Licia Sonnets 47
Like Memnon's rock, touched with the rising sun
Which yields a sound and echoes forth a voice,
But when it's drowned in western seas is done,
And drowsy-like leaves off to make a noise;
So I, my love, enlightened with your shine,
A poet's skill within my soul I shroud,
Not rude like that which finer wits decline,
But such as Muses to the best allowed.
But when your figure and your shape is gone
I speechless am like as I was before;
Or if I write, my verse is filled with moan,
And blurred with tears by falling in such store
Then muse not, Licia, if my Muse be slack,
For when I wrote I did thy beauty lack.
poem by Giles Fletcher The Elder
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Related quotes
My Muse Is Free
I swim in the glimmers on the rivers muse
There I muse of love and love muse of me
In muse is ecstasy
my muse is free.
I lay by the brook, the muse's brook
And thirsty, I get up, to get a little drink
When I look, I see, I think
A beautiful Muse and my heart is shook
I dwell in a soul, a soulful muse
And to its harmony my soul withdrew
To the trumpets of muse the song of blue
My soul a muse, I always knew
I smell the odor, of muse's incense
In its torpor my body sleeps in my soul
And I smoke the smoke of muse intense
I laugh at myself amusingly droll
With my muse's nymphs we love in Hellas
Naked and free in the republic
Of beauty and art of love's Bellas
We love to we're entirely love sick.
My muse is free from the Devil's temptation
My Muse is free from God's judgment
My Muse is my only wordly nation
My Muse is a dream, I live, I lament
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Emell
This muse of love is like how to write a song,
This muse of care is like how to write a poem,
This muse of peace is like how to write a stroy,
This muse of joy is like how to write a book,
But, i am now delivered with the muse of your love!
Because, i now live in the land of your muse and,
You are called Emell.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Help Wanted
I am compelled, perhaps obsessed.
Would be a better choice of word.
My muse allows me little rest.
She is convinced that she know best
No matter how much I protest
She insists she has the right
To make me write by day and night.
I sometimes feel I am possessed
Although the idea seems absurd.
My judgement marred by lack of rest
I find reality is blurred.
I’m sure my muse abuses me
I’m tired of her tyranny.
I really think that it would be
Better if she left. Undeterred
She still insists that she knows best.
And acts as if she hasn’t heard.
That poets can dismiss their muse
When they are guilty of abuse.
I’m sick of being under stress
Although I would have much
preferred not to cause my muse distress
She pretended she misheard.
When I told her we were through
It was the only thing to do.
I did not like her attitude.
But now I am without a muse.
Although I have some aptitude
I must arrange some interviews
I will be careful when I choose
Some muse to fill the vacancy.
A muse that will not bully me.
Monday,17 October 2011
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Abruzzo's Voice!
The topography,
The act,
The art,
The muse,
The poem,
The poet,
Acquainted with the unique act of Abruzzo's voice!
Nut, try to appreciate its beauty;
And like the muse of sweet love,
But equally delicious to satisfy you! !
Love,
Superiority,
This red wine from your red valley!
But, with the 'Montepulciano Grape';
And, it is ideal for the accompaniment of your joy,
But, this dry red wine is with the muse of your work.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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1 Among 50
A few out of many,
But it was 1 among 50 as the muse wrote;
And like a lovely garden with the muse of love,
But the rain comes to water us all in peace.
Do exactly what you have in mind,
And do what is nice to respect my love;
But it was 1 among 50 as the muse wrote,
For the joy of this garden is like living in paradise!
Obey my voice and obey my love,
And like the lovely songs of the birds around;
For this garden is all that we have,
But it was 1 among 50 as the muse wrote!
And the true peace of the mind always comes with love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Write On
(clarke / sylvester / hicks)
Write on, even though theres no one listening to your songs
Write on
Shine on, get it together, let your light break through
Shine on, baby, shine on
Write on, sitting on your own, waiting for the phone
Come on, come on, come on
Write on, for your fame and fortune will follow you, coming on strong
Coming on strong
Dont feel bad cos the radio aint playing em
It wont be long til youre going out and slayin em
Shine on
Youre not the first, you wont be the last
To feel the frustration of a musical fast
Write on, baby, write on
Sing your rock and roll with a touch of soul
Ballads with feeling, send your audience reeling
Rock on, rock on
Find a man with a van, a back up band
Wholl give you a hand on your one night stand
Rock on, baby, rock on
Give em your licks, getting off on their kicks
Swayin in motion to a rhythmic potion
Rock on, baby, rock on
Music freaks and all those hustlers
Hangers on, trying to make a con
Rock on
Dont sign on the line til you know its all fine
Its your life baby, you got to give it time
Rock on, baby, rock on
Verse 1
Verse 3
Verse 4
song performed by by Hollies
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The One That Got Away!
I tried! I tried! I tried my best! The words I can't recall...
I know those words were truly blessed, they were incredible!
They came within a midnight dream! I'm here at 1 a.m.
My pleasant mood became extreme, 'I can't remember them! '
The dream began and she passed by, my Muse with words so wise...
At first, her beauty made me sigh, with smiles that filled my eyes!
I tried to write the poem down... I thought I caught each verse...
She spoke so fast I had to frown, things went from bad to worse!
When I woke up, some words remained, just fragments, nothing more,
Just phrases from the poem gained my Muse chose to outpour...
But then a haze dwelt in my mind... A scrabbling for the rest...
But finally I couldn't find the words that made me blessed!
Then anger flooded in my heart! A river full of rage...
Although I tried to make a start, I hadn't filled the page...
I prayed to God! 'Please help me, Lord! Don't let this poem fade! '
But silence fell, I stood ignored, forlorn, bereft, dismayed...
That's when I grabbed the negative and turned it all around!
I gave it all that I could give, new poems to astound!
I wrote all day, I wrote all night, a hundred poem's done!
Forget my Muse! I did all right! Boy, what a marathon!
Denis Martindale, copyright, November 2011.
poem by Denis Martindale
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Honourable Poet
Tender, render, end, deer, ten, net, den, rent;
The Honourable Poet is closer to you than ever!
And with the mind to write and to move on,
Because the beautiful flowers around are like the peace of love.
Chamber, amber, charm, arm, am, ham, car, bam, bear, bare, are, ear, crab;
And at a random with the sweet aroma of your muse! !
But be ready for my love in the morning.
Random, ran, and, Dan, an, no, do, on, man, mar, am, ram, dam, Mona, moan, roam;
And like the first one,
But the Honourable Poet is closer to you than ever.
On the right hand,
On the left hand,
On the right leg,
On the left leg,
On the right thigh,
On the left thigh,
And like a cake of bread day and night;
But she stood in front of him naked like a flying insect!
And a male goat came around to respect her muse.
Of the great piece of wisdom and a deep sense of respect for learned people like you,
And like the mind which writes to satisfy the muse of humanity;
But the Honourable Poet is closer to you than ever,
For this world is all about us to help shape things for the better.
Blink, link, pink, sink, mink, wink, chink, dink, jink, gink, think, fink;
At a random with the sweet aroma of your muse,
But this poem is like the fish of the sea.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Your Beauty Had....
A time to talk and of the time to write,
A time to read and a time to learn,
Your beauty is all over me!
For we almost look alike and you are what the muse brought to me.
Your beauty had taken me up so high!
And it has also taken my breath away;
In delight and in words,
And in calmly waters to move me about with the sweet muse of love.
I high level of friction on this love is like a cry of joy! !
And the sweet muse of your love is all that it takes;
But the shape of your naked body tells it all,
And like the words of a bard searching for the land of beautiful flowers.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The 7th Edition Of My Love
This poem is about the muse of your love,
But many will still wonder why?
Because i was in the bush last night and i saw your tears.
The dog became a god and the rat became a tar!
But war was very raw on your side;
And to leap for joy was like the peal of your muse.
I saw you tears yesterday,
But you can't repel the leper and come to me;
For the heavens know who i am,
But this poem will say it all.
This poem is about the muse of your love,
But what have they done to you my love? !
For i have seen the tears in your eyes.
I have now won the race and,
I will come and save you from this cold;
So put your clothes on without any clues on my muse,
For this era of your love is like the net over ten houses!
But i need a nap for you to use the pan on my stove.
The gel is now on your left leg,
And the dam is now visited by a mad man;
But a man at war is like the sorrows of your muse.
This is the 7th Edition of my love,
But i will come and save you from the heat!
And like shiny leaves with sharp points,
But try to abide in me and live with me in my abode.
Abreast yourself to the matters of love,
And leave your door ajar and let me meet Raja my friend;
For the anagram of my life is all about you,
Because Elvis lives in the land of your muse!
Append to my works to enhance your love,
But things around you are like the era of war!
So live up to the expectations of this poem,
And i will be there to save you with my sweet love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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All For One
Won't somebody hear my call?
Won't somebody hear my cry?
One for all,
All for one;
Be ready for the bottling of my muse.
Like father and son,
Like mother and daugther,
Hear me when i do speak.
Something for somebody,
Somebody for something;
My sweet muse is for you all,
Like a male lamb for each house.
One for all,
All for one;
Like a story from my sweet muse.
Won't somebody see my tears?
Won't somebody feel my pains?
All gave some,
Some gave all;
All for one and one for all!
Allowed to be wet,
Allowed to be strong;
All for one,
One for all.
To a single passage,
To a sweet muse;
The origin of the call out ones,
Like a sweet muse to your taste.
One for all,
All for one;
All Mushrooms are Fungi but,
Not all Fungi are Mushrooms.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Dvd
Diving tino your love with the violet light that muses!
Veronica my love;
But, try to download the sweet muse of my love to enhance your status.
On the riverside,
Along with the muse of the land of your joy! !
But, try to take along your DVD;
For, this muse of love is all that you need.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Sander
Brighten up your mind for a journey through 'Kukurumtumi'!
For the muse of love is about to bath you all over once again;
And i am blessed with your love tonight.
I was born somewhere and your love touched my heart,
But to you Sabder i will praise my muse of the love tonight;
For you do have the burning desire of love from 'Jasikan' and,
You are still very youthful and evergreen on this love that muses!
And just like a little bit of tenderness when the lights grow low.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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A Poet's Mind So Sweet
Easier said than done,
Of the pros and cons of life;
But you are financially numerated to buy the air.
No means no! Don't pester;
And yes means yes! Don't laugh;
But to enthuse with your muse matters to me like,
A poet's mind so sweet to the world.
About life and love, is it worth the trouble? !
Since, cartoonists are born and not made.
Rumour upon rumour and disaster upon disaster!
The King will mourn for the lost;
And like the frame of the mind to respect the poet.
Your beautiful jewels are the earth's own minerals,
And like a poet's mind shared by many to learn from;
But with the very muse of love so sweet all!
Of flour, honey and oil;
The writer will always write for many to learn from,
But i am naked in the eyes of many with my views.
A poet's mkind so sweet is like the muse of hope and,
Like the days of someone very useful at hand;
But the muse of life is always shared with the tune of love.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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We are not amused for M lady Mary Gordley
I cannot sleep the whole night through.
My muse will not allow me to
when she commands I must obey.
I wish she’d take a holiday.
She thinks that sleeping is a crime
she does not sleep so why should I.
A complete and utter waste of time.
Which I could better occupy
by sitting at my desk to write
instead of lazing in my bed.
I think she thinks she has the right.
She just ignores all I have said.
Some folks complain of writers block
whilst I have writers Diarrhoea
My muse would hide beneath a rock
if she could not supply ideas.
Which I must translate into verse
to demonstrate her eloquence
She views my fatigue as perverse;
of very little consequence.
An active muse can be a curse
I sometimes wish she’d stay away
To have no muse would be much worse
I just give in do it her way.
5-Jun-08
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Achieving Its Goal
Achieving its goal,
Over the lives of men and women in this town;
But they lack understanding and wisdom,
And certain things are allowed to take place for the truth!
Frome one year to another.
Relying,
Celebrated,
Actually;
Achieving its goal to satisfy your muse,
But they lack understanding and wisdom!
And like the phrase of love in the land of your muse.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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A Petition
To spring belongs the violet, and the blown
Spice of the roses let the summer own.
Grant me this favor, Muse--all else withhold--
That I may not write verse when I am old.
And yet I pray you, Muse, delay the time!
Be not too ready to deny me rhyme;
And when the hour strikes, as it must, dear Muse,
I beg you very gently break the news.
poem by Thomas Bailey Aldrich
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Remembering the future
The Greeks said, those great Muses
who civilise us, grace our dance of life,
were once, before they were nine,
just three; and before that,
only one was named: and she was, Memory.
Does that make poets just regurgitators
of what’s already been oft said -
and better, too, some would aver…?
No, it’s more subtle than that; ask a poet:
a poem that comes warm, hot, from the human heart
demands a summary birth; won’t hang around
while you go out to buy more toys and frills
to hang around the cot…
it is indeed, more like remembering:
as if you step into a timeless place
where all that’s needful is to remember
what the future poem shall, will, have said..
write it down; and maybe sleep on it;
when you wake, you may remember
two lines somewhere which you’d forgotten,
but know exactly where that is…
That Muse of memory will then decide
whether a poem that has a timeless birth,
may have a timeless life... or not...
How can a poet claim a poem as his, or hers,
when such a Muse? and yet, so close at hand?
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Echoes Of Love
(words & music by roberts - bachelor)
Though you are gone, I still wear your ring
Theyre playing the song we used to sing
Echoes of love, echoes of love
Are coming to me out of the past
The letters you wrote I treasure them so
And I hear your voice wherever I go
Echoes of love, echoes of love
Are coming to me out of the past
In the rustle of a breeze; in the patter of the rain
In the rushing of the seas, all I hear is your name
Come back my love and once you are near
Darling I know no more will I hear
Echoes of love, echoes of love
cause youll be with me right in my heart
Echoes of love, echoes of love
cause youll be with me right in my heart
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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My Cross
I wrote a poem to the moon
But no one noticed it;
Although I hoped that late or soon
Someone would praise a bit
Its purity and grace forlone,
Its beauty tulip-cool...
But as my poem died still-born,
I felt a fool.
I wrote a verse of vulgar trend
Spiced with an oath or two;
I tacked a snapper at the end
And called it Dan McGrew.
I spouted it to bar-room boys,
Full fifty years away;
Yet still with rude and ribald noise
It lives today.
'Tis bitter truth, but there you are-
That's how a name is made;
Write of a rose, a lark, a star,
You'll never make the grade.
But write of gutter and of grime,
Of pimp and prostitute,
The multitude will read your rhyme,
And pay to boot.
So what's the use to burn and bleed
And strive for beauty's sake?
No one your poetry will read,
Your heart will only break.
But set your song in vulgar pitch,
If rhyme you will not rue,
And make your heroine a bitch...
Like Lady Lou.
poem by Robert William Service
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