Rime 34
Love, do you know why your fair mother gave you
These arrows to your hands, and bound your eyes?
That you may shoot the first wound and break
The heart of this or any faithful lover;
And tied the blindfold, so you cannot see
The dreadful cruelty you have inflicted
So that it will not let you suffer pity,
Or even moderate your impious furor.
For, if you saw one of my dreadful wounds,
You would not be a god, but a wild beast,
Or it might make you tender, or less fierce
I would not wish you to come face to face
With the rays of my sun; my wound would seem,
Next to his greatness, small and even light.
poem by Gaspara Stampa
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Idyll XXX
When Cypris saw Adonis,
In death already lying
With all his locks dishevelled,
And cheeks turned wan and ghastly,
She bade the Loves attendant
To bring the boar before her.
And lo, the winged ones, fleetly
They scoured through all the wild wood;
The wretched boar they tracked him,
And bound and doubly bound him.
One fixed on him a halter,
And dragged him on, a captive,
Another drave him onward,
And smote him with his arrows.
But terror-struck the beast came,
For much he feared Cythere.
To him spake Aphrodite, -
'Of wild beasts all the vilest,
This thigh, by thee was 't wounded?
Was 't thou that smote my lover?'
To her the beast made answer -
'I swear to thee, Cythere,
By thee, and by thy lover,
Yea, and by these my fetters,
And them that do pursue me, -
Thy lord, thy lovely lover
I never willed to wound him;
I saw him, like a statue,
And could not bide the burning,
Nay, for his thigh was naked,
And mad was I to kiss it,
And thus my tusk it harmed him.
Take these my tusks, O Cypris,
And break them, and chastise them,
For wherefore should I wear them,
These passionate defences?
If this doth not suffice thee,
Then cut my lips out also,
Why dared they try to kiss him?'
Then Cypris had compassion;
She bade the Loves attendant
To loose the bonds that bound him.
From that day her he follows,
And flees not to the wild wood
But joins the Loves, and always
He bears Love's flame unflinching.
poem by Theocritus
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Peace in War?
So you sharpen your knives
You also oil your guns
What is that grenade for?
I see, you have a jungle jacket,
How smart?
Tell me, would you heal the wounds?
The wounds,
That gape and stare at you,
The wounds that wouldn't let
A nap over your eyes.
Wounds that would hollow your heart,
Dripping bloody soiled hands
That would make your seeds
Sprout with fright to the wound?
Tell me,
Was it for peace?
Now agape. Why?
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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The Sad Shepherd's Passion of Love
O Gentle Love, ungentle for thy deed,
Thou makest my heart
A bloody mark
With piercing shot to bleed.
Shoot soft, sweet Love, for fear thou shoot amiss,
For fear too keen
Thy arrows been,
And hist the heart where my beloved is.
Too fair that fortune were, nor never I
Shall be so blest,
Among the rest,
That Love shall seize on her by sympathy.
Then since with Love my prayers bear no boot,
This doth remain
To cease my pain,
I take the wound, and die at Venus' foot.
poem by George Peele
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Son's Loss-Father's Own
Son's loss-Father's own
He looks at those eyes,
With eyes equally dry,
As though his son's presence in disguise,
Through the stony skins of the statue rise.
So many times the hopes pendulum hath struck the hour,
Yet the wound hath remained like a laurel's flower,
How long the matoid heart can wait?
And how long could it remain in mantensite state?
The site of his stone built son-to him ike a halidon;
And his grief here for no one to reckon;
How much can he to his son's statue felicitate?
This dreadful vacuum for no one to obliterate.
What more a father can do being a heart lazurus?
To whom the world and his own being seems impious!
poem by Sonnet Mondal
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Love, Hope, Desire, And Fear
...
And many there were hurt by that strong boy,
His name, they said, was Pleasure,
And near him stood, glorious beyond measure
Four Ladies who possess all empery
In earth and air and sea,
Nothing that lives from their award is free.
Their names will I declare to thee,
Love, Hope, Desire, and Fear,
And they the regents are
Of the four elements that frame the heart,
And each diversely exercised her art
By force or circumstance or sleight
To prove her dreadful might
Upon that poor domain.
Desire presented her [false] glass, and then
The spirit dwelling there
Was spellbound to embrace what seemed so fair
Within that magic mirror,
And dazed by that bright error,
It would have scorned the [shafts] of the avenger
And death, and penitence, and danger,
Had not then silent Fear
Touched with her palsying spear,
So that as if a frozen torrent
The blood was curdled in its current;
It dared not speak, even in look or motion,
But chained within itself its proud devotion.
Between Desire and Fear thou wert
A wretched thing, poor heart!
Sad was his life who bore thee in his breast,
Wild bird for that weak nest.
Till Love even from fierce Desire it bought,
And from the very wound of tender thought
Drew solace, and the pity of sweet eyes
Gave strength to bear those gentle agonies,
Surmount the loss, the terror, and the sorrow.
Then Hope approached, she who can borrow
For poor to-day, from rich tomorrow,
And Fear withdrew, as night when day
Descends upon the orient ray,
And after long and vain endurance
The poor heart woke to her assurance.
—At one birth these four were born
With the world’s forgotten morn,
And from Pleasure still they hold
All it circles, as of old.
When, as summer lures the swallow,
Pleasure lures the heart to follow--
O weak heart of little wit!
The fair hand that wounded it,
Seeking, like a panting hare,
Refuge in the lynx’s lair,
Love, Desire, Hope, and Fear,
Ever will be near.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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An insincere and evil friend is more to be feared than a wild beast a wild beast may wound your body, but an evil friend will wound your mind.
An insincere and evil friend is more to be feared than a wild beast; a wild beast may wound your body, but an evil friend will wound your mind.
Farewell, Fair Armida. A Song
Farewell, fair Armida, my joy and my grief!
In vain I have loved you, and hope no relief;
Undone by your virtue, too strict and severe,
Your eyes gave me love, and you gave me despair:
Now called by my honour, I seek with content
The fate which in pity you would not prevent:
To languish in love were to find, by delay,
A death that's more welcome the speediest way.
On seas and in battles, in bullets and fire,
The danger is less than in hopeless desire;
My death's wound you give me, though far off I bear
My fall from your sight—not to cost you a tear:
But if the kind flood on a wave should convey,
And under your window my body should lay,
The wound on my breast when you happen to see,
You'll say with a sigh—it was given by me.
poem by John Dryden
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Million Dollar Face
You were hungry for the lights,
You spent your nights with socialites
Youre a million-dollar baby
With the million dollar blues
And you only gave your time to people you could use
Million dollar face with million dollar grace
You got off to a real bad start
Million dollar face in million dollar lace
You wound with a two cent heart
You were mine for just a little while
But true to style and with a smile you said,
I have to leave you, baby, hold me one more time
cause I know where I should be and its a long hard climb
Million dollar face with million dollar grace
You got off to a real bad start
Million dollar face in million dollar lace
You wound with a two cent heart
Million dollar face with million dollar grace
You got off to a real bad start
Million dollar face in million dollar lace
You wound with a two cent heart
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To Ianthe
I love thee, Baby! for thine own sweet sake;
Those azure eyes, that faintly dimpled cheek,
Thy tender frame, so eloquently weak,
Love in the sternest heart of hate might wake;
But more when o'er thy fitful slumber bending
Thy mother folds thee to her wakeful heart,
Whilst love and pity, in her glances blending,
All that thy passive eyes can feel impart:
More, when some feeble lineaments of her,
Who bore thy weight beneath her spotless bosom,
As with deep love I read thy face, recur,--
More dear art thou, O fair and fragile blossom;
Dearest when most thy tender traits express
The image of thy mother’s loveliness.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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The Ape
An Ape is but a trivial beast,
Men count it light and vain;
But I would let them have their thoughts,
To have my Ape again.
To love a beast in any sort
Is no great sign of grace;
But I have loved a flouting Ape's
'Bove any lady's face.
I have known the power of two fair eyes,
In smile or else in glance,
And how (for I a lover was)
They make the spirits dance;
But I would give two hundred smiles
Of them that fairest be,
For one look of my staring Ape
That used to stare on me.
This beast, this Ape, it had a face-
If face it might be styled-
Sometimes it was a staring Ape,
Sometimes a beauteous child-
A Negro flat-a Pagod squat,
Cast in a Chinese mould-
And then it was a Cherub's face
Made of the beaten gold!
But Time, that's meddling, meddling still,
And always altering things-
And what's already at the best
To alteration brings,
That turns the sweetest buds to flowers,
And chops and changes toys,
That breaks up dreams, and parts old friends,
And still commutes our joys-
Has changed away my Ape at last
And in its place conveyed,
Thinking therewith to cheat my sight,
A fresh and blooming maid!
And fair to sight is she-and still
Each day doth sightlier grow,
Upon the ruins of the Ape,
My ancient playfellow!
The tale of Sphinx, and Theban jests
I true in me perceive;
I suffer riddles; death from dark
Enigmas I receive:
Whilst a hid being I pursue,
That lurks in a new shape,
My darling in herself I miss,
And, in my ape, the ape.
1806.
poem by Charles Lamb
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Sonnet-Don't Be Cruel
You hit a snake right on its head and kill;
Don't torture hitting it along its length;
For cruelty to man and beast by will;
Is unforgivable in any strength.
How can one torture creatures that are live;
You shouldn't cause pain by Third Degree Methods;
His basic rights, no one can man deprive;
You kill but never wound and watch the Birds.
How can a man be thrilled by causing pain?
To watch with joy a man suffer is sin;
A cruel man must be given the cane;
A heartless soul can Heaven never win.
A cruel heart gets cruelty in turn;
And when he dies, no one will take his urn.
poem by John Celes
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Furor
[here comes the furor]
Kick the dust, wipe the crime from the main street
Await the coming of the lord
Hangin round with them low down and dirty
Bringing order from the boss
Whats the furor bout it all
Leave you pantin, bust your balls
Kicked around, messed about, get your hands dirty
On the killin floor
Im your furor
Im your furor, baby
[come on, yeah]
Friend of mine, cross the line to a new state
I can shake the law
Find a mine, gonna build me a new place
No knockin door to door
Im your furor
Im your furor, baby
Whats your furor
Im your furor
[yeah, yeah, yeah]
Bring on the furor [cmon]
[well] Im your furor
Whats your furor [baby]
Feel the furor
Im your furor baby
Im your furor
Whats your furor baby
Feel the furor
Youre my furor
Im your furor
Im your furor
song performed by by AC-DC
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Martha' Crucified.
Martha had this thing
about the Crucified.
The image, the cross,
the stretched out arms.
The one in the convent
school along by the chapel
always caught her eye.
Stood there staring.
Get a move on Martha,
the nun said. Don't gape so.
Or the image in the dining
room stuck up on the wall
above the abbess's table.
Painted on she thought.
Not the same. Her mother
had the one her mother
gave her on her deathbed.
Old wood and plaster.
The plaster peeling from
the hands of the Crucified.
Martha gaped at Him,
at His wounds, at the wound
in His side where the spear
went in. Forgive them for
they know not. They did so,
the bastards, she muttered,
putting her fingers on the wound
in the side. She had an ebony
rosary in her skirt pocket. Black
Christ on the small ebony cross.
She fingered in her pocket, said
the prayers, felt the stiff body
on the cross. Sometimes she
took it out and kissed it; the ebony
body, the head, the arms. Once
she had a cross around her neck,
silver, small, given by some old
codger. She felt it warm between
her small breasts. Lost it when she
took it off to wash and it slipped
down the plughole in the convent bog.
She knew her mother had this wooden
crucifix on her chest of drawers.
A dark wood, a fleshy plastered Christ,
nails through and hands and feet.
She kissed the hands when her mother
was out, her lips touching the smooth
plaster, the eyes closed, the feel of
smoothness on flesh. Not the real
Christ of course. Least not yet.
She'd wait her turn. The real thing.
See what death and Heaven bring.
poem by Terry Collett
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Flesh Wound
We flew over miles of ocean--be prepared.
I don't have the faintest notion who'll be there.
You underestimated; nobody sympathized.
I think you'll soon feel better once we get inside.
I see the door is open -- Why don't we walk right in?
Let's put our party hats on and let the fun begin!
We should have called and said that we were on our way;
Who would have ever guessed that you'd be so unreachable?
Just another flesh wound--another thorn in my side
Just another flesh wound--another wonder-cure that you tried
Just another flesh wound--another scratch on your hide
Just another flesh wound--another irritation you abide
You know the rumour's going that he was synthesized.
And if we had to dress, I wouldn't be surprised.
I say -- you're so outrageous -- you'll go to number one!
They'll have us both arrested for having too much fun.
Just another flesh wound--another scratch on your hide.
Just another flesh wound--another thorn in your side.
Just another flesh wound--another bruise on your pride.
Just another flesh wound--another paranoia that you hide.
And when she held her nose, she took an underdose.
It was nice to see her completely comatose.
You go first, you're completely debonair;
Let's go dutch -- it's only fair.
Just another flesh wound--another thorn in your side.
Just another flesh wound--a minor injury you dignified.
Just another flesh wound--another unsuccessful suicide.
Just another flesh wound--another curse that you ride.
song performed by by Robert Palmer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Lover Lover Lover
I asked my father,
I said, father change my name.
The one Im using now its covered up
With fear and filth and cowardice and shame.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
He said, I locked you in this body,
I meant it as a kind of trial.
You can use it for a weapon,
Or to make some woman smile.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
Then let me start again, I cried,
Please let me start again,
I want a face thats fair this time,
I want a spirit that is calm.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
I never never turned aside, he said,
I never walked away.
It was you who built the temple,
It was you who covered up my face.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
And may the spirit of this song,
May it rise up pure and free.
May it be a shield for you,
A shield against the enemy.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me,
Yes and lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover, lover come back to me.
song performed by by Leonard Cohen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Forgive Me For....... Ever Being Born
Oh I'm sorry
yes I'm sorry
that you gave the world me
that you even bore me
an ugly face that would break all glass simultaneously
even the ugliest of beast hides
and the fiercest beast cringe
'what an ugly soul' they say
I'm sorry
yes I'm sorry
that you ever bore me
its okay
you can hit me
mark me
you cant make my soul any uglier then it already is
yes I'm sorry
that you ever bore me
saw my horrendous face and soul
yes I'm sorry,
I am so sorry
forgive me for ever being born mother and father
poem by Alizia Sampson
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Sonnet XXXVI: Thou Purblind Boy
Cupid Conjured
Thou purblind boy, since thou hast been so slack
To wound her heart, whose eyes have wounded me,
And suffer'd her to glory in my wrack,
Thus to my aid I lastly conjure thee:
By hellish Styx, by which the Thund'rer swears,
By thy fair mother's unavoided power,
By Hecate's names, by Proserpine's sad tears
When she was rapt to the infernal bower,
By thine own loved Psyche, by the fires
Spent on thine alters flaming up to heav'n,
By all true lovers' sighs, vows, and desires,
By all the wounds that ever thou hast giv'n:
I conjure thee by all that I have nam'd
To make her love, or, Cupid, be thou damn'd.
poem by Michael Drayton
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Tied By The Wrists To A Pity Pit
Down, down feeling gagged and bound.
And tied by the wrists to a pity pit.
Convicted with an accepting addiction of it.
Stretched beyond imagination,
People wish they could elope with their hopes.
At the end of slipping twisting ropes...
And blowing in a wind that shifts.
Picked and tossed across a river like a pebble.
And not making a ripple or a dent.
Hoping that a simple skip will give them a lift.
But that lift to them aint been sent to benefit.
People feel today they are weak and feeble.
With down cast eyes in cracks and ruts.
And no one seems to want to give that up!
But...
Down, down feeling gagged and bound.
Tied by the wrists to a pity pit.
And...
Convicted with an accepting addiction of it.
Oh...
Down, down feeling gagged and bound.
And tied by the wrists to a pity pit.
And...
Convicted with an accepting addiction of it.
Existing everyday to be defeated and licked.
Down, down feeling gagged and bound.
And tied by the wrists to a pity pit.
Convicted with an accepting addiction of it.
Doo doo doo doo doo down down,
Doo doo doo down down...
And tied by the wrists to a pity pit.
Doo doo doo doo doo down down,
Doo doo doo down down...
And tied by the wrists to a pity pit.
Doo doo doo doo doo down down,
Doo doo doo down down...
And tied by the wrists to a pity pit.
As if convicted accepting of it.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Plainte Eternelle
The sun sinks down, the tremulous daylight dies.
(Down their long shafts the weary sunbeams glide.)
The white-winged ships drift with the falling tide,
Come back, my love, with pity in your eyes!
The tall white ships drift with the falling tide.
(Far, far away I hear the seamews' cries.)
Come back, my love, with pity in your eyes !
There is no room now in my heart for pride.
Come back, come back ! with pity in your eyes.
(The night is dark, the sea is fierce and wide.)
There is no room now in my heart for pride,
Though I become the scorn of all the wise.
I have no place now in my heart for pride.
(The moon and stars have fallen from the skies.)
Though I become the scorn of all the wise,
Thrust, if you will, sharp arrows in my side.
Let me become the scorn of all the wise.
(Out of the East I see the morning ride.)
Thrust, if you will, sharp arrows in my side,
Play with my tears and feed upon my sighs.
Wound me with swords, put arrows in my side.
(On the white sea the haze of noon-day lies.)
Play with my tears and feed upon my sighs,
But come, my love, before my heart has died.
Drink my salt tears and feed upon my sighs.
(Westward the evening goes with one red stride.)
Come back, my love, before my heart has died,
Down sinks the sun, the tremulous daylight dies.
Come back ! my love, before my heart has died.
(Out of the South I see the pale moon rise.)
Down sinks the sun, the tremulous daylight dies,
The white-winged ships drift with the falling tide.
poem by Lord Alfred Douglas
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