En.Citatepedia^®.ro

Dawgs of War

Comes the British bulldog first—solid as a log—
He’s so ugly in repose that he’s a handsome dog;
Full of mild benevolence as his years increase;
Silent as a china dog on the mantelpiece.
Rub his sides and point his nose,
Click your tongue and in he goes,
To the thick of Britain’s foes—
Enemies behind him close—
(
Silence for a while
).

Comes a very different dog—tell him at a glance.
Clipped and trimmed and frilled all round. Dandy dog of France.
(Always was a dandy dog, no matter what his age)
Now his every hair and frill is stiff as wire with rage.
Rub his sides and point his nose,
Click your tongue and in he goes,
While behind him France’s foes
Reel and surge and pack and close.
(
Silence for a while
.)

Next comes Belgium’s market dog—hard to realise.
Go-cart dog and barrow dog—he’s a great surprise.
Dog that never hurt a cat, did no person harm;
Friendly, kindly, round and fat as a “Johnny Darm.”
Rub his sides and point his nose,
Click your tongue and in he goes,
At the flank of Belgium’s foes
Who could not behind him close—
(
Silence for a while
).

Next comes Servia’s mongrel pup—mongrel dawgs can fight;
Up or down, or down or up, whether wrong or right.
He was mad the other day—he is mad today,
Hustling round and raising dust in his backyard way.
Rub his sides and point his nose,
Click your tongue and in he goes,
’Twixt the legs of Servia’s foes,
Biting tails and rearmost toes—
(
Silence for a while
.)

There are various terrier dawgs mixed up in the scrap,
Much too small for us to see, and too mad to yap.
Each one, on his frantic own—heard the row commence—
Tore with tooth and claw a hole in the backyard fence.
No one called, but in they go,
Dogs with many a nameless woe,
Tripping up their common foe—
(
Silence for a while
).

From the snows of Canada, dragging box and bale,
Comes the sledge-dog toiling on, sore-foot from the trail.
He’ll be useful in the trench, when the nose is blue—
Winter dog that knows the French and the English too.
Rub his sides and point his nose,
Click your tongue and in he goes,
At his father’s country’s foes,
And his mother’s country’s foes.
(
Silence for a while
.)

See, in sunny Southern France a dog that runs by sight,
Lean and yellow, sharp of nose, long of leg and light,
Silent and bloodthirsty, too; Distance in his eyes,
Leaping high to gain his view, the Kangaroo Dog flies!
Rub his sides and point his nose,
Click your tongue and up he goes,
Lands amongst his country’s foes—
And his country’s country’s foes;
While they sway and while they close—
(
Silence for a while
).

See across the early snow, far across the plain,
Where the clouds are grey and low and winter comes again;
By the sand-dune and the marsh—and forest black and dumb—
As dusky white as their winter’s night, the Russian wolf-hounds come!
(
Silence for a while
.)

poem by Henry Lawson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The mute singer

She cut out her tongue

So she could sing

Those unheard songs

sung

She cut out her tongue

So silently

She could unspeak herself

Free, from prison words

She cut out her tongue

So that her soul could catch the light

And let it run

Through her body transparent

Prism shining out

She cut out her tongue

To free her self

From her self

Completion

Knitted under the skin of silence

Flying unseen

Into unexplored horizons

Without

Mother

Country

Point of

Trace

She cut out her tongue

To see the eyes

Behind the face

yvette m smith sept 08

poem by Yvette Smith
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Ballade Of Modest Confession

My reading is extremely deep and wide;
And as our modern education goes—
Unique I think, and skilfully applied
To Art and Industry and Autres Choses
Through many years of scholarly repose.
But there is one thing where I disappoint
My numerous admirers (and my foes).
Painting on Vellum is my weakest point.

I ride superbly. When I say I 'ride'
The word's too feeble. I am one of those
That dominate a horse. It is my pride
To tame the fiercest with tremendous blows
Of heel and knee. The while my handling shows
Such lightness as a lady's. But Aroint
Thee! Human frailty with thy secret woes!
Painting on Vellum is my weakest point.

Painting on Vellum: not on silk or hide
Or ordinary Canvas: I suppose
No painter of the present day has tried
So many mediums with success, or knows
As well as I do how the subject grows
Beneath the hands of genius, that anoint
With balm. But I have something to disclose—
Painting on Vellum is my weakest point.

Envoi
Prince! do not let your Nose, your royal Nose,
Your large imperial Nose get out of Joint.
For though you cannot touch my golden Prose,
Painting on Vellum is my weakest point.

poem by Hilaire Belloc
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Report Of An Adjudged Case

Between Nose and Eyes a strange contest arose,
The spectacles set them unhappily wrong;
The point in dispute was, as all the world knows,
To which the said spectacles ought to belong.

So the Tongue was the Lawyer and argued the cause
With a great deal of skill, and a wig full of learning,
While chief baron Ear sat to balance the laws,
So famed for his talent in nicely discerning.

In behalf of the Nose, it will quickly appear,
And your lordship, he said, will undoubtedly find,
That the Nose has had spectacles always in wear,
Which amounts to possession time out of mind.

Then holding the spectacles up to the court, -
Your lordship observes they are made with a straddle,
As wide as the ridge of the Nose is, in short,
Designed to sit close to it, just like a saddle.

Again, would your lordship a moment suppose
('Tis a case that has happened and may be again),
That the visage or countenance had not a Nose,
Pray who would or who could wear spectacles then?

On the whole it appears, and my argument shows
With a reasoning the court will never condemn,
That the spectacles plainly were made for the Nose,
And the Nose was as plainly intended for them.

Then shifting his side, as a lawyer knows how,
He pleaded again in behalf of the Eyes,
But what were his arguments few people know,
For the court did not think they were equally wise.

So his lordship decreed, with a grave solemn tone,
Decisive and clear, without on if or but, -
That whenever the Nose put his spectacles on,
By daylight or candlelight - Eyes should be shut.

poem by William Cowper
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Who Are My Foes?

I keep my battle cries.
But who are my foes?
With fears I can't release.
But who are my foes?
I feel much threatened too.
But who are my foes?
And when I close my windows,
I bolt and lock all doors.

I frisk my shadows cast.
But who are my foes?
I analyze all night.
But who are my foes?
Even my pet cat believes,
A spy on it has planted fleas.
I get that look from it,
And...
Brush until it's feeling freed.

I shower keeping glasses on.
To catch all my foes.
And drip to dry when done.
I don't use towels.
And when I make a mess and ready,
To take out the trash...
I take my cat with me,
And we both wear masks.

I frisk my shadows cast.
But who are my foes?
I analyze all night.
But who are my foes?
Even my pet cat believes,
A spy on it has planted fleas.
I get that look from it,
And...
Brush until it's freed.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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O! What a nose!

People talk about a running nose
I'm talking about a long facial cargo
She’s got a nose longer than my longest toes
With a mission of being nosy as time goes

Please don’t get close
When she discloses
Her loud snoring doze
Don’t be like the heroes

Goodness gracious
O! What a nose!
Goodness gracious
What a precious nose pose!

Painted as red as a romantic rose
Standing long like my garden pipe hose
And as she sniffs, sneezes and exposes
I cannot help thinking of Pinocchio’s nose

Goodness gracious
O! What a nose!
Goodness gracious
Red and long when it snows

And this nose is nosy
She can smell a rat, cat or a bat
When you are getting cozy
In your one bedroom flat

O! What a nose!
In and out juice flows
And when she smells the air
They all cannot help but stare

Copyright 2008 - Sylvia Chidi

poem by Sylvia Chidi
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A freudian slip (who nose?)

I want to clear this matter up some way
And at the same time make my point

That love note I sent you the other day?
The one that got your nose all out of joint?

I think I simply typed too fast
And didn’t say what I meant to say

Not …“I like your huge, turnip nose”…
But “I like your cute turned up nose”

Was What I really meant to say

poem by David Whalen
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Turned-up nose

I want to clear this matter up some way
And at the same time make my point

That love note I sent you the other day?
The one that got your nose all out of joint?

I think I simply typed too fast
And didn’t say what I meant to say

Not …“I like your huge, turnip nose”…
But “I like your cute turned up nose”

Was What I really meant to say

poem by David Whalen
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Nose

No one cares for the nose

To go nose straight is the tao

If there were no eyes

You could see better with your nose

If there were no nose

you wouldnot distinguish the sweet from the bitter

And there would be no value judgements in the world

And it is the nose that keeps you hot in the cold

And that keeps you cold in Jakodabad

The nose is the vigilant customs officer

That does not allow any drug to your lungs

And the nose cannot be bribed

Oh Nose! the customs officer of the body

And the pivot of value judgement in the world

If that name thou love

Remain with us and teach the noseless world

That it must have a nose in this wartorn world

He who knows the greatness of nose

Surely goes to the realm of rose

In the life to come

Hurrah Let us compose hymns to nose

poem by Dr. Ramesh Chandra Mukhopadhyaya
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Be Glad Your Nose is on Your Face

Be glad your nose is on your face,
not pasted on some other place,
for if it were where it is not,
you might dislike your nose a lot.

Imagine if your precious nose
were sandwiched in between your toes,
that clearly would not be a treat,
for you'd be forced to smell your feet.

Your nose would be a source of dread
were it attached atop your head,
it soon would drive you to despair,
forever tickled by your hair.

Within your ear, your nose would be
an absolute catastrophe,
for when you were obliged to sneeze,
your brain would rattle from the breeze.

Your nose, instead, through thick and thin,
remains between your eyes and chin,
not pasted on some other place--
be glad your nose is on your face!

poem by Jack Prelutsky
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Pass On Calls

When the cock is truly booted out over snows
It croaks, pass on the calls, so did the cock
The down graded window of the eyes's sores
Retake the push, sliding on a running nose
The flue shaped its nose of rose garden
Phone calls, doubles it upon the Idol burden
And gummed it just the ears of the blood
And said, finish the old, the owed debt of abroad
Finish oops! Finish and furnish the gotten sense
The cock startled, the king had said
The school warrior on the anthill
It didn't learn that lesson point blank
It drowned along time ago, its lung full of water
It ended, the click at heart in springs

poem by Paul Mwenelupembe
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Backyard Brawl

Got a cut on my thigh, got a nail in my eye
And I'm bleedin' all over the wall
Got a barbed wire bat and a dude on the mat
Ain't getting up soon at all
Got a head full of rage and a belly full of hate
I'm the neighborhood legend that just can't wait
For the backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Don't matter who you are, don't matter what color
Brown or white'll do
But if you're yellow you'll be covered in red
A whole lotta black and blue
Jump off the trailer in a pile full o' guys
Scratching and kicking and pulverized
For the backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Only got six teeth but three of those
Are sharp enough to bite off your nose
At the backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
Another backyard brawl
Backyard brawl
[Spoken:]
You think you're so tough
You talkin' to me?
You're mine
Come on, let's go
Come on stitches...

song performed by by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In the Same Cell

(They are Tamils. I am a Sinhalese in same country called Sri Lanka.)

They murmur and exchange
In their own mother tongue
I was a dumb person
Because of the language
I talk
In my tongue
He reacts and learns
As he knows little bit
In the same cell of same act
Between the death and life
We passed time without a meaning.
Looks at me
Makes change and
Closes with loyalty
Clearing face with smiles

Thereafter
We
Composed words
With crippling time
Exchanging a lot
Among each other.

As mutes sometimes
Had to be with another's
Silence was the greatest tongue
Understood hearts to each other
Danger beckons untold secrets
Came out at the sleepless nights
Identifying the souls.
The image changed
He and I brought
We together drew a new picture
Point of the pen of language
Taking the colors of trust
While the time
We imprisoned in the camp
Called "Boossa Detention camp"

poem by Udaya R. Tennakoon
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Your Silence

I have spoken long enough
I have spoken well enough
Now let me be silent
And see how Silence speaks
Hear the words unspoken
For you could never speak
And whenever I asked you
All I could ever hear, was:
Your Silence…

Yes, that very Silence of yours
Which sucked all my life out
making me feel miserable
day in and day out
Still I kept holding on,
hoping on and hanging on…
If you could ever speak

Yet you never spoke up
Instead, offered me a challenge
A challenge to a broken heart?
A challenge to a defeated soul?
Oh! How Ruthless you could be…

And still you ever want me
To keep hearing your silence
And make some meaning of it all
I told you long before
Silence never works for me
I am a woman of words…
It might work well for you
So be it, my love…
If that is what you call ‘friendship’

Let you be silent
And me be too
And we can still remain ‘friends’
For if you speak
And I speak too
Who knows, One day
We might become foes…
And I would rather die
A Friend of yours
Than choose to be a Foe.

poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Open mouth

Open mouth
East west
North south,
Ears eyes
Nose tongue
Keep silence
Permission only
To the monk.

Nothing to hear
Nothing to see
Nothing to smell
Only feel
And tell.

You are only here
To make a tale
Out of this heaven
Out of this hell.

poem by Gajanan Mishra
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Lessons In Hunger

'Do you like me?'
I asked the blue blazer.
No answer.
Silence bounced out of his books.
Silence fell off his tongue
and sat between us
and clogged my throat.
It slaughtered my trust.
It tore cigarettes out of my mouth.
We exchanged blind words,
and I did not cry,
and I did not beg,
blackness lunged in my heart,
and something that had been good,
a sort of kindly oxygen,
turned into a gas oven.
Do you like me?
How absurd!
What's a question like that?
What's a silence like that?
And what am I hanging around for,
riddled with what his silence said?

poem by Anne Sexton
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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If Silence Breaks Its Silence

IF SILENCE BREAKS ITS SILENCE
Melvin Banggollay

The tail of silence riding with the wind
whispers echoes of rumor mongering
but when asked to accost its humming
Mute was his lips as if he knows nothing.

If silence will break its own silent beam
then lot of things could have been seen
Justice could have reign if eyes be keen
and tongue unafraid to tell what had been.

For fear of life, the ear of silence remain
to be deaf forever even it hears disdain,
The eyes that see is blind again and again
as lips close to shout for silence to reign.

Be brave to break the silence that reign
for truth to radiate justice that regain
Hope to those who sung victims pain
and torment to those that inflicts disdain.

Written when my father was wrongfully accused
of a crime of frustrated homicide that he never have done.

poem by Melvin Banggollay
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The sixth sense

Eyes are there to steer the way;
Ears are there to tell the way.
Nose to sense the danger, tongue
To select food and skin to feel heat.
I direct my eyes to see women,
Ears to hear them, nose to smell them,
Tongue to kiss them and skin to toss them.
Is it due to sixth sense or starvation?
18.03.2000, Palakkad

poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Silence

I awake to silence and in silence I sleep
Silence to silent me, I silently weep
Away in silence for silence to hear
The sorrow in between both mine ear.
I think in silence, I mediate in peace
Thinking peacefully in silence I cease
All the sorrow that embosoms me
All the silence, that silence be
Whatever silence is, for silence tis
My beauty, my desire, my Adonis

poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Sense of senses

If my feeling going nauseous
I’ll breathe the rain scent that fills my nose
Rather than the cold that kills me

If my breath going lost
I’ll taste the sweet promise that kisses my tongue
Rather than the ache than hungers me

If my tongue going tied
I’ll look at the bright smile that holds my eyes
Rather than the bitter that chokes me

If my eyes going blind
I’ll listen to the gentle sound that tickles my ears
Rather than the darkness that surrounds me

If my ears going deaf
I’ll feel the warm sun that touches my skin
Rather than the silence that shrinks me

poem by Maria Sudibyo
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Silence Is...

Silence is an absence
Silence is profound
Silence is a conversation
Being had without sound
Silence is an expression
One that cannot be heard
Silence cannot be spoken
Although it is a word
Silence is a presence
Of great nothingness
Silence can be something
And yet cease to exist
Silence can fill a room
And have no mass at all
Silence cannot be dropped, yet it can fall
Silence is a mystery
That will forever go unsolved
Silence is how every sound can swiftly be dissolved
Silence is the sound of rest
The only sound that can sound best
While other sounds can cause great pain
Silence is not the sound to blame
For Silence is what silence is
Something that is nothing
Nothing that exists

poem by Kyle.J Carruthers
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