On a Fork of Byron's
Like any other fork.—No mark you meet with
To point some psychological conceit with.
An ordinary fork. A fork to eat with.
No individuality of fashion:
No stamp of frenzy fine, or poet-passion;
An article in no respect Parnassian.
No muse “with ivy never sere” hath decked it:
In fact, it would be foolish to expect it.
I question if the muses recollect it.
A plain straightforward fork; yet interesting,
As to the world in general attesting
That poetizing hinges on digesting.
A fork not standing on its merits merely,
But, being Byron's, testifying clearly
That verse and victuals are related nearly.
Quite genuine; crest and all; a fork to swear by;
Some poet-stories doubtless hanging thereby,—
Associations such as gold can ne'er buy.
For 'twixt the fork and the divine afflatus
The links are perfect; there is no hiatus;
Fork, stomach, brain, pen,—all one apparatus.
So when the food that on the fork ascended
Grew into verse as with the brain it blended,
The fork wrote just as truly as the pen did.
For though the fork the earlier resource is,
Between the two no violent divorce is,—
I hold them to be correlated forces.
Perchance the unsuspected ministration
Of this same fork first set in circulation
The coinage of his rich imagination.
Perchance this very fork could give the clue to
What many of the famous thoughts were due to,
That now are part of me, and part of you too.
And if its prongs administered the fuel
That working duly unto brain-renewal
Kindled the thoughts that even yet fire you all,—
This very fork—(unless I quite astray be,
And you of unimpressionable clay be)—
A factor in your moral product may be.
And musing thus, does not this fork begin to you
To seem as consanguineously akin to you
As if the bard himself had stuck it into you?
'Tis ever thus: what Genius consecrateth
The nearest with the most remote collateth,
Till meanest use on highest issue waiteth.
This salad, now, in which the fork I'm pressing,
Wherein are all sweet savours coalescing—
What subtle shoot of genius efflorescing
Flowered in the flavour of so rich a blessing?
Is it that Byron's fork, some charm possessing,
Transmutes the—stop a bit—Who did the dressing?
poem by James Brunton Stephens
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Related quotes
The path leads one.
On my way in the path
When I met the first fork,
I took at random an arm [of the fork]
Which led me to the next fork,
From where taking an arm,
I met another and so on
Till I reached where I am now.
The path led me than I led myself.
06.02.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Fork To Take
I had pegged you as
protégé, adoptee,
someone I could save.
The last thing
I needed
was
another lover.
You call yourself
'an accident
looking
for a place
to happen.'
I call you
my sweet, my love,
not only
because you carry knives
for me
& want to beat up
all my
ex-husbands-
but because
you can laugh
at yourself
for wanting to.
We dream
of the baby
we will never have.
The little Jewish WASP
with golden blue eyes,
poems on the tip of his tongue.
your height, my hair,
& jokes that hit
their targets
on a slant.
He will never be
in the Social Register.
But will he know
which fork to take-
as you did
when you drove
off my road,
slyly taking the wrong fork
in order to stay
the night?
O you are sly,
my sweet wheat
looking for
a harvest.
Shall I reap you?
Shall I do to you
what the hurricane
does with the waving
grain?
Shall I thresh & bind you,
run barefoot
through your body
trying to stamp out
death?
Or shall I merely
let you
lift me up
like the wind spinning
an errant seed,
& let it
take me
where it will,
right fork,
wrong fork,
no fork
at all,
since we will take
the same path
through
the air
after all?
poem by Erica Jong
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The talk
There was a dialogue between two drunken men;
Look! It’s not my fork!
How can I eat this pork?
The glass is also not mine.
How can I dine?
The answer was:
You are a fool!
The fork is not the main tool.
Eat with the help of your hands,
Just as the flans.
Eat and drink!
Don’t be a fink!
The food and drinks are yours,
That is what everyone adores.
Larisa R (Odessa, Ukraine)
poem by Larisa Rzhepishevska
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Mysticism.
Uri Geller
bend me a fork
so’s I may
eat round corners.
For I will meet
On the corner of the street
A comely maid
With dainty feet
And midnight eyes
And raven hair
And if without a glance
She will by me pass
I’ll cry aloud
Alack!
Alas!
And without turning
the corner I
could fork her
in the ass.
poem by Frederick Boslough
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Furze and Bracken
The furze and bracken
is browned and a little battered.
The Michaelmas daisies
and brambles shine in the September sun.
A Painted Lady slowly
opens and closes its wings.
Every moment
is a fork in the road
and every fork
is always the same,
the choice between right and wrong.
And wrong is always
arrogating to oneself
things which do not belong.
And right
is always
following the Light.
poem by Brian Taylor
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For a smart material to be able to send out a more complex signal it needs to be nonlinear. If you hit a tuning fork twice as hard it will ring twice as loud but still at the same frequency. That's a linear response. If you hit a person twice as hard they're unlikely just to shout twice as loud. That property lets you learn more about the person than the tuning fork.
quote by Neil Gershenfeld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Fork In The Road
i have reached
the fork in the road,
now the choice,
both silent and grieving.
i cannot hold starlight
in aging hands,
i cannot turn the tide
with a glance or a wave.
i cannot stop the wars
with my body or my thoughts.
i cannot feed the hungry,
i can only share their hunger.
the snow is falling,
the winds almost cruel,
as the fire i built
dies down to embers...
who am i?
and what have i done?
i find i'm a part
of all that i've fought!
silent screams now echoes,
the low moans of the heart.
betrayed by my soul
between light and darkness,
my lips are moving...
but not even you
can hear the sounds they make!
the fork in the road,
just outside your door!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Things Do Not Seem To Be Them After A Careful Seeing
a spoon
and a fork and they seem to appear
with food on a silver platter
when we talk we talk like poets now
after years
a spoon is no longer just a spoon
and neither is the fork
and neither is the food the food that we
eat on the table
and neither is the silver platter a mere
silver platter as it seems to be
for a spoon may be me and i may also be
a tongue and i could be a tongue to your
fork, a protrusion that stabs me like a knife
and the silver platter could be our mind
a garden where we put every seed
and the table and the cloth that covers it
with leaves and flowers
myabe our worlds, covered and uncovered
with some intricate designs
this could be our world now. a world of poems
where everything is a roll of sensitive skin
a mind so fertile with its array of metaphors
and similes and
exaggerations, and these make us so happy
we tiptoe, we choose the word, we equate
every object to a meaning, we dance to a lot
of its nuances, and then we touch and then
we are so silent. we choose not to hurt.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The South Fork Boys and Their Dam
The boys of South Fork Country Club
Raise glasses to their health
And laud the speech of Carnegie,
His grand gospel of wealth.
Then breaks the dam and floods the homes
Of Johnstown's humbler ranks.
Two thousand and two hundred nine
Lie dead upon the banks.
The South Fork Fishing-Hunting Club,
A guilty brood of rooks,
Hear solace from ole Carnegie,
The patron saint of books:
'Our dam is breached, but who dares blame
'The fishing-hunting guild?
'Two thousand and FIVE hundred nine
'Libraries we shall build! '
South Carolina
The other day my neighbor has a dented bike
Second day he called me from intensive care
Says he needs a picture of the dented bike
For the evidence of what a wreck he had
Accident
Accident
Lift that fork, eat that snail
Garcon summoned, have a new cocktail
Lift that fork, eat that snail
Garcon summoned, have a new cocktail
Crash my bicycle
Crash my bicycle
In a big south carolina wreck
I crash my bicyle
Crash my bicycle
Crash my bicycle
In a big south carolina wreck
I crash my bicyle
And I won some damages and they were punitive
By which I mean the punishment was damaging
It crushed my head
It crushed my head
Garcon, wheres my drink?
Wreck!
Observe the front wheel spinning upside down
Wreck!
The red reflector fragments strewn around
Wreck!
The back wheels o is now a letter d
Wreck!
I was an i and now I am a v
Lift that fork, eat that snail
Garcon summoned, have a new cocktail
Lift that fork, eat that snail
Garcon summoned, have a new cocktail
Crash my bicycle
Crash my bicycle
In a big south carolina wreck
I crash my bicyle
Crash my bicycle
Crash my bicycle
In a big south carolina wreck
I crash my bicyle
If I had to do it all again, buy* bicycle
If I had to do it, I would crash my bicycle
Id crush my head
Collect the bread
Crash my bicycle
Move along folks
Push her back there, move along
Shows over, folks
Let him breathe, step lively
Move along folks
Push her back there, move along
Shows over, folks
Let him breathe, step lively
Fork (fork)
Snail (snail)
Garcon (garcon)
Cocktail (cocktail)
Fork (fork)
Snail (snail)
Garcon (garcon)
Cocktail (cocktail)
Move along folks
Push her back there, move along
Shows over, folks
Let him breathe, step lively
Move along folks
Push her back there, move along
Shows over, folks
Let him breathe, step lively
Move along folks
Push her back there, move along
Shows over, folks
Let him breathe, step lively
Move along folks
Push her back there, move along
Shows over, folks
Let him breathe, step lively
Move along folks
Push her back there, move along
Shows over, folks
Let him breathe, step lively
Move along folks
Push her back there, move along
Shows over, folks
Let him breathe, step lively
Move along folks
Push her back there, move along
Shows over, folks
Let him breathe, step lively
Move along folks
Push her back there, move along
Shows over, folks
Let him breathe, step lively
song performed by by They Might Be Giants
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Still I Walk
I walk this road alone, I fear
Route unknown but my end is clear
Still I walk with determined stride
No place to rest, no stars to guide
Another fork, more twists and turns
Each fork a test and lessons learned
Still I walk, thru sheer strength and will
Though my journey lies all uphill
How queer it is, this path I take
My shoes are worn, my feet do ache
Still I walk with unchanging gait
To meet the end, we all call fate
We all share such similar paths
To all an end by nature's wrath
Still I walk with unyeilding grit
Hope guides me, never shall I quit
From start to finish, from womb to rest
Cherish the Journey, for we all are blessed
Joseph Dixon
Who carved this shattered harp on my stone?
I died to you, no doubt. But how many harps and pianos
Wired I and tightened and disentangled for you,
Making them sweet again -- with tuning fork or without?
Oh well! A harp leaps out of the ear of a man, you say,
But whence the ear that orders the length of the strings
To a magic of numbers flying before your thought
Through a door that closes against your breathless wonder?
Is there no Ear round the ear of a man, that it senses
Through strings and columns of air the soul of sound?
I thrill as I call it a tuning fork that catches
The waves of mingled music and light from afar,
The antennae of Thought that listens through utmost space.
Surely the concord that ruled my spirit is proof
Of an Ear that tuned me, able to tune me over
And use me again if I am worthy to use.
poem by Edgar Lee Masters
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Objector
In line at lunch I cross my fork and spoon
to ward off complicity--the ordered life
our leaders have offered us. Thin as a knife,
our chance to live depends on such a sign
while others talk and The Pentagon from the moon
is bouncing exact commands: "Forget your faith;
be ready for whatever it takes to win: we face
annihilation unless all citizens get in line."
I bow and cross my fork and spoon: somewhere
other citizens more fearfully bow
in a place terrorized by their kind of oppressive state.
Our signs both mean, "You hostages over there
will never be slaughtered by my act." Our vows
cross: never to kill and call it fate.
poem by William Stafford
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Stay Peaceful
...and remember this,
You can't eat all the macaroni and cheese!
Someone else may want some too.
While the pan is still warm...
Make sure your fork is ready!
What does this mean?
Who knows!
I don't even like macaroni and cheese like that!
Especially if I have to sit and wait patiently,
For it to be passed!
I can use my fork for something else,
That sits on my plate!
How someone can take spoonful after spoonful,
And not be considerate of others...
Is beyond me!
Knowing there are others watching.
Others who could care less about this activity...
Unfolding with disgust right before their eyes!
I wonder what's going through their greedy minds? !
I wonder if they picture themselves...
Staying in a food line,
Waiting for bread and blocks of government cheese!
Standing on their feet...
Blistering in the Sun.
With their stomachs aching to be fed!
Aching to savor the taste of a hot meal.
I wonder!
Stay peaceful!
Someone has to!
'Look...
Are you going to pass that?
Or are you going to keep it and hoard it,
For yourself?
If there's any left to pass at all!
When you were offered a seat...
It was not intended that you eat all you can eat!
Before the rest of us get a taste of what's been served.
You have got some nerve...
And the guts the size of Wyoming! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Side The Riverbreak
Standing 'side the riverbreak,
watching water move like lightening,
flowing fast, white, narrow brook,
'tween the legs of the Douglas trees.
And these streams have curves so crooked,
subluxed....in serpentine,
'til they merge...become one river, and then -
it spirals to the riverbreak.....,
kissing the fork, seperating the surge.
And, there be majic, in the riverbreak;
its' speed and strength dictates the flow,
of white-capped ripple o'er deep-blue current.....,
where the principals copulate.
Stimulating....the force of the riverbreak;
no virgin surf, this channel, be;
must be the sight of the rapids front.....,
that excites, compels the serfeit fawning.
Ahhh, the rush of the riverbreak,
with the rage and softness of a woman,
spreading her majesty,
coursing, delivering,
'into the rise of the riverbreak;
the fork, its' presence, not be moved...
spreading the river,
like eagle's wings, or two young limbs,
thrusting, flowing.....fertilely,
against the fork, they call.... the riverbreak.
And, the climax be.....the confluence;
and the confluence....be unequivocal;
unequivocal...this liquid rush;
then silence...Sssssh... of quelling waters...
resume their course side the riverbreak
two streams quiet 'til they meet again.
poem by Frank James Ryan Jr.
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fork in the road...
standing still to hear
the leaves
haiku by Chenou Liu
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You don't need a silver fork to eat good food.
quote by Paul Prudhomme
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Is it progress if a cannibal uses a fork?
quote by Stanislaw Lec
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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If you come to a fork in the road, take it.
quote by Yogi Berra
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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