En.Citatepedia^®.ro

A Question

O bird with heart of wassail,
That toss the Bacchic branch,
And slip your shaken music,
An elfin avalanche;

Come tell me, O tell me,
My poet of the blue!
What's YOUR thought of me, Sweet?--
Here's MY thought of you.

A small thing, a wee thing,
A brown fleck of nought;
With winging and singing
That who could have thought?

A small thing, a wee thing,
A brown amaze withal,
That fly a pitch more azure
Because you're so small.

Bird, I'm a small thing--
My angel descries;
With winging and singing
That who could surmise?

Ah, small things, ah, wee things,
Are the poets all,
Whose tour's the more azure
Because they're so small.

The angels hang watching
The tiny men-things:-
'The dear speck of flesh, see,
With such daring wings!

'Come, tell us, O tell us,
Thou strange mortality!
What's THY thought of us, Dear?--
Here's OUR thought of thee.'

'Alack! you tall angels,
I can't think so high!
I can't think what it feels like
Not to be I.'

Come tell me, O tell me,
My poet of the blue!
What's YOUR thought of me, Sweet?--
Here's MY thought of you.

poem by Francis Thompson
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Small Minds!

small minds
create small gods,
limited thought,
limited expression.

lack of commitment,
limited responsibility,
passes the blame
to untouchable judgement.

a small bird
thought he was an eagle,
till the eagle came,
and killed him in flight!

we worship our fears
out of convenience,
drunkenly beat our chest
with talons of repentence.

small minds,
see only black and white...
never tasting, never knowing,
the color and the sound!

poem by Eric Cockrell
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Remembered

She sang, and I listened the whole song thro'.
(It was sweet, so sweet, the singing.)
The stars were out and the moon it grew
From a wee soft glimmer way out in the blue
To a bird thro' the heavens winging.

She sang, and the song trembled down to my breast,--
(It was sweet, so sweet the singing.)
As a dove just out of its fledgling nest,
And, putting its wings to the first sweet test,
Flutters homeward so wearily winging.

She sang and I said to my heart 'That song,
That was sweet, so sweet i' the singing,
Shall live with us and inspire us long,
And thou, my heart, shalt be brave and strong
For the sake of those words a-winging.'

The woman died and the song was still.
(It was sweet, so sweet, the singing.)
But ever I hear the same low trill,
Of the song that shakes my heart with a thrill,
And goes forever winging.

poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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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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A Boat Is a Lever

After my student went to the doctor to
Check out the rash speckling his
Right hand and found out he had
Leukemia, that the cancer had spread
Into his lungs, then where did he go?
I've called his number several times.
Flat-bottom boats light in water.
Brown brack and mud smell,
Stumps like chewed-off candles,
Cypress knees, knock and small
Talk floating over water, a motor
Chuffing off, a small blue cloud of excess
Gasoline spreads an ugly
Rainbow on tan water.Every
Thing rests on its proposition
Including smooth isobars along the bay.
Since collective thought cannot exist
As thought it passes into things.
Chemo takes a few gray hairs.Mustard
Cruises the bloodstream under a blizzard
Of white cells.Subdued by the arbitrary,
Suspended, the one in the boat still needs
To row it -- to direct the muscles, to
Maintain equilibrium with air
And water.If water is waveless
Then the boat reads by leading marks.
There is nothing more beautiful
Than a boat.

poem by Ralph Burns
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Well, It Worked For Me

First thing I say each night
is
I am my own Lover;
my own best friend.

At first it was words
I did not mean
but over time
I could fill in detail
from little things
that happened each day.

Something positive to celebrate
no matter how small
a smile
a thing small but done
a sincere feeling
given and received.

Busy, I was
saying to my self
each night
building
the person
I want to become.

I added to this
just a small dream list
and acted as though
part of it was true
or coming true
and I found
done each night
my part wish
part recognition
of my small things day
could make part
of my small dreams
also come true.

So over time
I could become
not only Someone
but I could be
the kind of person
I was looking for.

poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Dirrawan the Song-Maker

Dirrawan went into the bush to spear waat,
but he forgot about waat the red wallaby.
he thought about dirridirri the small bird and deereeree the wagtail
he thought about wonning the lightning and tumberumba the thunder.

He did not spear anything at all.

Dirrawan went to the Long Brown Water to catch makora.
he thought about balleballea the silence of the night,
he thought about ballanda the long time ago.

He did not catch any fish, he brought back a new song to the gunyahs.

poem by James Martin Devaney
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The Thought

Into the skies, one summer's day,
I sent a little Thought away;
Up to where, in the blue round,
The sun sat shining without sound.

Then my Thought came back to me.—
Little Thought, what did you see
In the regions whence you come?
And when I spoke, my Thought was dumb.

But she breathed of what was there,
In the pure bright upper air;
And, because my Thought so shone,
I knew she had been shone upon.

Next, by night a Thought I sent
Up into the firmament;
When the eager stars were out,
And the still moon shone about.

And my Thought went past the moon
In between the stars, but soon
Held her breath and durst not stir,
For the fear that covered her;
Then she thought, in this demur:

'Dare I look beneath the shade,
Into where the worlds are made;
Where the suns and stars are wrought?
Shall I meet another Thought?

'Will that other Thought have wings?
Shall I meet strange, heavenly things?
Thought of Thoughts, and Light of Lights,
Breath of Breaths, and Night of Nights?'

Then my Thought began to hark
In the illuminated dark,
Till the silence, over, under,
Made her heart beat more than thunder.

And my Thought, came trembling back,
But with something on her track,
And with something at her side;
Nor till she has lived and died,
Lived and died, and lived again,
Will that awful thing seem plain.

poem by William Brighty Rands
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0017 Suppose it said..

Suppose it said – and, yes
it has been said, that
you were made to be
as much the same, as God,
or, The Creator – or
some other word that
means as much – were made to be
as much the same as – That -
as any human being could be; that

this, waits for you; it’s there;
cease to deny that that is so,
and then, it will be so…

suppose you hear it said; and
like the sound of it; then
close your eyes for several seconds
and open them again; but, it’s all
just the same…

suppose that at that point,
you don’t give up, with, as they say,
'a snort of derision'; but close your eyes again,
and think

I don’t remember such a big denial
all at once; how could a child
know what to deny, or why;
deny so vast a thing?

or could it rather be, a history
of many small denials? ah yes,
that seems quite possible – like
all those things that we put to one side
as – so the song goes on – ‘but not for me…’:

some few were overcome – I thought once
that riding a bike was Not For Me;
but thanks to Dad who proved me wrong,
I’ve thousands of miles of the joy of freedom
ticking on the cyclometer…

but yes, there’s much that’s labelled
Not For Me; once, poetry
was labelled, too, so great a thing
but Not For Me..

suppose a life
without self-deprivation
where all these small denials were denied,
whom would I be then? Would I be great
in so many small acceptances,
that all that life might have to offer,
should be myself? Would that be joy?
I think it could be so.

poem by Michael Shepherd
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Small Doses

You'd think after fourty
Long days and nights
I'd finally get used to the rain
But until the storm passes
Outta my mind
The only thing I know
To take for the pain is..
Small, small doses,
A sip at a time
A little whiskey and water
I'll sit here all night
Some live with heartaches
But I'm killing mine
With small, small doses
A sip at a time.
My doctor said son
Aint a thing I can do
To help you get on with your life
So till I find a way
To forget about you
Me and your memory
Will have a big time.
Small, small doses,
A sip at a time
A little whiskey and water
I'll sit here all night
Some live with heartaches
But I'm killing mine
With small, small doses
A sip at a time.
With small, small doses,
A sip at a time
A little Jim Beam and water
I'll sit here all night
Some live with heartaches
But I'm killing mine
With small, small doses
A sip at a time.
With small, small doses
A sip at a time...

song performed by by Travis Tritt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is so small a thing to have enjoyed the sun, to have lived light in the spring, to have loved, to have thought, to have done.

quote by Matthew Arnold
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Relapse

I thought that I had done with fleshly things,
That in the azure of high thought my soul
Had learned to fly on less substantial wings
To a new Heaven, a sublimer goal.
I thought that I was wise beneath the cowl
Of my dead hopes, beyond all power of Spring's
Most eloquent music to again cajole,
And that my service was the King of Kings.
--But look, alas, how thoughtless thought can be,
For to me thinking thus one ventured in
Bearing a letter and I read your name.
Then in an instant through my limbs a flame
Of pleasure ran, and wrought such change in me
That I was eager for all loveliest sin.

poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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From Severe Sorrow He Almost Went Mad

(after Robert Ranke Graves)

From severe sorrow he almost went mad
when he suddenly saw some strange things
in nature and the universe
and maybe it came from to much sorrow;

he noticed small things like falling leaves,
the smallest white flower slowly opening,
the first tiny whistle of a small bird,
thunder hitting far in the distance

even rocks glistening with black metal,
he even saw wings of birds fluttering,
the movement of every small snake,
but between life and death he could not reach

and he could not look at his buried wife
or living go to that other kingdom.

poem by Gert Strydom
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Height In Depth

HE turned his face apart, and gave a sigh
And a strange whimper—such a pitiful thing
As haunts the heart for days. “Yes, Love can bring
Unto a pass so low that it seems high:
And, when we see a brave and strong man cry
With a poor infant's feeble sorrowing,
It is a nobler passion than to wing
Shafts of small angers and small prides,” thought I.
There is a love so deaf that it can hear
Not even its own voice which bids it seek
A name for its own meanness: it would find
The outlet else. But thus it is a sheer
Humility—an earnestness so meek
That your knees bow and sharp tears make you blind.

poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Lines On H---'s Foot

It may be you've seen her eyes,
Dark and deep like midnight skies;
You mayhap have seen them flash
Underneath the drooping lash,
And been dazzled by the light
Of those orbs, so dark and bright;
But-have you seen her foot,
In its little gaiter boot?

You have noticed, maybe, how
The lily spreads from chin to brow.
You have thought her cheek more fair
Than if roses lingered there;
(Roses would seem out of place
On her pale patrician face)
But-again I question you,
Have you seen her tiny shoe?

You have thought her mouth, no doubt,
Like a blush-rose half blown out;
Small and sweet, withal, beside,
Touched with scorn and curved with pride;
(Innate pride-not meant to chill)-
You have seen it there, and still-
Answer one more question, pray-
Have you seen her boot? I say.

Such a tiny, tiny thing,
Is that foot of which I sing;
No. 3 would hide it so
It could not be found, I know.
No. 2 must stand aside
All too long and large and wide,
No. 1
must
be the boot
For this maiden's little foot.

You may envy, sir, the clerk
In the shoe-store, hard at work,
Who tries the gaiter boot
On this cunning little foot.
On his knee, supporting it,
Saying, 'It's a perfect fit,'
Buttoning on the No. 1,
Looking sorry, when it's done.

You have seen her, slight and neat,
As she tripped along the street,
You have
heard
the pit-pat-fall
Of that foot so very small.
That she's fair, and pure, and good,
Bright, and sweet is understood,
But-have you
seen
that foot-
In its dainty gaiter boot?

poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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The Right Thing

Let others probe the mystery if they can.
Time-harried prisoners of Shall and Will-
The right thing happens to the happy man.

The bird flies out, the bird flies back again;
The hill becomes the valley, and is still;
Let others delve that mystery if they can.

God bless the roots!-Body and soul are one!
The small become the great, the great the small;
The right thing happens to the happy man.

Child of the dark, he can out leap the sun,
His being single, and that being all:
The right thing happens to the happy man.

Or he sits still, a solid figure when
The self-destructive shake the common wall;
Takes to himself what mystery he can,

And, praising change as the slow night comes on,
Wills what he would, surrendering his will
Till mystery is no more: No more he can.
The right thing happens to the happy man.

poem by Theodore Roethke
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Berries

so i smelled you
and i thought
hmmm
Visalia, California
brown and green grass, black and white cows

i turned you upside down

and smelled you like that
and i thought
ohhh
Napa Valley
fine wine, many drunk tourist

and then i licked you
and you tasted like nothing on my tongue
small hairy things
purple and red berries
red and purple fingers

poem by C.J. Johnson
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From Small Things (Big Things One Day Come)

At sixteen she quit high school to
make her fortune in the promised land
she got a job behind the counter in an
all night hamburhger stand
she wrote faithfully home to mama
"Now mama don't you worry none"
From small things, mama
Big things one day come
It was late one Friday he pulled in
out of the dark
He was tall and handsome;first she
took his order, then she took his heart
They bought a house up on the hillside
Where little feet soon would run
From small things, mama
Big things one day come
BRIDGE
Oh but love is fleeting
It's sad but true
But when your heart is beating
You don't wanna hear the news
She packed her bags
and with a Wyomie County real state man
She ran down to Tampa
In and "El Dorado Grande"
She wrote back home, "Dear Mama
Life is just heaven in the sun
From small things, mama
Big things one day come"
Well she shot him dead
On a sunny Florida road
When they caught her all she said
Was she could't stand the way he drove
Back home lonesome Johnny
Prays for his baby's parole
He waits on the hillside
Where the Wyomie waters roll
At his feet and almost grown now
A blue-eyed daughter and a handsome son
Well from small things, mama
Big things one day come
Well from small things, mama
Big things one day come

song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Smalltown

When youre growing up in a small town
When youre growing up in a small town
When youre growing up in a small town
You say, no one famous ever came from here
When youre growing up in a small town
And youre having a nervous breakdown
And you think that youll never escape it
Yourself or the place that you live
Where did picasso come from
Theres no michelangelo coming from pittsburgh
If art is the tip of the iceberg
Im the part sinking below
When youre growing up in a small town
Bad skin, bad eyes, gay and fatty
People look at you funny
When youre in a small town
My father worked in construction
Its not something for which Im suited
Oh, what is something for which you are suited
Getting out of here
I hate being odd in a small town
If they stare let them stare in new york city
As this pink eyed painting albino
How far can my fantasy go
Im no dali coming from pittsburgh
No adorable lisping capote
My hero, oh, do you think I could meet him
Id camp out at his front door
There is only one good thing about small town
There is only one good use for a small town
There is only one good thing about small town
You know that you want to get out
When youre growing up in a small town
You know youll grow down in a small town
There is only one good use for a small town
You hate it and youll know you have to leave

song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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That Day

That day, that day
What a mess what a marvel
I walked into that cloud again
And i lost myself
And i'm sad, sad, sad
Small, alone, scared
Craving purity
A fragile mind and
A gentle spirit
That day, that day
What a marvelous mess
This is all that i can do
I'm done to be me
Sad, scared, small, alone, beautiful
It's supposed to be like this
I accept everything
It's supposed to be like this
That day, that day
I lay down beside myself
In this feeling of pain, sadness
Scared, small, climbing, crawling
Towards the light
And it's all i see and
I'm tired and i'm right
And i'm wrong
And it's beautiful
That day that day
What a mess
What a marvel
We're all the same
And no one thinks so
And it's okay
And i'm small
And i'm divine
And it's beautiful
And it's coming
But it's already here
And it's absolutely perfect
That day, that day
When everything was a mess
And everything was in place
And there's too much hurt
Sad, small, scared, alone
And everyone's a cynic
And it's hard and it's sweet
But it's supposed
To be like this
That day, that day
When i sat in the sun
And i thought and i cried
'cause i'm sad, scared, small
Alone, strong
And i'm nothing
And i'm true
Only a brave man
Can break through
And it's all okay
Yeah, it's okay

song performed by by Natalie Imbruglia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Small Talk

Dont talk back to me, dont talk back to me
Dont talk back to me, dont talk
Going round in circles, hearing too many points of view
Just words to tire me out, small talk I could do without
I would be amazed if you returned to see things my way
Now that youve been disrespectful to my sense of pride
Isnt it a shame that you were lying when you said to me (small talk)
I was the only one, you and I were meant to be
I expect youll never really feel the way that I do
All of this is with regret, Im sure you will agree
Say something to me, anything at all
I want you to mean what you say
Ive seen all I want to see, and you mean the world to me
Ive lived for each moment to be with you, with you, with you
Small talk, small talk, small talk, small talk
You say I dont talk enough, that applies to both of us
Dont try to sound me out, something I could do without
So much goes on inside your head, I often wonder
Have you heard enough to know, theres nothing left to say
Say something to me, anything at all
I want you to mean what you say
Ive seen all I want to see, and you mean the world to me
Ive lived for each moment to be with you, with you, with you
Small talk
Small talk
Ooh small talk
Thats all I ever hear
Small talk
Ill be alright
It may take sometime
But Ill be alright (dont talk back to me)
Ill be alright (dont talk back to me) (dont want to be alone, nothing worth to carry on)
Ill be alright (dont talk back to me) (try hard to understand, you wont seem to lend a hand)
Ill be alright (dont talk back to me) (without youll fail to see, you never spare a thought for me)
Ill be alright (dont talk back to me) (so many things you said, going round in circles)
Ill be alright (dont talk back to me) (Ill rise above it all, enough to see another day)
Ill be alright
Ill be alright
Dont talk back to me...

song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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