Pity That You Want
With a pity that you want,
To prove it.
With a pity that you want.
And with a pity that you want,
To prove it.
With a pity that you want.
You weep too deep,
With a pity that you want to prove it.
With a pity that you want.
To realize...
A pain you keep.
With a pity that you want,
To prove it.
With a pity that you want.
Other people who have less,
Do their best to not in public bleed.
But...
You're one of those,
With a pity that you want to prove it.
With a pity that you want.
Yes you're one of those,
With a pity that you want to prove it.
With a pity that you want.
You weep too deep,
With a pity that you want to prove it.
With a pity that you want.
And your wants are weak.
With a pity that you want to prove it.
With a pity that you want.
Other people who have less,
Do their best to not in public bleed.
But...
You're one of those,
With a pity that you want to prove it.
With a pity that you want.
Yes you're one of those,
With a pity that you want to prove it.
With a pity that you want.
You're one of those,
With a pity that you want to prove it.
With a pity that you want.
Yes you're one of those,
With a pity that you want to prove it.
With a pity that you want.
Other people who have less,
Do their best to not in public bleed.
Oh...
But you're one of those,
With a pity that you want to prove it.
With a pity that you want.
Yes you're one of those,
With a pity that you want to prove it.
With a pity that you want.
With a pity that you want,
To prove it.
With a pity that you want.
And with a pity that you want,
To prove it.
With a pity that you want,
To show you're one of those...
With a pity that you want,
To show exposed.
With a pity that you want,
To be one of those!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My Red House
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
I once played in that red house
Shy was I, like a little mouse
Tippy toed I went looking around
Giggling, without making any sound
Happy was I to run around and play
My very own home to live and stay
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
Darkness came swiftly one night
A sense of something was not quite right
The shadows came across the wall
Covering my eyes, ready for my fall
The sounds of whips and chains dragged
against the floor
The sheer terror numbed me from looking
passed that door
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
The darkness slowly turned to grey
The black clouds lifting away
No longer trapped, I did not need to stay
Free was I to let go and make my own way
So ever slowly, opening that door
I could see the light and so much more
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
Changing and always moving
Never stopping and always wanting
Step by step, I shed all those tears
One at a time, I climbed up those stairs
Moving closer to where I want to be
No longer a child but an adult me
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
I came home today
The Red House, same as it was yesterday
Slowly, walking up that hill
Everything seems to be in a stand still
I could only stay for a while
Before the darkness comes within a mile
My Red House
Be quiet as a mouse
The breath of life you gave to me
But took away the child within me
No longer a pawn to your destruction
I have found my peace and resolution
Turning away towards the path of light
I see a very beautiful sight
My Red House
There is no longer a mouse
poem by Miu Miu Ayushi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Pity You
I pity you when you walk down the street
I pity you when you open your mouth to speak
You will tell your story, with its pity and glory
As sympathy is all that you do seek.
I pity you and your parents dear
I pity you when from you they don’t want to hear
As you put them to blame, for your sadness and pain
That’s why for you no-one will shed a tear.
I pity you when you laugh and smile
I pity you as your life is full of guile
But you are the source, for your sadness and remorse
And you wont change even when walking your last mile.
I pity you as you once had something
I pity you as now you have nothing
You threw everything away, so you could stray
Now your retribution will be coming.
I pity you as with time you will age
I pity you with your hate and your rage
You will always fight, whether you are wrong or right
You are the animal and your soul is your cage
I pity you and I do it without a clue
I pity you whenever I see or hear of you
There is no sympathy, as your not my friend or enemy
And all I can say is, that I truly pity you.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Threshold Stone
WHEN I went to live in the little house,
That stands on the hilltop alone,
What touched me most of all
Was neither roof nor wall,
But the smooth, worn face of its old threshold stone.
For when I entered that little house,
With its four rooms cool in the heat,
And its windows clean and bright,
There it lay, new-washed and white,
With its tale of the coming and the going of feet.
Then I lost count of time in that little house,
And the world and its things all about,
And I hearkened there, alone,
To the footfalls on that stone,
Of the young coming in and the old going out.
And the folk that had dwelt in that little house,
They were mute, spectre-mute, at my side —
The young man, strong and bold,
And the grey man, wise and old,
And the little, pinched woman and the new-made bride.
Oh, often in haste to that little house
Came love in the night-time alone,
And dallied there a while,
With a little, wistful smile,
And with feather-weight feet on the old threshold stone.
And men hurried home to that little house
When the round of the daytime was o'er
With its worry, heat and noise,
And kissed their girls and boys,
And the patient little mothers that waited at the door.
Though I dwell now no more in that little house
That stands on the hilltop alone,
Yet this I got from it —
This human story writ
On the smooth, worn face of its old threshold stone.
Though they take stone from stone in that little house,
Making litter of all it has been.
Yet they shall not destroy
All the grief, all the joy,
All the youth, all the love that its threshold has seen.
poem by Roderic Quinn
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Stranger In My Own House
(a capella: she said: boy, your luck is running out...she make me feel like a stranger...in my own house)
I come stumbling in at a quarter to three
To the sound of my own dog growlin at me
Im scared to move or turn on a light
Youve got me creepin around in the dark
Like a thief in the night
Ive got no excuse, I should have known
Ive got no place to live
I never feel at home
I walk into the kitchen to see whats there
Im tired and Im hungry but the cupboards bare
Ive been working all day and all night too
I cant believe this is all I have to come back to
I guess Ill take a look upstairs, in the danger zone
I wonder what Im doing here
When I never feel at home
Im a stranger in my own house
Ive got the keys to the door
But Im still locked out
Im a stranger in my own house
Ill huff and Ill puff and Ill blow this house down
Cant be a stranger in my own house
I see the do not disturb sign on my bedroom door
What is this sheet and pillow laying on the floor
I wore out my welcome
I hear you loud and clear
Its time to get a few things straight around here
Ive got no excuse, I should have known
Ive got a place to live but I never feel at home
Im just a stranger in my own house
Ive got the keys to the door
But Im still locked out
Stranger in my own house
Ill huff and Ill puff and Ill blow this house down
Cant be a stranger in my own house
Ive got no excuse, I should have known
With a woman like you Im better off alone
Im a stranger in my own house
Ive got the keys to the door
But Im still locked out
Im just a stranger in my own house
Oh, honey Im home
Im just a stranger in my own house
Im just a stranger in my own house
You got a lion on your hands girl, not a mouse!
Im just a stranger in my own house
Im just a stranger in my own house
Well, somebodys got to go...
Stranger
Stranger
song performed by by Foreigner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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