Grotesque
These are the damned circles Dante trod,
Terrible in hopelessness,
But even skulls have their humour,
An eyeless and sardonic mockery:
And we,
Sitting with streaming eyes in the acrid smoke,
That murks our foul, damp billet,
Chant bitterly, with raucous voices
As a choir of frogs
In hideous irony, our patriotic songs.
poem by Frederic Manning
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Related quotes
Damned
Don't smoke don't fight don't light no cigarettes
Or else you'll wind up in the can
No jokes no rights sit tight don't fool around
You are a guest of Uncle Sam
Stand up look right don't slouch and stand at ease
Allow no sex above the knees
When I snap you jump into the master plan
I'll be damned
Well I'll be damned
I'll be damned if I drink or smoke
Damned if I steal your joke
I'll be damned if I go for broke
Damned if I do
Damned if I don't
Don't talk don't fool don't try to mess around
I'll make a monkey outta you
You sign your name right on that dotted line boy
I'll be damned
I'll be damned if I drink or smoke
Damned if I steal your joke
I'll be damned if I go for broke
Damned if I do
And damned if I don't
I'll be damned if I drink or smoke
Damned if I steal your joke
I'll be damned if I go for broke
I'm damned if I do
I'm damned if I don't
I'll be damned if I drink or smoke
Damned if I steal your joke
I'll be damned if I go for broke
I'm damned if I do
I'm damned if I don't
I'll be damned (6x)
song performed by by AC/DC from Stiff Upper Lip
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Damned
(young - young)
Dont smoke dont fight dont light no cigarettes
Or else youll wind up in the can
No jokes no rights sit tight dont fool around
You are a guest of uncle sam
Stand up look right dont slouch and stand at ease
Allow no sex above the knees
When I snap you jump into the master plan
Ill be damned
Well Ill be damned
Ill be damned if I drink or smoke
Damned if I steal your joke
Ill be damned if I go for broke
Damned if I do
Damned if I dont
Dont talk dont fool dont try to mess around
Ill make a monkey outta you
You sign your name right on that dotted line boy
Ill be damned
Ill be damned if I drink or smoke
Damned if I steal your joke
Ill be damned if I go for broke
Damned if I do
And damned if I dont, yeah
Come on
Ill be damned if I drink or smoke
Damned if I steal your joke
Ill be damned if I go for broke
Im damned if I do
Im damned if I dont
Ill be damned if I drink or smoke
Damned if I steal your joke
Ill be damned if I go for broke
Im damned if I do
Im damned if I dont
Ill be damned
Ill be damned
Ill be damned
Ill be damned
Ill be damned
Ill be damned
2000, j. albert & son, pty.
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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0017 The ironic, the sarcastic, the sardonic...
These weapons of literary abuse
so prevalent in the 17th and 18th century days
of literary gents in coffee-houses
have fallen into desuetude
these amicable days
but for the sake of Eng. Lit. studies
it might be useful
to run them through:
they have Greek roots
which we should know; it keeps them tidy
in the first-aid box of the literary mind:
there’s irony: that’s from the Greek
meaning ‘simulated innocence’;
in practice, saying the opposite
of what you mean; the Greeks
used it in tragedy – the man who says all’s fine and dandy
as the black cloud of disaster gathers;
we use it more for humour; as in
‘ you’re a right barrel of laughs, Mona..’
then there’s sarcasm: in Greek, wow,
to tear the flesh; gnash the teeth,
or simply to speak bitterly;
using irony (as above) , to express contempt:
‘that meant to be funny, then…? ’
and the sardonic: Homer used it
to describe bitter, mocking laughter,
which for undisclosed reasons
was associated with the people of Sardinia..
Imagine, perhaps, a tinful
of no-head-to-no-tail sardines
able to read their label..
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Frogs in Love
The bogs are damp with almost too much rain -
By night, the frogs have returned once again,
For November; it is the time they mate,
But why O why our backyard populate?
Perhaps they feel it's romantic: the smoke,
The chill, the wet; relentlessly they croak!
Dear God! Why let the bogs with tall grass grow?
Or teach a colony of frogs to Love?
poem by Dinesh Sairam
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One Thousand Frogs
One Thousand Frogs
one frog chants a mantra
to the silent moon
two frogs chant a mantra
to the merciful silent moon
ten frogs chant a mantra
to the bright merciful silent moon
one thousand frogs chant a mantra
to the large bright merciful silent moon
- Frog Mantra, Accents Publishing,2012 -
poem by Suchoon Mo_
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The Broken Love Song
Sitting, sitting, waiting for the music to stop
The music plays over and over again
My eyes wander, my sight blurred
My mouth lets out whispers and sighs
The song plays all over again; in circles
Tears, wait a minute...tears?
Tears flow down my cheek
The sound of misery has been playing
Playing in full circles, let it stop
I won't let it stop even if it hurts
The words that I murmur, I whisper softly
He left me; he left me behind
The music breaks me down into pieces
I grieve as I see myself dead in the funeral
I didn't die in the funeral, I died here
My lips part and gave way to smoke
Clouds of mist form before my eyes
The images are distorted, it is blurred
By salty waters that rush down my cheek
I could not hear the music anymore
He left me by this chair
He left me and made me hear this music
Broken as it played in circles
I hear my heart stops its own music
The tears in my eyes sympathize
poem by A.B. Black Waltz
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Unlabelled phobia II
Vibrating my ear drums
Are stimulus of comfort
In my brain, interpreted as mockery.
My interpretation: Comforting-mockery.
Irony so ironical to real cognition.
Emblazoned on my soma the logo of insecurity.
Fear of what, infact?
Since intact my somatic intellect.
poem by Kctony Xtopher Nkwocha
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Sunday Morning - VII
Supple and turbulent, a ring of men
Shall chant in orgy on a summer morn
Their boisterous devotion to the sun,
Not as a god, but as a god might be,
Naked among them, like a savage source.
Their chant shall be a chant of paradise,
Out of their blood, returning to the sky;
And in their chant shall enter, voice by voice,
The windy lake wherein their lord delights,
The trees, like serafin, and echoing hills,
That choir among themselves long afterward.
They shall know well the heavenly fellowship
Of men that perish and of summer morn.
And whence they came and whither they shall go
The dew upon their feet shall manifest.
poem by Wallace Stevens
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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On Tasso In Prison (Eugène Delacroix’s Painting)
The poet in his cell, unkempt and sick,
who crushes underfoot a manuscript,
measures, with a gaze that horror has inflamed,
the stair of madness where his soul was maimed.
The intoxicating laughter that fills his prison
with the absurd and the strange, swamps his reason.
Doubt surrounds him, and ridiculous fear,
hideous and multiform, circles near.
That genius pent up in a foul sty,
those spectres, those grimaces, the cries,
whirling, in a swarm, about his hair,
that dreamer, whom his lodging’s terrors bare,
such are your emblems, Soul, singer of songs obscure,
whom Reality suffocates behind four walls!
poem by Charles Baudelaire
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The Place of the Damned
All folks who pretend to religion and grace,
Allow there's a HELL, but dispute of the place:
But, if HELL may by logical rules be defined
The place of the damned -I'll tell you my mind.
Wherever the damned do chiefly abound,
Most certainly there is HELL to be found:
Damned poets, damned critics, damned blockheads, damned knaves,
Damned senators bribed, damned prostitute slaves;
Damned lawyers and judges, damned lords and damned squires;
Damned spies and informers, damned friends and damned liars;
Damned villains, corrupted in every station;
Damned time-serving priests all over the nation;
And into the bargain I'll readily give you
Damned ignorant prelates, and counsellors privy.
Then let us no longer by parsons be flammed,
For we know by these marks the place of the damned:
And HELL to be sure is at Paris or Rome.
How happy for us that it is not at home!
poem by Jonathan Swift
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I Chant Your Name Oh Beloved
Chant Your Name
I chant Your name O Beloved
Like the raindrops on a roof
I chant Your name O Beloved
Like the breeze in the leaves
I chant Your name o beloved
Like the snowflakes on mountain peaks
I chant Your name O Beloved
Like the dew drops in the field
I chant your name O beloved
As Your blood pulsate in my veins
I chant Your name O beloved
As the bees buzz around my head
In silence I chant Your name O Beloved
As they carry my whispered prayers
poem by Persian Khushi
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Real art is without irony. Irony distances the author from his material. Irony is a product of something. It's not the reason for doing something. Irony is a cheap shot.
quote by Robert Altman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lectric Daze Buzz
I sit here in smoke in the
Realm of the Wallow where
green sky has frogs and the
birds that dive down from
the cliffs and the trees in a
valley where dogs chase the
lizards all day and kids hear the
songs of a red ice cream monkey
that sometimes turns blue.
poem by Rick Stokes
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In high school, I was Mr. Choir Boy. I had solos, I was helping out the tenors with their parts and our choir teacher would ask me what songs we should do.
quote by Lucas Grabeel
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Beloved
On my knees i chant your name oh beloved
like the raindrops on the roof
i chant your name oh beloved
like the rusttling leave in the breeze
i chant your name oh beloved
like the dew drops in te field
i chant your name oh beloved
like the snow on mountain peaks
i chant your name oh beloved
as i breath
i chant your name oh beloved
as i whisper in sincere pray...
poem by Persian Khushi
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Circle
A rain hawk circles in the dawn.
The dawn uncovers the trees;
the trees lead to a forest.
The forest sinks into the damp earth;
the damp earth waters the stones.
Stones are under a rain hawk -
a rain hawk circles in the dawn
a rain hawk circles in the dawn.
poem by Leslie Philibert
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Epilogue
Che son contenti nel fuoco
We are of those that Dante saw
Glad, for love's sake, among the flames of hell,
Outdaring with a kiss all-powerful wrath;
For we have passed athwart a fiercer hell,
Through gloomier, more desperate circles
Than ever Dante dreamed:
And yet love kept us glad.
poem by Richard Aldington
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Am I Less Patriotic
Am I less patriotic,
If I choose not to embrace...
Conservative values,
With a more broadened view...
That may be idealistic,
With equality issues I pursue.
Am I less patriotic,
If those who are hypocrites annoy?
The ones with their self righteous political opinions.
Those who influence lawmakers to consider and employ.
Am I less patriotic,
If I am bothered by illegitimate conflicts.
Those that depict one class of people,
As being worthy to indulge...
In the feeding done of their own interests.
Am I less patriotic,
If I wish hunger and homelessness...
From all made to suffer from this,
Was erased from them and did not exist?
Am I less patriotic,
If I chose to express my feelings about it?
And am I less patriotic...
If I refuse to inflict upon another pain,
With a taking away from them...
To benefit my own selfish claims to gain.
Am I less patriotic,
If my ambitions are to sustain and maintain...
A peaceful co-existence,
Between those who have chosen to benefit...
Appreciating their lives as they wish.
Without being oppressed by those who infest...
With a manifestation to control with a beholding?
Taking away from others as if...
They were entitled to do this!
Am I less patriotic?
Or am I just another delusioned human being?
Wishing all differences,
Were accepted or not demeaned to maim.
Or disrespected to be considered obscene.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Jeremy Carlisle
Passer-by, sin beyond any sin
Is the sin of blindness of souls to other souls.
And joy beyond any joy is the joy
Of having the good in you seen, and seeing the good
At the miraculous moment!
Here I confess to a lofty scorn,
And an acrid skepticism.
But do you remember the liquid that Penniwit
Poured on tintypes making them blue
With a mist like hickory smoke?
Then how the picture began to clear
Till the face came forth like life?
So you appeared to me, neglected ones,
And enemies too, as I went along
With my face growing clearer to you as yours
Grew clearer to me.
We were ready then to walk together
And sing in chorus and chant the dawn
Of life that is wholly life.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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He was lucky
The BTR-152 lowers its heavy machinegun
and starts firing,
before the 90mm shell
knocks the hell out of it.
The BTR stand motionless
and white smoke rises
from it like steam
and there’s an acrid smell
in the air.
I jump down from Ratel’s dome
and through the smoke
a Cuban appears,
with hands above his head
and there’s a man unscarred
that should have been dead.
poem by Gert Strydom
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