Pellmell Morning
Woke up with the crow
Crow flew away uncaged
A pell-mell morning, know not how
Like that crow to fly freed
Pell-mell chores, pell-mell errands
Bound and bowed to the pell-mell duties
Pell-mell rise, pell-mell bath, pell-mell pooja
Pell-mell cooking break-fasting on grumbles others'
Running faster after the sun
Soused in sweat a hurry-burry fun
Pell-mell hubbub to school and office wishing
Doubled my eyes and limbs added on my back
Awaiting attention my in-laws
Pain in the neck, poking in or breaking away
My significant maidservant
Very much purposely the dying gas cylinder
More ruthlessly the electricity cut off
Mixie, grinder, microwave, all reposing
Pell-mell jiggles, pell-mell morning, agree?
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Related quotes
Pell grants are the foundation of Federal student aid. As someone who attended college with the help of Pell grants and as chairman of the Pell Grant Caucus, I know how important they are for our Nation's low-income students.
quote by Ric Keller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Daybreak
Housed street
Breaking the day through a window-rift
Garden aroma hushing in waking up the mind
Lazy-hazy mood deterged to rise from grey dip
Pinky blossoms streaking in breezy comfort
Fluttering crowing upping to starry scattering
Bidding bye, bye stars and electric fluorescence
Paper-man, milk-man on pell-mell cycling
Out comes my soul to the porch
Not to the farther sun orangy
But to the Sarakondrai(Cassia fistula) nigher
Her chromatic golden foliage blooming
My aesthete to her aesthete wishing
Good morning
poem by Indira Renganathan
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Truths of My Life
No one is my enemy;
My sins and blunders cause my woes;
My iniquities turn my foes;
I blame myself squarely.
No one is my friend indeed;
Most people are mere actors good;
Never expect their help, I should;
They live in utter greed.
No one is my role-model;
I see just people imperfect;
And everyone has some defect;
The world is in pell-mell.
So, I must be just myself;
But let me try to be better;
Let me be good a trend-setter;
Let me not be for pelf.
Copyright by Dr John Celes 10-13-2005
poem by John Celes
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Sonnet LXVII : The Landmark
Was that the landmark? What,—the foolish well
Whose wave, low down, I did not stoop to drink,
But sat and flung the pebbles from its brink
In sport to send its imaged skies pell-mell,
(And mine own image, had I noted well!)—
Was that my point of turning?—I had thought
The stations of my course should rise unsought,
As altar-stone or ensigned citadel.
But lo! the path is missed, I must go back,
And thirst to drink when next I reach the spring
Which once I stained, which since may have grown black.
Yet though no light be left nor bird now sing
As here I turn, I'll thank God, hastening,
That the same goal is still on the same track.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Worldly Place
Even in a palace, life may be led well!
So spake the imperial sage, purest of men,
Marcus Aurelius. But the stifling den
Of common life, where, crowded up pell-mell,
Our freedom for a little bread we sell,
And drudge under some foolish master's ken
Who rates us if we peer outside our pen--
Match'd with a palace, is not this a hell?
Even in a palace! On his truth sincere,
Who spoke these words, no shadow ever came;
And when my ill-school'd spirit is aflame
Some nobler, ampler stage of life to win,
I'll stop, and say: "There were no succour here!
The aids to noble life are all within."
poem by Matthew Arnold from Sonnets (1867)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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In Laughter Live
Each one in turn tests life’s allotted cell,
base line from which wills strive to win wide world.
On each Chance, Time, crime's partners, cast fell spell
churn Fortune’s tides, rides so diversely swirled.
What if we seem to prosper for a spell,
do well from womb - too soon in tomb we’re curled,
and what came first, the chicken or its shell?
Oft, final ends surprise, by Time unfurled.
What hope of Heaven if there be no Hell?
We ask, “Could God exist? ” as swift we whirl
across bane bridge Coincidence pell-mell
haphazardly casts on life’s vain pain pearl.
Make every moment matter, dark expel,
in laughter live until death's tocsin knell.
7 May 1989 latest revision 15 May 2009
robi03_0252_robi03_0000 SXX_CDZ
for previous version see below
IIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
In Laughter Live
Each one of us has his allotted cell,
a base from which to conquer all the world.
On each do Chance and Time cast secret spell
on Fortune’s tide are all diversely swirled.
What if we seem to prosper for a spell,
do well from womb - too soon in tomb we’re curled,
and what came first, the chicken or its shell?
Oft, final ends surprise, by Time unfurled.
What hope of Heaven if there be no Hell?
We ask, « Does God exist? » as we are whirled
across the bridge Coincidence pell-mell,
haphazardly light throws light on life’s pearl.
Make every moment matter, dark expel,
in laughter live until the final knell!
7 May 1989
poem by Jonathan Robin
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An Easy Goin' Feller
Ther' ain't no use in all this strife,
An' hurryin', pell-mell, right thro' life.
I don't believe in goin' too fast
To see what kind o' road you've passed.
It ain't no mortal kind o' good,
'N' I would n't hurry ef I could.
I like to jest go joggin' 'long,
To limber up my soul with song;
To stop awhile 'n' chat the men,
'N' drink some cider now an' then.
Do' want no boss a-standin' by
To see me work; I allus try
To do my dooty right straight up,
An' earn what fills my plate an' cup.
An' ez fur boss, I'll be my own,
I like to jest be let alone,
To plough my strip an' tend my bees,
An' do jest like I doggoned please.
My head's all right, an' my heart's meller,
But I'm a easy-goin' feller.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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The Alabaster Cave ~ A Villanelle
Inside the belly of the whale
He left her to construct her fate
A conduct far beyond the pale
A darkness like the pit of hell
She slipped and tumbled upside down
Inside the belly of the whale
Skeletal hands with sharp toenails
That clung to alabaster walls
And onyx wing-beats flapped pell-mell
The mousy guano rained and fell
Laying eggs inside her hair
Inside the belly of the whale!
She looked to hide to no avail
He'd plowed ahead and left her there
A conduct far beyond the pale
No handholds, twas like reading Braille
He'd doused the green light lamp telltales
Inside the belly of the whale
A conduct far beyond the pale
poem by Sara Fielder
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Nuclear Leak - March 1992 Current Version
Cloud grey, faces red.
St. Petersburg incident:
Chernobyl ahead.
One station's see_page
power grid widow window
many mens' weep_age.
Radiation peak
countered by helplessness, pique,
and bluff double-speak.
Philosophical
fall out of bounds, boundaries
hurry can leap-frog
eye so topical
currents hemispherical
icy, tropical,
leucemic blood cell
round the bend and pole to pole
mutations pell-mell
ionized rainfall
does not distinguish between
rich and poor painful
combat quixotic,
careless then hairless dropp outs
cause idiotic
Access restrictive,
fictive disinformation
vasoconstrictive.
Radioa ctive
cement seals sentimental
half-lives contractive.
Congenital flaws,
degenerative dermal
cancelllation clause.
Initial version first verse only
poem by Jonathan Robin
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Elegy on a London Jobber
Around the pristine walls of neon glass
the London jobber posts by pillared cell, -
to take a turn, Old Boy, to buy or sell.
He shares his pitch with others of his class,
and pitches shares while brokers pell-mell pass, -
marks red to buttons blue as green as grass.
Bell rings. He takes the call which spells shell’s knell,
then calls the take, fulfilling function well, -
tied to the Old School system, - silly farce!
Too many heads swell, barter gold for brass.
Though sun still shines, most squander hay - their bell
will toll, and toll-free shall machines excel,
matchless in matching bargains to surpass
those who for short hours, for fat pay, alas,
play both sides of the coin, bulls, bears, harass,
between fear, greed, prey – arbitrage cartel.
Hammered – Fate prepares a fond farewell
for all who take for granted “vie est belle! ”
poem by Jonathan Robin
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A Youth's Suicide
He handed his life a poisoned draught,
With a scornful smile and a cold, cold glance,
And the merry bystanders loudly laughed
(For the rollicking world was gay!).
He thought she knew not the juice, perchance;
But her tears fell down to her sobbing lips
While the merry-makers turned to the dance
(The world was mocking fate that day!).
To his life he kissed his finger-tips:
'Drink deep the beaker, and so farewell!'
Then slowly the poisoned draught she sips
(How they laugh at her meek dismay!).
He sprang to her arm, which loosely fell,
Crying: 'No! not yet that dire eclipse!'
Now loud laughed the dancers, and whirled pell-mell
(While the echoes hurried away!).
The mad world clustered, it seemed, around.
'Farewell!' she sighed, sinking; then from afar
Flowed the pealing laughter and wassail's sound
(For the dead the world will not stay!).
poem by Rose Hawthorne Lathrop
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Caccia
ONCE, deep in thought, I, passing 'neath some trees,
Beheld a troop of maidens gathering flowers;
One cried: 'Ah look'; another: 'Nay, see these,'
'What hast thou there? ' 'I doubt not lily-showers.'
'And here, I trow, are violets blue.'
A rose — woe's me, a thorn hath pricked my finger through! '
'Alas, alas! '
What's that in the grass? '
'A cricket.' 'Make haste,
Here are salads to taste.'
'No, no! '
'But it's so.'
97 'Thee and thee I will show
Where the mushrooms do grow:
And this is the way
For the wild-thyme spray.'
'Come homewards, it darkeneth and soon it will rain,
It lightens, it thunders, hark! vespers again! '
'But it's early still! '
'Lend an ear if you will.'
'The nightingale, I'll be bound.'
'I hear a louder sound.'
' 'Tis strange to me.'
'O what can it be? '
'Where, where? '
'Out there? '
'In the bushes.' Tic, toc.
Ever nearer the knock,
Till a snake crept out:
Then they turned about
In a wild affright:
'Ah me, sorry plight! '
'Alack aday! '
'Flee away! '
Then the rain poured down forlorn,
One slipped, another fell,
One trod upon a thorn,
Bossoms were spilled pell-mell,
Some cast aside, some left to lie,
Most fortunate who could swiftest fly:
And while I watched what they would do
The rain-shower drenched me through and through.
poem by Franco Sacchetti
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Post-independent India
A populous country neglected stays!
Decades six have sped off since freedom -days;
Democracy remains its vital base;
Integrity's un-reinforced always!
A billion people's talent stays as such;
No leader has given the Midas touch;
Ignored is health of common people much;
Their future lies in doldrums, none to vouch!
Across the sacred soil, run rivers great;
Yet, internecine war-fares don't abate;
A few divide citizens by speech-hate!
A love of fellow-men misses till date!
Despite the many problems, India has done well;
Good leaders must soon toll the progress-bell;
A wizened heart must remove all pell-mell;
Heaven should come alive amidst the hell!
Let patriotic feelings afill hearts;
Let love replace the hatred/pride like darts;
Let peace prevail in every state, all parts;
Let loving people live longer like arts!
Jai Hind! Jai Bharat!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 19-08-12
poem by John Celes
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The secret is to always let the other man have your way.
quote by Claiborne Pell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In politics, you must let the other person have your way.
quote by Claiborne Pell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Friends to Virtue
"The gods whom we all belong to are the gods we belong to whether we will or no."
Into the theatre they came—
"Motley 's the only wear!"
Children of poverty, of shame,
Of folly, of despair.
Elbowing rudely, Jill and Jack,
A nearer view to win,
Youths, men, and women, white and black,
Pell-mell, they jostled in.
A wretched place of poor resort,
Far from the world polite,
Few pennies bought the meagre sport
So fruitful of delight,
And gazing there, each brutish face,
The godlike stamp resigned,
A tablet seemed whereon disgrace
Had written thoughts unkind.
"And what," I mused, "will now be fed
To cater to their mood
Who, as their looks bespeak, have said,—
'Evil, be thou my good'?
"Order will surely be reversed,
Judgment will disappear,
The tricks of knaves will be rehearsed
To catch the plaudits here!"
Yet as I watched the varied throng,
My theories took flight,
For, lo, they still condemned the wrong,
They still approved the right!
The "villain" by his better art
Surprised from them no praise;
They frankly took the hero's part,
Awarding him the bays;
For they, unlike the wise of earth,
Slight tribute paid to skill,—
Anhungered for a higher worth,
Lovers of virtue still!
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The secret of dealing successfully with a child is not to be its parent.
quote by Mell Lazzarus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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People who leave Washington do so by way of the box... ballet or coffin.
quote by Claiborne Pell
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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He that takes all his geir fra himself, and gives it to his bairns, it were weil ward to take a mell and knock out his hairns.
Blur
Storms of perfume lift from honeysuckle,
lilac, clover—and drift across the threshold,
outside reclaiming inside as its home.
Warm days whirl in a bright unnumberable blur,
a cup—a grail brimmed with delirium
and humbling boredom both. I was a boy,
I thought I'd always be a boy, pell—mell,
mean, and gaily murderous one moment
as I decapitated daises with a stick,
then overcome with summer's opium,
numb—slumberous. I thought I'd always be a boy,
each day its own millennium, each
one thousand years of daylight ending in
the night watch, summer's pervigilium,
which I could never keep because by sunset
I was an old man. I was Methuselah,
the oldest man in the holy book. I drowsed.
I nodded, slept—and without my watching, the world,
whose permanence I doubted, returned again,
bluebell and blue jay, speedwell and cardinal
still there when the light swept back,
and so was I, which I had also doubted.
I understood with horror then with joy,
dubious and luminous joy: it simply spins.
It doesn't need my feet to make it turn.
It doesn't even need my eyes to watch it,
and I, though a latecomer to its surface, I'd
be leaving early. It was my duty to stay awake
and sing if I could keep my mind on singing,
not extinction, as blurred green summer, lifted
to its apex, succumbed to gravity and fell
to autumn, Ilium, and ashes. In joy
we are our own uncomprehending mourners,
and more than joy I longed for understanding
and more than understanding I longed for joy
poem by Andrew Hudgins
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