At Madame Tussaud's
I STOOD in that strange show, the other day,
On Baker Street, where all the famous men,
Fair dames, and murderers come to life again,
With clockwork breast and face of mimic clay,
To scare the young. Thrice in the long display,
5
Blundering, I thought wax flesh, then, with surprise
At being deceived, I turned with cautious eyes
And took for wax all those that thronged my way.
So in this age, methinks, when in the light
Of fuller knowledge, forms that men have reared
10
And worshipped turn to dust, too hasty youths,
Shunning the whirlpool jaws of credulous sight,
Rush towards a Scylla far more to be feared,
And take for shadows all too living truths.
poem by Frederick George Scott
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Related quotes
Geronimo
I'm feeling kind of wild I have burned down a house
The pleasure is mine it may be sick and may be wrong
That's why I did it all on my own
Pain in my mind is for no one to find
Geronimo, Geronimo
I'm the world famous Geronimo
Geronimo, Geronimo
I'm a world famous man
The world has gone mad and I'm being bad
To all the people that is feeling sad
Scalps on the wall are the trophies I've made
From all the people that stood in my way
Geronimo, Geronimo
I'm the world famous Geronimo
Geronimo, Geronimo
I'm a world famous man
Someone once said that I'm acting strange
That someone ain't living no more
People get scared when I'm passing by
I am the man who brings fear in Your eyes
Geronimo, Geronimo
I'm the world famous Geronimo
Geronimo, Geronimo
I'm a world famous man
My journey began on the day I was born
Ever since then I've been hunted by a man
With a rifle and star he may give me a scare
Someday I promise to cut of his scalp
Geronimo, Geronimo
I'm the world famous Geronimo
Geronimo, Geronimo
I'm a world famous man
song performed by by Zonata
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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No Hasty Rush To Love
Some people know,
What many can't show.
Those who know love,
Know when it is missed.
And, When one has loved...
Someone who has gone,
A sadness within them...
Seems to stay for so long.
No hasty rush to love,
Again...
Is ever talked about,
To listen.
Or consider when mentioned.
No hasty rush to love,
Again...
When a loneliness felt within,
Begins.
Some people know,
What many can't show.
Those who know love,
Know when it is missed.
And there's no,
Hasty rush to love...
Again.
When a loneliness felt,
Within...
Begins!
No hasty rush to love,
Again...
When one has gone,
And love for them never ends!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Thought I Was A Child
Its such a clever innocence with which you do your sorcery
As if somehow the years just bow and let that young girl go free
I thought I was a child until you turned and smiled
I thought I knew where I was going until I heard your laughter flowing
And came upon the wisdom in your eyes
Surprise--
Ive spent my whole life running round
Chasing songs from town to town
Thinking Id be free so long as I never let love slow me down
So lonely and so wild until you turned and smiled
By now I should have long been gone
But here I am still looking on
As if I didnt know which way to run
Its such a clever innocence with which you show myself to me
As if you know how it feels to never be who you wanted to be
I thought I was a child until you turned and smiled
I thought that I was free but Im just one more prisoner of time
Alone within the boundaries of my mind
I thought I was a child
song performed by by Jackson Browne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Nothing More Than A Memory
Outside in the pouring rain
I walked the lonely streets and searched in vain
Every corner of every street
And every doorway where we used to meet
As I turned to walk away I could swear I saw your face
Long into the night I see
Shadows dancing alone with me
I know it must be
Nothing more than a memory
I try to keep my hurt inside
With some resemblance of my broken pride
Ive done everything that I can do
I cant face the thought of losing you
And as I turn to walk away
I thought I saw your face again
Long into the night
People say that Im crazy
Im being weak when I should be strong
Ive got to pull myself back together before too long
song performed by by Paul Carrack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Strangers Eyes
All alone, a rainy night
No one around but I fell someone watching me
I look around, the street is bare nobody there
I wonder what it could be
As I turned to walk away
Suddenly I saw his face
Never minding that we were alone
Didnt care about the time, at the moment I was felling fine
I was looking into strangers eyes
(he caught me by surprise)
They looked right through me
(he looking into my eyes)
Never knew
Never, ever thought that love could be
(thats when he came)
He came and captured me
Like a scene out of a dream, I cant believe it
Kind of strange and familiar
But in his eyes I get a sign, I get a feeling
I get the feeling he knows me
Maybe I could stay a while, maybe I could make you smile
I dont have much to do
Maybe we could walk awhile
Maybe, maybe we could talk awhile
Cant help looking into strangers eyes
I was looking into strangers eyes
(he caught me by surprise)
They looked right through me
(he looked into my eyes)
Never knew
Never, ever thought that love could be
(thats when he came)
He came and captured me
How was I to know this would happen
Thought I didnt know I would meet this stranger
Its the kind of thing that dreams are made of
And I keep thinking about strangers eyes
I was looking into strangers eyes
(he caught me by surprise)
They looked right through me
(he looked into my eyes)
Never knew
Never, ever thought that love could be
(thats when he came to me)
He came and captured me
song performed by by Vanessa Williams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spirit Fear.
I look with half unfriendly eyes
Into the casual eyes I meet,
As if my spirit feared surprise,
Dim-memoried with some old defeat.
In a far life it may be, when
It breathed in a monastic cell,
And found a fallacy in men
More sad than any tongue can tell
Or flashing in a warrior's fame
A sword for friendship fiercely drew
But turned to dust an honored name
And made life's mead a bitter brew.
And still like an ancestral stain
The memory on the spirit lies,
And still it fears to meet again
The light of those accusing eyes
poem by Robert Crawford
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Human Wheels
This land today, shall draw its last breath
And take into its ancient depths
This frail reminder of its giant, dreaming self
While i, with human-hindered eyes
Unequal to the sweeping curve of life
Stand on this single print of time
Chorus:
Human wheels spin round and round
While the clock keeps the pace
Human wheels spin round and round
Help the light to my face
That time, today, no triumph gains
At this short success of age
This pale reflection of its brave and
Blundering deed
For i, descend from this vault
Now dreams beyond my earthly fault
Knowledge, sure, from the seed
Chorus:
Human wheels spin round and round
While the clock keeps the pace
Human wheels spin round and round
Help the light to my face
This land, today, my tears shall taste
And take into its dark embrace
This love, who in my beating heart endures
Assured, by every sun that burns
The dust to which this flesh shall return
It is the ancient, dreaming dust of god
Chorus:
Human wheels spin round and round
While the clock keeps the pace
Human wheels spin round and round
Help the light to my face
Human wheels spin round and round
While the clock keeps the pace
Human wheels spin round and round
Help the light to my face
song performed by by John Mellencamp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Poet
'THE blackbird's in the briar,
The seagull's on the ground-
They are nests, and they're more than nests,' he said,
'They are tokens I have found.
There, where the rain-dashed briar
Marks an empty glade,
The blackbird's nest is seen,' he said,
'Clay-rimmed, uncunningly made.
By shore of the inland lake,
Where surgeless water shoves,
The seagulls have their nests,' he said,
'As low as catties' hooves.'
I heard a poet say it,
The sojourner of a night;
His head was up to the rafter,
Where he stood in candles' light.
'Your houses are like the seagulls'
Nests they are scattered and low;
Like the blackbirds' nests in briars,' he said,
'Uncunningly made even so.
But close to the ground are reared
The wings that have widest sway,
And the birds that sing best in the wood,' he said,
'Were reared with breasts to the clay.
You've wildness I've turned it to song;
You've strength I've turned it to wings;
The welkin's for your conquest then,
The wood to your music rings.'
I heard a poet say it,
The sojourner of a night;
His head was up to the rafter,
Where he stood in candles' light.
poem by Padraic Colum
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Dust
When I went to look at what had long been hidden,
A jewel laid long ago in a secret place,
I trembled, for I thought to see its dark deep fire --
But only a pinch of dust blew up in my face.
I almost gave my life long ago for a thing
That has gone to dust now, stinging my eyes --
It is strange how often a heart must be broken
Before the years can make it wise.
poem by Sara Teasdale
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The Harlot's House
We caught the tread of dancing feet,
We loitered down the moonlit street,
And stopped beneath the harlot's house.
Inside, above the din and fray,
We heard the loud musicians play
The "Treues Liebes Herz" of Strauss.
Like strange mechanical grotesques,
Making fantastic arabesques,
The shadows raced across the blind.
We watched the ghostly dancers spin
To sound of horn and violin,
Like black leaves wheeling in the wind.
Like wire-pulled automatons,
Slim silhouetted skeletons
Went sidling through the slow quadrille.
They took each other by the hand,
And danced a stately saraband;
Their laughter echoed thin and shrill.
Sometimes a clockwork puppet pressed
A phantom lover to her breast,
Sometimes they seemed to try to sing.
Sometimes a horrible marionette
Came out, and smaoked its cigarette
Upon the steps like a live thing.
Then, turning to my love, I said,
"The dead are dancing with the dead,
The dust is whirling with the dust."
But she--she heard the violin,
And left my side, and entered in:
Love passed into the house of lust.
Then suddenly the tune went false,
The shadows wearied of the waltz,
The shadows ceased to wheel and whirl.
And down the long and silent street,
The dawn, with silver-sandalled feet,
Crept like a frightened girl.
poem by Oscar Wilde
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Living With You
You been teaching me a lesson that I never learned
You never make it through a lifetime without being burned
Everything I ever thought you were - you turned out to be
Since you gave your love to me
When I met you on a monday
My life has stood still
I belong to every moment that your love can fill
Let me be the only heart you mend
Turn out the light and take it right to the end
Living with you
In the madness of my mind
In a world I could not find
But you knew what to do
Living with you
Theres a full moon on the rise
Theres a fire in your eyes
And I was born to be
Loving you under my skin
Youre everything to me
I could not love you more
And you know that you are mine
And thats what Im living for
There will never be a question of somebody new
I could make it through a lifetime with someone like you
Let me be the only heart you mend
Turn out the light and take it right to the end
Living with you
In the madness of my mind
In a world I could not find
But you knew what to do
Living with you
Theres a full moon on the rise
Theres a fire in your eyes
And I was born to be living with you
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Well We Might
There once was time to sit and spin
The dream without, the light within
When young ideals like creed and rote
Would wreathe their blue tobacco smoke.
When wine was certain at each sip
When answers leapt at every lip,
Such were the days, when we all knew
If we were asked, what we would do.
But life began to call us in
And time, as such, has grown so thin,
We rush to do the things we must
While dreams, ideals, are things of dust.
And soon we turn our backs on them
Those shadows that were once young men
Who never dreamt hypocrisy
Would spill their dreams, philosophy;
And rule them with a rod of steel
And teach them well how not to feel,
And lead them blindly through their days –
They spare no thought for younger ways.
And where that dream, ideal, that once
Was held to spell deliverance?
Well we might ask, and well we might;
It’s life, not death, puts out the light.
26 September 1986
poem by David Lewis Paget
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Dark the shadows haunt the night
If I began to cry
The tears would never end
If I lowered my guard
Then how could I defend?
From every side the walls close in
And there is no place that you could stand
That would hide you from this world
And all that it demands
Whoever said that life was fair
Has not lived long enough
When the path takes you along the edge
You'll see them fall off the bluff
But the problem is
If your guard is high
You will wither away
And begin to die
How could something so small
Cast such a shadow on the land?
How was it that it stood so tall
Yet it was just a grain of sand?
I made my way through this world
With the Sun forever at my back
And the shadows went before me
And the shadow it was black
One grain of sand in my eye
Tormented me for many years
And I could never hope to fly
For I was blinded by my fears
Then Jesus came and turned me round
To face the rising Sun
His light it shone upon my face
And my journey had begun
When you walk into the Son
The shadows fall behind
The Sun removes the grain of sand
Now you're no longer blind
Who is your grain of sand my child
That made you stumble, made you fall?
In the light of Christ perhaps you'll find
That persons not so very tall
Dark the shadows haunt the night
That cause you to run and hide
Look to the Son that shines so bright
And He will shine that light inside
O to be filled with the light of Christ
And see the shadows disappear
To lift my eyes to heavens heights
And finally to shed a tear
poem by Frank McEleny
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Warbrides
There has been wrong done since the world began.
That young men should go out and die in war,
And lie face down in the dust for a brief span,
And be not good to look at anymore.
It is the old men with their crafty eyes
And greedy fingers and their feeble lungs,
Make mischief in the world and are called wise,
And bring war on us with their garrulous tongues.
It is the old men hid in secret rooms,
Feign wisdom while they sign our peace away,
And turn fair meadows into reeking tombs,
And passionate bridegrooms into bloodied clay.
It is the old men should be sent to fight!
The old men grown so wise they have forgot
The touch of mouth on mouth in the still of night,
The tenderness that wedded lovers wot;
The dreams that dwell in the eyes of a young bridge;
The secret beauty of things said and done;
The hope of children coming, and the pride
Of little homes and gardens in the sun.
It is the old men who have nought to lose,
And nought to pray for but their gasping breath,
Should bear this ill of the world, and so choose
Out of their beds to meet their master, Death.
This is the bitterest wrong the world wide,
That young men on the battlefield should rot,
And I be widowed who was scare a bride,
While prattling old men sit at ease and plot.
poem by Nina Murdoch
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Early Works - TV Madness
You sit with eyes glued to the screen
watching a little beam
in a box
that talks.
Your eyes go perpendicular
and a haze comes over you
the TV madness has got through.
The haze then forms into shapes
of Coronation Street and Ben Casey
as an operation begins on Ena by Kildare
while the Invisible Man sits unnoticed in a chair.
When the TV goes funny,
you hit it like hell
afraid of missing Alf Garnet’s famous yell.
Then comes The Man In The Suitcase
who has such a squeeze
and is nearly blown away
by a Laurel and Hardy sneeze.
The posh blundering Avengers are back once more,
but need help from The Man From Uncle to open the door.
After this tumbling torso, you see,
you turn into a schizophrenic like me,
with perpendicular eyeballs
pink and blue stripes on your chest.
Don’t go to the Doctors,
as there is no cure for TV madness.
Date Written Unknown
poem by David Harris
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What I Have Seen #3
I saw two youths: both were fair in the face,
They had set out foot to foot in life's race;
But one said to the other, 'I say now, my brother,
You are going a little too slow;
The world will look on, and say, 'See Josy John,'
We must put on more style, now, you know.'
So he tipped a plug hat on one side of his pate,
And strutted along with a Jockey Club gait;
And he carried a cane, and said, 'It is plain,
I am too fine a fellow to toil.
I can gamble and bet, and a good living get;
But my hands are too pretty to soil.
'My friend in the rear, you are slow, I am fast;
I am up with the times-I am first, you are last.
So I guess I will leave you-aw, if it won't grieve you;
I'll wait for you when I get through;
Or, when up on the hill, I'll remem-bah you still,
And-aw, mayhap I'll come and help you.'
I saw him pass on with a strut through the street;
Saw him stopped by a score of 'good boys' for a treat.
While the calm 'Josy John' went quietly on,
And kept his lips free from the bowl;
Worked at whatever came, turned from sin and from shame,
And wrote 'Purity,' 'Truth,' in his soul.
I saw two men: one was fair to behold;
The other, a drunken sot, bloated and bold.
One stood on the mountain and drank of God's fountain,
The other drank beer in the street.
Yet both started alike; but one made a 'strike,'
Which ended, you see, in defeat.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Wrapped Around Your Finger
You consider me the young apprentice
Caught between the Scylla and Charibdes
Hypnotized by you if I should linger
Staring at that ring around your finger
I have only come here seeking knowledge,
Things they would not teach me of in college
I can see the destiny you sold
Turned into that shining band of gold
I'll be wrapped around your finger
Mephistopheles is not your name
But I know what you're up to just the same
I will listen hard to your tuition
And you will see it come to its fruition
I'll be wrapped around your finger
Devil on the deep blue sea behind me
Vanish in the air you'll never find me
I will turn your face to alabaster
When you find your servant is your master
And you'll be wrapped around my finger
song performed by by Police
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Self–love And Truth Incompatible
From thorny wilds a monster came,
That filled my soul with fear and shame;
The birds, forgetful of their mirth,
Drooped at the sight, and fell to earth;
When thus a sage addressed mine ear,
Himself unconscious of a fear:
'Whence all this terror and surprise,
Distracted looks and streaming eyes?
Far from the world and its affairs,
The joy it boasts, the pain it shares,
Surrender, without guile or art,
To God an undivided heart;
The savage form, so feared before,
Shall scare your trembling soul no more;
For, loathsome as the sight may be,
'Tis but the love of self you see.
Fix all your love on God alone,
Choose but his will, and hate your own:
No fear shall in your path be found,
The dreary waste shall bloom around,
And you, through all your happy days,
Shall bless his name, and sing his praise.'
Oh lovely solitude, how sweet
The silence of this calm retreat!
Here truth, the fair whom I pursue,
Gives all her beauty to my view;
The simple, unadorned display
Charms every pain and fear away.
O Truth, whom millions proudly slight;
O Truth, my treasure and delight;
Accept this tribute to thy name,
And this poor heart from which it came!
poem by William Cowper
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The Solitary Reaper
I behold him single,
walking on the street
and his face is covered
by the long black cloak
that the evening wind
bristles against.
From a distance he looks
like a ancient priest,
or somebody trying to
get the better
of the foggy raining weather.
Something sinister is in his step
and I have seen him before
and the knowledge of it,
brings the hair on my arms to life.
I greet him like a old friend
and he smiles at me
like regular passers on the street do
and his voice is part of the wind:
“I am not coming for you, yet.”
The moonlight glitters yellow
in a crescent shape in the sky
and falls on the sickle in his hand
and death walks by,
to take away the very pulse of life
somewhere nearby
and he’s in a hurry to be in time
before destiny’s clockwork reach its mark.
Down the street
I hear a young man sobbing
in a old white house
where all the lights
are burning a soft yellow
and just for a moment,
the solitary reaper hesitates
before unnoticed
he walks through the door.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The Ages of Man
Laid in my quiet bed, in study as I were,
I saw within my troubled head a heap of thoughts appear,
And every thought did show so lively in mine eyes,
That now I sigh'd, and then I smil'd, as cause of thought did rise.
I saw the little boy, in thought how oft that he
Did wish of God to scape the rod, a tall young man to be;
The young man eke, that feels his bones with pains oppress'd,
How he would be a rich old man, to live and lie at rest;
The rich old man, that sees his end draw on so sore,
How he would be a boy again, to live so much the more.
Whereat full oft I smil'd, to see how all these three,
From boy to man, from man to boy, would chop and change degree.
And musing thus, I think the case is very strange
That man from wealth, to live in woe, doth ever seek to change.
Thus thoughtful as I lay, I saw my wither'd skin,
How it doth show my dinted jaws, the flesh was worn so thin;
And eke my toothless chaps, the gates of my right way,
That opes and shuts as I do speak, do thus unto me say:
"Thy white and hoarish hairs, the messengers of age,
That show like lines of true belief that this life doth assuage,
Bids thee lay hand and feel them hanging on thy chin,
The which do write two ages past, the third now coming in.
Hang up, therefore, the bit of thy young wanton time,
And thou that therein beaten art, the happiest life define."
Whereat I sigh'd and said: "Farewell, my wonted joy,
Truss up thy pack and trudge from me to every little boy,
And tell them thus from me: their time most happy is,
If to their time they reason had to know the truth of this."
poem by Henry Howard
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