Bought Just For Fourteen Annas..
If antiquity can account even trivial things
Then I open my first trunk box
Put in my first school-slate
Ink-pen, music notebook, comb, mirror
Teen-age style of a goggles, a thakli-spindle
Little-torn my first pink nylex saree
My college photos, this and that all one by one
Until my memoir-plane is almost emptied..
But except one..
That holds wholesome fragrance
Of Mysore Sandal, Rexona, Hamam, Pears
Margo, Medimix, Chandrika, Lux, Lifebuoy
Johnson's, Dove e.t.c
Over a run of fortyfive years..
A soap box.. bought just for fourteen annas
Richly fragrant is its loyal antiquity
Like those branded ones
poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
The nations of antiquity rolled away in the current of ages, Israel alone remained one indestructible edifice of gray antiquity... preserved by an internal and marvelous power.
quote by Isaac Mayer Wise
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Mysore Royale!
Let me share my view about my city, Mysore
The Palace city, hi-tech and green, not a noisy galore
Ancient and Modern structures blend together
Making the city look richer and better
People from all over the world flock
To be part of the Dasara celebration
Eagerly witnessing the 'Jumbo Savari'- Elephant procession
Chamundi Hills is one destination you never miss
Mysore Sandalwood, Mysore Jasmine, Mysore pak, Mysore silk saree, Mysore peta
Just to name a few things, known worldwide, Unique to the land
Music, Dance, Sculptures, Food, Landscape, Flora and Fauna, list goes on
The simple lifestyle, simple people, friendly people are the aura
Royal in a true sense, rich in culture and resources
Land where River Cauvery nourishes and flourishes
Just a visit will enrich your life
Mysore is Uniquely beautiful
For me its beyond and above all this
Its my native place and my city
Go around the world, there is no place like this
Its truly a blessing to belong to such a land!
poem by Manjeshwari P MYSORE
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The greatest pain
History
Storage of down-
Trodden memory
Antiquity?
Weight
Added to life's
Forward push to
See
History
The greatest plane
Fly forever
Just depart
No looking back
But to reminisce
The progression
The window
Opportunity
poem by Jeff Rushton
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Some Questions For You This Morning
do you smile?
or have you forgotten how to smile to people
do you know that they too
are lonely and scared?
do you know what a hug means?
do you hug
the homeless ones?
you use things
no argument about that
you use people?
that can be a good question for you today
do you love yourself?
yes yourself too?
not just them in co-dependency
wash your face
with the gentleness of water in your hands
dove soap it
wipe your face and look at yourself in the mirror
comb your hair
spray perfume in your hair
the smell of lemon grass
you don't like it?
pick your choice
you have choices
you make decisions
please yourself
be free
and come to me
thus says the Lord your friend for a lifetime
beside you
as always
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
reside encircled
under fragrant sandal tree
the poisonous snakes
not giving up soothing trait
sandal confers love for them
tanka by S.D. Tiwari
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Margo Wants The Mustard
I watch her move up and down the beach, well
The fellows drool, but shes out of their reach, and
These are not a part of the scheme, but
Let them hope, and let them dream
So many dreams in the mind of the men, well
Come to life through a good one love
Margo walks in another place, well
Its in their minds, and its on her face
Some like it cool
Some like it hot
Some give a little
Some give a lot
Some wanna give everything that theyve got
Margo wants the mustard
Yeh, she needs a little spice
Margo wants the mustard
Then shell spread it on real light
Margo wants the mustard
Yeh, shell never ever stop
Margo wants the mustard
It will take her to the top
Shes only got to smile that way when
It lifts your heart, throws your troubles away, and
When she moves, well Ive got to say
This rhythm method goes a long, long way
Its in the bones, and its in the head
This precious thing has got to be fed, well
I shouldnt say, but it must be said
Its even better when its in your bed
Some like it cool
Some like it hot
Some give a little
Some give a lot
Some wanna give everything that theyve got
Margo wants the mustard
Yeh, she needs a little spice
Margo wants the mustard
Then shell spread it on real light
Margo wants the mustard
Shell never ever stop
Margo wants the mustard
It will take her to the top
(a wop bop a loo mop, a lop bom bom)
[classic es solo]
I cant explain what she motivates, but
Its all around, but its hard to relate
It must be close to heavenly bliss though
How I wish I could follow this and
Splashing out all over the place
Pour it all over the human race, yeh
I may be starting another sin, but
Sit right back, watch the fun begin
Some like it cool
Some like it hot
Some give a little
Some give a lot
Some wanna give everything that theyve got
Margo wants the mustard
Yeh, she needs a little spice
Margo wants the mustard
Then shell spread it on real light
Margo wants the mustard
Yeh, shell never ever stop
Margo wants the mustard
It will take her to the top
Margo wants the mustard
Yeh, she needs a little spice
Margo wants the mustard
Then shell spread it on real light
Margo wants the mustard
Yeh, shell never ever stop
Margo wants the mustard
It will take her to the top...
song performed by by 10 Cc
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
A Flower To Auroville Mother-78
Rangoon Creeper(Quisqualis indica)
A sudden sprout and you grow
Up my mind-walls so intent
Clamping my memoir to blow
To my vision a vista distant
In the childhood street mine
At the sixth porch opposite
White to pink to red blooms
Pendulous trumpets you there
Who's it? my curiosity asked
Fragrant with magical colours
Five lobed On hardy wood held
Elliptic leaves in huge bliss
Who's it? -you Rangoon creeper
Till now and always perennial
Golden and fresh in my memoir
Livening so nicely ornamental
poem by Indira Renganathan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Sonnet of Love
Skin of creamed alabaster
lips of cherry balm trees
she looked like a Godess from antiquity
her smile like a halo
and voice of a dove
she walked like an Angel a symbol of love
small birds sweet with music surrounded her grace
the air seemed to whisper her name in a wish
the sun tugged at clouds to stay out of the shade
flowers would bow as she passed by their way
her robes seemed to flutter they wanted to dance
her rythm and movement held life in a trance
beauties not earthlike it comes from above
and sings with all nature a sonnet of love.
poem by Charles M. Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Style
Style must not be underrated
Style is often overlooked
Style is never in the papers
I read it like an open book
Style
If you cant see the substance
Style shows how its organized
Style is looking for your money
Its in the way you paint your eyes
There is always a way
A way things are done
Ive been learning my abcs
I know what is 10, I know what is 1 in
Style is a naked look
Underneath your style
Style of a different place
Talking through your style
Even the way you hide it
Reveals the thing you hide
Your style may never cause a riot
Its still a style to have no style
There is always a way
To light up a lamp
Its been a crazy year all around
The check never came
I cant let it cramp my
Style is a world for sale
You cant buy this style
Style that you cant resist
You wont cramp my style
song performed by by Utopia
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Mirror mirror…
A mirror reflects all but lies.
Reflects the things
Everyone denies.
Reflects the way
You shaped yourself.
Reflects the things
Complex, simple, hidden and obvious.
Reflects the things
We have done in our lives.
Reflects the things
We don’t want to see.
But it has never reflected
Me.
In darkness and alone
I sit at the edge
Of icy cold black water.
Mirror mirror…
I sit their staring at no reflection
Thinking of the things I am,
Daughter, student, sister, lover.
But it does not define to me who I am.
I see all the things
I don’t want to see.
Perhaps than there is no “me”?
I do not exist in my reflections.
I can not find me in those titles.
Mirror mirror…
Perhaps then it is fact
Am I nothing more but that?
So should I satisfy with the things I see?
Is life’s lesson then that you should “just be”?
Is there nothing more then the endless time passing?
Mirror mirror…
Perhaps it is why it is never said
That a mirror holds an answer.
poem by Zarina Binda
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sheltered Memories
I did some traveling
A few years ago
I wanted to meet family
That I really didn’t know
Some lived in the same
Family home for years
Full of precious memories
From happiness to tears
I listened to stories
These folks had to tell
Treasured sweet memories
I saw my notebook swell
For these were the stories
That needed to pass
Down through generations
So questions were asked
I saw how they lived
A different life from mine
Heard tales of today
Many from another time
I smile as I see photos
Of family from the past
Photos shelter memories
That will forever last!
poem by Marilyn Lott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Gray Area
a gray area exists when the light dulls &
when it begins to tint this way
we run frantic, like the unluckiest chicken on the
farm,
who’s up next for a beheading-
like roaches scampering from a dry place to a damp one &
though the light is craved by many
the reality is that so many more live in the darkness
wishing, wanting & waiting
for a chance to walk into the gray
with that almost seemingly impossible notion that
the light on the other side
may be open to one more
occupant.
crossing through the gray area requires a better hand
than one is born with,
if one wasn’t born with the silver spoon-
it requires those things found necessary to survive
under the man’s pressing thumb
it requires money, ultimately &
in the disease ridden system
which breathes in dollar bills (for now)
in order to get it,
there are a series of steps perpetuated by the old money &
updated, supported & thrust upon the rest of us by the
new money-
so that if you stay in school &
if you do well in school &
if you apply to college &
you get into that college &
you don’t dropp out from that college &
you do well in that college &
you apply to a grad school, or a med school or a
law school &
you do get into that school &
you do well in that school &
you come out of that school all the better,
you are supposed to be well equipped to
get a job whose pay will correspond to all the years spent
going in & out of schools
keeping your brain to the metal &
putting anything else in your life on hold
until you are ready to make that paper in the
“real world.”
but when all your academic struggle is over,
you still have all the debt you accrued while
dreaming
that one day you’d be able to pay it all off,
that one day,
you’d be able to walk through that gray area
from dark to light &
thrive,
like the good capitalist empire has
promised-
in fact, if you have traveled from other countries
believing all the images & stories
from exported american films,
you are in even more dire straits,
for the inability to get a job &
pay off all the debt,
might mean dragging yourself back to your
native country,
now, with a debt the size of jupiter &
nothing but disappointment in the eyes of
all the people who put their beliefs in you
when you decided to move to
“the land of the free.”
staring in the mirror
said individual finds themselves stating out loud
(as if anyone was listening)
that “had i known things were going to end up like this,
i never would have tried so hard.”
poem by Andrew Delapruch
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Doors
A door may open
Or it may close
It may be wooden
Or steel, I suppose.
A door keeps us in
Or may lock us out,
A door may be silent
Or with noise, may shout.
Doors are for safety,
Our protection -
May rot in antiquity
Lose purpose and mission.
A door like chance,
Can open a dream.
A door like romance,
Can cause some steam.
But there is one door
With its key - never part,
Freely open, evermore -
The door of your heart!
Cynthia BuhainBaello
February 19,2012
poem by Cynthia Buhain-Baello
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A little skill in antiquity inclines a man to Popery.
quote by Thomas Fuller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
To appreciate present conditions, collate them with those of antiquity.
quote by Basil Bunting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
It is an unscrupulous intellect that does not pay to antiquity its due reverence.
quote by Desiderius Erasmus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Calmly We Walk Through This April's Day
Calmly we walk through this April's day,
Metropolitan poetry here and there,
In the park sit pauper and rentier,
The screaming children, the motor-car
Fugitive about us, running away,
Between the worker and the millionaire
Number provides all distances,
It is Nineteen Thirty-Seven now,
Many great dears are taken away,
What will become of you and me
(This is the school in which we learn...)
Besides the photo and the memory?
(...that time is the fire in which we burn.)
(This is the school in which we learn...)
What is the self amid this blaze?
What am I now that I was then
Which I shall suffer and act again,
The theodicy I wrote in my high school days
Restored all life from infancy,
The children shouting are bright as they run
(This is the school in which they learn . . .)
Ravished entirely in their passing play!
(...that time is the fire in which they burn.)
Avid its rush, that reeling blaze!
Where is my father and Eleanor?
Not where are they now, dead seven years,
But what they were then?
No more? No more?
From Nineteen-Fourteen to the present day,
Bert Spira and Rhoda consume, consume
Not where they are now (where are they now?)
But what they were then, both beautiful;
Each minute bursts in the burning room,
The great globe reels in the solar fire,
Spinning the trivial and unique away.
(How all things flash! How all things flare!)
What am I now that I was then?
May memory restore again and again
The smallest color of the smallest day:
Time is the school in which we learn,
Time is the fire in which we burn.
poem by Delmore Schwartz
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
First Day
New shoes and new uniforms were bought
The slate and books were brought
I was happy in going to the school
As I thought it would be so cool
Hearing this my neighbour families exhausted in relief
Because it was something harder for their belief
I said I would neither cry nor shout
And told them not to have any doubt
I said for me going to the school was casual
But, on reaching the school I found the place unusual
After seeing the teacher coming my near
I started sobbing and screaming in fear
poem by Krishna Kumar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Sonnet 62: Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye
Sin of self-love possesseth all mine eye,
And all my soul, and all my every part;
And for this sin there is no remedy,
It is so grounded inward in my heart.
Methinks no face so gracious is as mine,
No shape so true, no truth of such account;
And for my self mine own worth do define,
As I all other in all worths surmount.
But when my glass shows me myself indeed
Beated and chapped with tanned antiquity,
Mine own self-love quite contrary I read;
Self so self-loving were iniquity.
'Tis thee, myself, that for my self I praise,
Painting my age with beauty of thy days.
poem by William Shakespeare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!