The Condolence
O my fellow sufferers, songs of my youth,
A lot of asses praise you because you are 'virile',
We, you, I! We are 'Red Bloods'!
Imagine it, my fellow sufferers
Our maleness lifts us out of the ruck,
Who'd have foreseen it?
O my fellow sufferers, we went out under the trees,
We were in especial bored with male stupidity.
We went forth gathering delicate thoughts,
Our ‘fantastikon’ delighted to serve us.
We were not exasperated with women,
for the female is ductile.
And now you hear what is said to us:
We are compared to that sort of person
Who wanders about announcing his sex
As if he had just discovered it.
Let us leave this matter, my songs,
and return to that which concerns us.
poem by Ezra Pound
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Related quotes
Although approximately 80% of osteoporosis sufferers are women, as the longevity of the male population increases, the disease will assume increasing importance in men.
quote by Gro Harlem Brundtland
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Seventy-five percent of MS sufferers are women.
Who Is This God Fellow And What's The Reason Why
Who is this God Fellow
And what’s the reason why
Did he murder the last poet
When he thought to cry
Who is this God Fellow
And what’s the reason why
Dose he never leave the gated community
Of his heaven in the sky.
Who is this God fellow
And what is his gig
It seems to me that he and his priest
Got the whole damn thing rigged
Is he a prince or a pauper a pusher or a pimp
That dose his jealous thing reveal
To me while I smoke a bit of hemp.
Who is this God fellow
Is he married to human by the power of a prayer
And why is it that he should even care
Who is this God fellow and what’s the reason why
Did he murder the last poet when he thought to cry
Who is this God fellow and why are his blessings to live
Only by the hands of priest that are stingy to give
Who the reason and what’s the reason why
That a small rain should collect in his eyes.
poem by David E. Patton
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What I say is that, if a fellow really likes potatoes, he must be a pretty decent sort of fellow.
quote by A.A. Milne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Young Fellow My Lad
"Where are you going, Young Fellow My Lad,
On this glittering morn of May?"
"I'm going to join the Colours, Dad;
They're looking for men, they say."
"But you're only a boy, Young Fellow My Lad;
You aren't obliged to go."
"I'm seventeen and a quarter, Dad,
And ever so strong, you know."
* * * *
"So you're off to France, Young Fellow My Lad,
And you're looking so fit and bright."
"I'm terribly sorry to leave you, Dad,
But I feel that I'm doing right."
"God bless you and keep you, Young Fellow My Lad,
You're all of my life, you know."
"Don't worry. I'll soon be back, dear Dad,
And I'm awfully proud to go."
* * * *
"Why don't you write, Young Fellow My Lad?
I watch for the post each day;
And I miss you so, and I'm awfully sad,
And it's months since you went away.
And I've had the fire in the parlour lit,
And I'm keeping it burning bright
Till my boy comes home; and here I sit
Into the quiet night.
* * * *
"What is the matter, Young Fellow My Lad?
No letter again to-day.
Why did the postman look so sad,
And sigh as he turned away?
I hear them tell that we've gained new ground,
But a terrible price we've paid:
God grant, my boy, that you're safe and sound;
But oh I'm afraid, afraid."
* * * *
"They've told me the truth, Young Fellow My Lad:
You'll never come back again:
(Oh God! the dreams and the dreams I've had,
and the hopes I've nursed in vain!)
For you passed in the night, Young Fellow My Lad,
And you proved in the cruel test
Of the screaming shell and the battle hell
That my boy was one of the best.
"So you'll live, you'll live, Young Fellow My Lad,
In the gleam of the evening star,
In the wood-note wild and the laugh of the child,
In all sweet things that are.
And you'll never die, my wonderful boy,
While life is noble and true;
For all our beauty and hope and joy
We will owe to our lads like you."
poem by Robert William Service
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Only the sufferers know how their bellies ache.
Johnny Speaks
THE sand-man he's a jolly old fellow,
His face is kind and his voice is mellow,
But he makes your eyelids as heavy as lead,
And then you got to go off to bed;
I don't think I like the sand-man.
But I've been playing this livelong day;
It does make a fellow so tired to play!
Oh, my, I'm a-yawning right here before ma,
I'm the sleepiest fellow that ever you saw.
I think I do like the sand-man.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Without Our Gift Of Memory
What would we be without the power to recall?
Without our gift of memory we'd be little at all
To those who lose their memory confusion is their lot
The faces of friends and family by them even forgot
For the children and kindred of alzheimers sufferers life must be very sad
The memory loss of a sibling, uncle, aunty, mum or dad
Though 'tis a natural instinct for us to cling to life's breath
In a choice between death and loss of memory I think I would choose death
I am a lucky fellow my gift of memory I retain
And I hope till my last breath of life that with me it will remain
To the great gift of memory I will gladly drink a toast
In that sense I am lucky far luckier than most
Life would not be worth much without it the great gift of memory
I am sure at what I say here that most with me would agree.
poem by Francis Duggan
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The cries of the sufferers on the remaining part of the wreck were heard during the night.
quote by Grace Darling
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lost or won
Saddest songs
To prove our acts wrong
Life is not pleasure
No one is pretty sure
Come to me
I shall make you free
From all worries
That whole world carries
Do not feel much about sorrow
Try to overcome and not allow
Keep them away or very low
Reap the harvest as you sow
See it your self and experience
The world is different and at variance
All worry about next world
Turn away from present and act very cold
No love, no feeling for fellow brethrens
Detachment unreal with other concerns
Life may take you to ugly turn
You may nothing to offer or return
Love being as ordinary individual
Treat the life as precious and not casual
It is holy mission to be carried on
Leave it to Him to decide what was lost or won
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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Look To The Rainbow (feat. Barbara Cook)
On the day I was born
Set me father said he
I've got an elegent legacy waiting for me
It's a rhyme for your lips
It's a song for your heart
To sing it whenever the world falls apart
Look, look , look to the rainbow
Follow it over the hills and stream
Look, look, look to the rainbow
Follow the fellow who follows our dream
It was a sumtuous gift
To beguife to a child
Or the lore of that song kept her feet running wild
For you never grow old
And you never stand still
With whipper will singing beyond the next hill
Look, look , look to the rainbow
Follow it over the hills and stream
Look, look, look to the rainbow
Follow the fellow who follows a dream
Strike one me heart and I roam the world free
To the east with a lark
To the west with the sea
And I searched all the Earth
And I scanned all the sky
But I found it at last
In my own true love's eyes
Look, look , look to the rainbow
Follow it over the hills and stream
Look, look, look to the rainbow
Follow the fellow who follows the dream
Follow the fellow
Follow the fellow
Follow the fellow
Who follows the dream
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Songs of Praise the Angels Sang
Songs of praise the angels sang,
Heav’n with alleluias rang,
When creation was begun,
When God spoke and it was done.
Songs of praise awoke the morn
When the Prince of Peace was born;
Songs of praise arose when He
Captive led Captivity.
Heav’n and earth must pass away!
Songs of praise shall crown that day!
God will make new heav’ns and earth;
Songs of praise shall hail their birth.
And can man alone be dumb,
Till that glorious kingdom come?
No: the church delights to raise
Psalms, and hymns, and songs of praise.
Saints below, with heart and voice,
Still in songs of praise rejoice,
Learning here, by faith and love,
Songs of praise to sing above.
Borne upon their latest breath,
Songs of praise shall conquer death;
Then amidst eternal joy,
Songs of praise their powers employ.
Hymns of glory, songs of praise,
Father, unto Thee we raise;
Jesus, glory unto Thee,
With the Spirit, ever be.
poem by James Montgomery
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We Do Not Want To Hear You Say
We do not want to hear you say how very great you are
Or if up the high hill to success you've climbed and climbed so far
To leave others talk of your success seems a better idea
Self praise is no praise so they say and that appeals to me.
We do not want to hear you say that you are God's gift to woman kind
But young women you fancy say that better than you are not hard to find
That women do not like egostical young men you seem to fail to see
And the few who say they like you do not like you only your money.
We do not want to hear you tell us of your successful life
And that the woman that you marry will be a wealthy fellow's wife
And that money speaks all languages may happen to be true
Few men in their early thirties would be as immature as you.
We do not want to hear you boast about your great success
It would seem that your money cannot buy you happiness
On the hill of financial success you may have climbed up far
But you should leave others tell the World of how great a man you are.
poem by Francis Duggan
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What The Stone Said
This stone: scraps of wet earth
still clinging to it;
rounded, greyish; large enough
to fit into my palm as if,
cradled there, it’s enough part of me
to tell me that it’s more than
inert matter without consciousness..
its pleasing roundness – warming
in my hand – tells me a little
of its history:
once it was one of many, jostled
over years or centuries in
a river or an ocean bed;
to be thrown up, again and again,
from the maw of breaking, angry wave
onto a beach; then at some high tide,
pulled back again;
it’s covered with its history:
a mass of scratches where a fiercer sand
from the hierarchy of stone’s hardnesses,
scratched it; to be soothed and smoothed
by its fellow sufferers on the watered bed.
Warm in my cradling palm, it shares
or so it seems, my own consciousness:
the same consciousness as all Creation’s wonders,
but here in supreme, uncomplaining,
inexpressive, yielding pure obedience:
a sermon in a stone; awaiting future call
to be raised up a man..
no wonder - as all children know –
‘beach’ (and can’t you hear there,
tread of feet on hard, resistant, partially
yielding stones?)
and ‘shore’ (and can’t you hear there
the waves smoothe the sand,
then draw back to crash again
like a drawn breath of astonishment?
- as children know: beach and shore
full of their shared consciousness;
God’s playground which he shares with them.
That was what the stone said.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Early Works - A Lonely Kind Of Fellow
I’m just a lonely kind of fellow
who’s in love with a beautiful girl.
I’m just a lonely kind of fellow
and to me this girl means the world.
Though I love her, so much it hurts me
I cannot tell her I feel this way.
I’ve been a loner all my life now
and a loner I fear I’ll stay.
I’m just a lonely kind of fellow
who’s in love for the very first time.
I’m just a lonely kind of fellow
with love breaking this heart of mine.
Date unknown.
poem by David Harris
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Demo Crazy. We are fools..
What is hardship, when it has the degree,
What is that degree, which we have to agree,
I say that I work hard and suffer,
you may say that you feel better,
someone say that their life is a misery,
sufferers keep quiet and it is Irony.
Those who are homeless and penniless,
left on the road sides to be vagrants.
These vagrants have no idea,
that they have the right to plea,
thousands on the first world and
millions on the third world, but
churning stomachs prevent them
from executing their rights.
How docile they are,
to suffer in silence,
They are better than a silent lamb,
for they endure their entire life.
As long as we follow Adam Smith,
As long as we believe in demo crazy,
As long as we are ignorant of pain,
That our fellow human go through,
this world may belong to the rich and powerful,
Let us make sure every man on street,
has the right to live his life humanly.
Let us be the human to understand
this sickness of ignorance.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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December Oranges
Tell me
can we better the world
with out cold climate
flu season sufferers
having to sacrifice the pleasures
of a December orange?
poem by Gregory Allen Uhan
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The Fellow Who Doesn't Fit In
He doesn't play sports drink alcohol or take dope and you might say he doesn't fit in
And he doesn't lust after young women and he's not seen as a man amongst men
He works hard to provide for his family and he leads a good and a clean life
And he is a nice man to talk to and he is faithful to his wife.
He's not a religious type person and he doesn't attend church on sunday
And he too in some ways a sinner the religious zealots might say
And some see him as a social outsider but to live clean should not be a sin
And he deserve respect not scorn the fellow who doesn't fit in.
He doesn't watch football on the t.v. or support any football team
And he's not part of any social club nor does he crave social esteem
Yet he has his many detractors in life it is so hard to win
And his type of man getting rarer the fellow who doesn't fit in.
He doesn't play cricket or football with his children as many a young father do
On sundays with his wife and his young son and daughter he's at the cinema, art gallery or zoo
And he is a man who loves Nature and is loving Nature a sin?
For he is looked on with suspicion the fellow who doesn't fit in.
Politics, women, money and work matters of such topics he tend to stay clear
And he's just your average type of person his children and his wife to him dear
Yet he is looked on as quite boring and his name is mentioned with a grin
And life isn't meant to be easy for the fellow who 'doesn't fit in'
poem by Francis Duggan
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Susie Zuheir Gharib
The nightingale of Syrian Arab Republic
Why she is quiet since a long time?
I would like to hear your melancholy songs
From the edge of this world where I stay now.
Is there any restrictions over there to sing?
I am sure the fanatics have no taste of songs
And they only prefer the crazy war it seems,
Please do not worry my dear poetess
Time heals all the wounds
And I hope your cage door would open soon automatically by the winds of will power.
* Dedication to my fellow poetess Susie.
poem by Nimal Dunuhinga
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And yet I would not freely exchange my science for those of my fellow laureates. They are forever confined in their professional discussions to the small numbers of their fellow scientists.
quote by George Stigler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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