Sonnet 18
XVIII
Cyriack, whose Grandsire on the Royal Bench
Of Brittish Themis, with no mean applause
Pronounc't and in his volumes taught our Lawes,
Which others at their Barr so often wrench:
To day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
In mirth, that after no repenting drawes;
Let Euclid rest and Archimedes pause,
And what the Swede intend, and what the French.
To measure life, learn thou betimes, and know
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;
For other things mild Heav'n a time ordains,
And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
That with superfluous burden loads the day,
And when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.
poem by John Milton
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To Cyriack Skinner
Cyriack, whose grandsire on the royal bench
Of British Themis, with no mean applause,
Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws,
Which others at their bar so often wrench,
To-day deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
In mirth that after no repenting draws;
Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause,
And what the Swede intend, and what the French.
To measure life learn thou betimes, and know
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;
For other things mild Heaven a time ordains,
And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
That with superfluous burden loads the day,
And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.
poem by John Milton
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Cyriack, Whose Grandsire
Cyriack, whose grandsire on the royal bench
Of British Themis, with no mean applause,
Pronounced, and in his volumes taught, our laws,
Which others at their bar so often wrench,
Today deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
In mirth that after no repenting draws;
Let Euclid rest, and Archimedes pause,
And what the Swede intend, and what the French.
To measure life learn thou betimes, and know
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;
For other things mild Heaven a time ordains,
And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
That with superfluous burden loads the day,
And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.
poem by John Milton
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Sonnet 21
XXI
Cyriac, whose grandsire on the royal bench
Of British Themis, with no mean applause
Pronounced and in his volumes taught our laws,
Which others at their bar so often wrench;
Today deep thoughts resolve with me to drench
In mirth, that after no repenting draws;
Let Euclid rest and Archimedes pause,
And what the Swede intends, and what the French.
To measure life learn thou betimes, and know
Toward solid good what leads the nearest way;
For other things mild Heav'n a time ordains,
And disapproves that care, though wise in show,
That with superfluous burden loads the day,
And, when God sends a cheerful hour, refrains.
poem by John Milton
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I Dream of a Perfect School
I dream of much,
For my child,
They should be trained,
And not run wild.
They should learn French,
And Arabic too,
They should learn English,
It’s long overdue.
They should learn karate,
And self-defense,
Gymnastics, Soccer,
Not sit on a bench.
They should learn Art,
To sing and perform,
They should learn drama,
For this is the norm.
They should be taught,
A hobby or two,
Cooking, sewing,
Or how to cure flu.
They should learn Science,
An –ology or two,
Geology, Radiology,
Yes, any will do.
They should be taught,
All this and much more,
They should not simply,
Stare at the floor.
When asked the square root,
Of four sixty three,
Their heads should be high,
At the ripe age of three.
Rocket Science,
Math and Astronomy,
The state of the world,
It’s economy.
And, by SK,
They should know all this,
If it’s not done,
Something is amiss.
After all, am I,
Not doing my part?
I’m sending them daily,
Surely that’s a good start?
I dream of so much,
For my little one,
Now Principal, can you tell me,
When will it be done?
poem by Aisha Sherazi
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Verses Wrote on Her Death-Bed at Bath, to Her Husband in London
Thou, who dost all my worldly thoughts employ,
Thou pleasing source of all my earthly joy:
Thou tend'rest husband, and thou best of friends,
To thee this first, this last adieu I send.
At length the conqu'ror death asserts his right,
And will for ever veil me from thy sight.
He wooes me to him with a chearful grace;
And not one terror clouds his meagre face.
He promises a lasting rest from pain;
And shews that all life's fleeting joys are vain.
Th' eternal scenes of heav'n he sets in view,
And tells me that no other joys are true.
But love, fond love, would yet resist his pow'r;
Would fain awhile defer the parting hour:
He brings thy mourning image to my eyes,
And would obstruct my journey to the skies.
But say, thou dearest, thou unwearied friend;
Say, should'st thou grieve to see my sorrows end?
Thou know'st a painful pilgrimage I've past ;
And should'st thou grieve that rest is come at last?
Rather rejoice to see me shake off life,
And die as I have liv'd, thy faithful wife.
poem by Mary Monck
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Horace, Book I. Ode IX.
Seest thou yon mountain laden with deep snow,
The groves beneath their fleecy burden bow,
The streams congeal'd, forget to flow,
Come, thaw the cold, and lay a cheerful pile
Of fuel on the hearth;
Broach the best cask and make old winter smile
With seasonable mirth.
This be our part -- let Heaven dispose the rest;
If Jove command, the winds shall sleep,
That now wage war upon the foamy deep,
And gentle gales spring from the balmy west.
E'en let us shift to-morrow as we may,
When to-morrow's passed away,
We at least shall have to say,
We have lived another day;
Your auburn locks will soon be silver'd o'er,
Old age is at our heels, and youth returns no more.
poem by William Cowper
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When Gassy Thompson Struck It Rich
He paid a Swede twelve bits an hour
Just to invent a fancy style
To spread the celebration paint
So it would show at least a mile.
Some things they did I will not tell.
They're not quite proper for a rhyme.
But I will say Yim Yonson Swede
Did sure invent a sunflower time.
One thing they did that I can tell
And not offend the ladies here:—
They took a goat to Simp's Saloon
And made it take a bath in beer.
That ENTERprise took MANagement.
They broke a wash-tub in the fray.
But mister goat was bathed all right
And bar-keep Simp was, too, they say.
They wore girls' pink straw hats to church
And clucked like hens. They surely did.
They bought two HOtel frying pans
And in them down the mountain slid.
They went to Denver in good clothes,
And kept Burt's grill-room wide awake,
And cut about like jumping-jacks,
And ordered seven-dollar steak.
They had the waiters whirling round
Just sweeping up the smear and smash.
They tried to buy the State-house flag.
They showed the Janitor the cash.
And old Dan Tucker on a toot,
Or John Paul Jones before the breeze,
Or Indians eating fat fried dog,
Were not as happy babes as these.
One morn, in hills near Cripple-creek
With cheerful swears the two awoke.
The Swede had twenty cents, all right.
But Gassy Thompson was clean broke.
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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Superfluous
so not needed.. all of the confusion
conceited
why does my heart deceive me so
why is it so hard to know
just who my heart longs for
how can it be so hard to show
love, affection, compassion, and all the rest, leaving the ability to show no more
I can't seem to reconcile
with my feelings so that i know who 'she' is... who
when did thing become confusing and life vile
who do i say i love you to?
confusion is rampant and controls my life
this love it is not needed
my deceiving heart should not be heeded
yet my feelings are so profound
why does each one astound me?
I really don't need all of this
I really shouldn't desire a kiss
dating is a far off dream
and someone to hold a longing unfilled
o heart thou art superfluous
truly my heart is the great deceiver
it is not even satisfied by one true love....
I can't stand it any longer too much for, i long to caress
'you' but who is 'you' I can't say i love you to one... especially not three
o heart thou art superfluous
poem by David Knox
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Ch 03 On The Excellence Of Contentment Story 22
I met a trader who possessed one hundred and fifty camel loads of merchandise with forty slaves and servants. One evening in the oasis of Kish he took me into his apartment and taking all night no rest kept up an incoherent gabble, saying: ‘I have such and such a warehouse in Turkestan, such and such goods in Hindostan; this is the title-deed of such and such an estate and in this affair such and such a man is security.’ He said: ‘I intend to go to Alexandria because it has a good climate’, and correcting himself continued: ‘No, because the African sea is boisterous. O Sa’di, I have one journey more to undertake and after performing it I shall during the rest of my life sit in a corner and enjoy contentment.’ I asked: ‘What journey is that?’ He replied: ‘I shall carry Persian brimstone to China because I heard that it fetched a high price. I shall also carry Chinese porcelain to Rum and Rumi brocade to India and Indian steel to Aleppo, convey glass-ware of Aleppo to Yemen, striped cloth of Yemen to Pares. After that I shall abandon trading and shall sit down in a shop.’ He had talked so much of this nonsenses that no more strength remained in him so he said: ‘O Sa’di, do thou also tell me something of what thou hast seen and heard.’ I recited:
‘Thou mayest have heard that in the plain of Ghur
Once a leader fell down from his beast of burden,
Saying: “The narrow eye of a wealthy man
Will be filled either by content or by the earth of the tomb.”’
Psalm 90
Man mortal, and God eternal
A mournful song at a funeral.
Through every age, eternal God,
Thou art our rest, our safe abode;
High was thy throne ere heav'n was made,
Or earth thy humble footstool laid.
Long hadst thou reigned ere time began,
Or dust was fashioned to a man;
And long thy kingdom shall endure
When earth and time shall be no more.
But man, weak man, is born to die,
Made up of guilt and vanity;
Thy dreadful sentence, Lord, was just,
"Return, ye sinners, to your dust."
[A thousand of our years amount
Scarce to a day in thine account;
Like yesterday's departed light,
Or the last watch of ending night.
PAUSE.
Death, like an overflowing stream,
Sweeps us away; our life's a dream,
An empty tale, a morning flower,
Cut down and withered in an hour.]
[Our age to seventy years is set;
How short the time! how frail the state!
And if to eighty we arrive,
We rather sigh and groan than live.
But O how oft thy wrath appears,
And cuts off our expected years!
Thy wrath awakes our humble dread;
We fear the power that strikes us dead.]
Teach us, O Lord, how frail is man;
And kindly lengthen out our span,
Till a wise care of piety
Fit us to die, and dwell with thee.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Rest Of My Life
Suddenly, it happened so fast
I couldn't believe the news that I received
My heart stopped as I hit the floor
I fell to my knees cryin' Lord help me
No matter what time brings
All the changes we go through
In life there's some things
We just can't prepare for
I don't care what they say
Don't care what they do
I don't care what they think
I'm gonna love you for the rest of my life
Don't they know
True love never dies
I promise to love you for the rest of my life
Life goes on that's what they say
Time will heal all your pain away
But I feel, feel so alone and
Now you're gone how can I live on
No matter what time brings
All the changes we go through
In life there's some things
We just can't prepare for
I don't care what they say
Don't care what they do
I don't care what they think
I'm gonna love you for the rest of my life
Don't they know
True love never dies
I promise to love you for the rest of my life
Until I see you again
I'll hold on to sweet memories
I'll treasure the times we spent
I see I'd do anything
I see your face, I see your smile
Callin' out my name
I don't care what they say
Don't care what they do
I don't care what they think
I'm gonna love you for the rest of my life
Don't they know true love never dies
I promise to love you for the rest of my life
I don't care what they say
Don't care what they do
I don't care what they think
I'm gonna love you for the rest of my life
I don't care what they say
I don't care what they do
What they think
'Cause I promise, I promise
To love you for the rest of my life
(for the rest of my life
song performed by by Xscape
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As I Am A Man
as i am a man
measure me not with that
divine stick
i do not wish
to be more than God
nor do i intend to be
lower than
that beast.
measure me
with the love that i can give you
the sorrows i have
the pains i have endured
the successes that i have
hidden from your eyes
measure me with the purity
of my intentions
the care with which i do my
actions
do not measure me
with your expectations
let me stand strong
on the pavement of
your cares.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Red Carpet
Uh, yeah (ooh yeah-yeah-yeah)
Check one, two, it's the Piper, AKA Kels (ooh yeah-yeah-yeah)
I'm in the building right now and uh (whoo)
I'm looking for nothing but steppers
(Tell me where the steppers at)
So get on the dance floor and come on
(Where are all the steppers at?)
(Ooh-ooh...) uh, I feel good
(Ooh-ooh...) I mean, I don't mean to brag, but uh
Custom green suit, apple 'gators
Hundred thousand on my wrist (whoo)
Pinky shining, Coup reclinin'
White TL linen outfits (whoo)
Jump out styling, ladies smiling
Paparazzis everywhere (whoo)
Hummer, stretches, limo, Lexus
Pull up while people stop and stare
(The whole scene looks like we're all on TV)
Ooh sometimes life can be like a dream
When you're living on the big screen
Fancy cars, movie stars
Red carpet and big applause
Limousines and search lights
This is how we gon' do it tonight, so...
Pause (flash) pause (flash)
Pause (flash) pause (flash)
You and your partner are so, so clean
So take a picture for the memory
Pause (flash) pause (flash)
Pause (flash) pause (flash)
Ooh I wanna go steppin' now (whoa)
Step contest you know I'm 'bout to clown (yeah)
(All I need is my partner; we go together like a hand in glove)
Ooh DJ put the record on (yeah) picture it's my favorite song
(Step in the name of love) (whoo) one more time (step in the name of love) yeah
(Oh the whole scene looks like we're all on TV)
Ooh sometimes life can be like a dream (like a dream)
When you're living on the big screen (big screen)
Fancy cars, movie stars
Red carpet and big applause
Limousines and search lights
This is how we gon' do it tonight, so...
Pause (flash) pause (flash)
Pause (flash) pause (flash)
You and your partner are so, so clean
So take a picture for the memory
Pause (flash) pause (flash)
Pause (flash) pause (flash)
You know us (you know us) whoa
(You know how we like to dress up) and go out
(And go out and hit the club)
I'm not leaving here 'til I take me a picture, whoa
(Camera man) oh yeah (just wait til I'm ready) oh yeah
(And then you can take a pic)
On three y'all, one, two, three, say cheese
Pause (flash) pause (flash)
Pause (flash) pause (flash)
Pause (flash) pause (flash)
Pause (flash) pause (flash)
Fancy cars, movie stars
Red carpet and big applause (whoa)
Limousines and search lights
This is how we gon' do it tonight, so...
Pause (flash) pause (flash)
Pause (flash) pause (flash)
You and your partner are so, so clean
So take a picture for the memory (ohh)
Pause (flash) pause (flash)
Pause (flash) pause (flash)
Fancy cars, movie stars
Red carpet and big applause (whoa-whoa-whoa)
Limousines and search lights (oh)
This is how we gon' do it tonight, so...
Pause (flash) pause (flash)
Pause (flash) pause (flash)
You and your partner are so, so clean
So take a picture for the memory
Pause (flash) pause (flash) (oh)
Pause (flash) pause (flash)
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Home
song performed by by R. Kelly
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Quiet, Lord, My Froward Heart
Quiet, Lord, my froward heart,
Make me teachable and mild;
Upright, simple, free from art,
Make me as a weaned child;
From distrust and envy free,
Pleased with all that pleaseth Thee.
What Thou shalt to-day provide,
Let me as a child receive;
What to-morrow may betide,
Calmly to thy wisdom leave:
'Tis enough that Thou wilt care;
Why should I the burden bear?
As a little child relies
On a care beyond his own;
Knows he's neither strong no wise;
Fears to stir a step alone;
Let me thus with Thee abide,
As my Father, Guard, and Guide.
poem by John Newton
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The Snail
Wise emblem of our politic world,
Sage snail, within thine own self curl'd;
Instruct me softly to make haste,
Whilst these my feet go slowly fast.
Compendious snail! thou seem'st to me,
Large Euclid's strict epitome;
And in each diagram dost fling
Thee from the point unto the ring;
A figure now triangular,
An oval now, and now a square;
And then a serpentine dost crawl,
Now a straight line, now crook'd, now all.
Preventing rival of the day,
Th'art up and openest thy ray,
And ere the morn cradles the moon
Th'art broke into a beauteous noon.
Then when the sun sups in the deep,
Thy silver horns ere Cynthia's peep;
And thou from thine own liquid bed
New Phoebus heav'st thy pleasant head.
Who shall a name for thee create,
Deep riddle of mysterious state?
Bold Nature that gives common birth
To all products of seas and earth,
Of thee, as earthquakes, is afraid,
Nor will thy dire deliv'ry aid.
Thou thine own daughter then, and sire,
That son and mother art entire,
That big still with thy self dost go,
And liv'st an aged embryo;
That like the cubs of India,
Thou from thyself a while dost play;
But frighted with a dog or gun,
In thine own belly thou dost run,
And as thy house was thine own womb,
So thine own womb concludes thy tomb.
But now I must (analyz'd king)
Thy economic virtues sing;
Thou great stay'd husband still within,
Thou, thee, that's thine dost discipline;
And when thou art to progress bent,
Thou mov'st thy self and tenement,
As warlike Scythians travell'd, you
Remove your men and city too;
Then after a sad dearth and rain,
Thou scatterest thy silver train;
And when the trees grow nak'd and old,
Thou clothest them with cloth of gold,
Which from thy bowels thou dost spin,
And draw from the rich mines within.
Now hast thou chang'd thee saint; and made
Thy self a fane that's cupola'd;
And in thy wreathed cloister thou
Walkest thine own grey friar too;
Strict, and lock'd up, th'art hood all o'er,
And ne'er eliminat'st thy door.
On salads thou dost feed severe,
And 'stead of beads thou dropp'st a tear;
And when to rest, each calls the bell,
Thou sleep'st within thy marble cell,
Where in dark contemplation plac'd,
The sweets of nature thou dost taste;
Who now with time thy days resolve,
And in a jelly thee dissolve,
Like a shot star, which doth repair
Upward, and rarify the air.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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The Snayl
Wise emblem of our politick world,
Sage Snayl, within thine own self curl'd,
Instruct me softly to make hast,
Whilst these my feet go slowly fast.
Compendious Snayl! thou seem'st to me
Large Euclid's strict epitome;
And in each diagram dost fling
Thee from the point unto the ring.
A figure now trianglare,
An oval now, and now a square,
And then a serpentine, dost crawl,
Now a straight line, now crook'd, now all.
Preventing rival of the day,
Th' art up and openest thy ray;
And ere the morn cradles the moon,
Th' art broke into a beauteous noon.
Then, when the Sun sups in the deep,
Thy silver horns e're Cinthia's peep;
And thou, from thine own liquid bed,
New Phoebus, heav'st thy pleasant head.
Who shall a name for thee create,
Deep riddle of mysterious state?
Bold Nature, that gives common birth
To all products of seas and earth,
Of thee, as earth-quakes, is afraid,
Nor will thy dire deliv'ry aid.
Thou, thine own daughter, then, and sire,
That son and mother art intire,
That big still with thy self dost go,
And liv'st an aged embrio;
That like the cubbs of India,
Thou from thy self a while dost play;
But frighted with a dog or gun,
In thine own belly thou dost run,
And as thy house was thine own womb,
So thine own womb concludes thy tomb.
But now I must (analys'd king)
Thy oeconomick virtues sing;
Thou great stay'd husband still within,
Thou thee that's thine dost discipline;
And when thou art to progress bent,
Thou mov'st thy self and tenement,
As warlike Scythians travayl'd, you
Remove your men and city too;
Then, after a sad dearth and rain,
Thou scatterest thy silver train;
And when the trees grow nak'd and old,
Thou cloathest them with cloth of gold,
Which from thy bowels thou dost spin,
And draw from the rich mines within.
Now hast thou chang'd thee, saint, and made
Thy self a fane that's cupula'd;
And in thy wreathed cloister thou
Walkest thine own gray fryer too;
Strickt and lock'd up, th'art hood all ore,
And ne'r eliminat'st thy dore.
On sallads thou dost feed severe,
And 'stead of beads thou drop'st a tear,
And when to rest each calls the bell,
Thou sleep'st within thy marble cell,
Where, in dark contemplation plac'd,
The sweets of Nature thou dost tast,
Who now with time thy days resolve,
And in a jelly thee dissolve,
Like a shot star, which doth repair
Upward, and rarifie the air.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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Cat & I
There we sat
Just me and the cat,
Upon a bench overlooking the river Thames,
The cat turned to me
And said, I believe I see
Some approaching cranes.
To the cat with eyes
Always looking rather wise,
I smiled and replied thus,
Is the crane afloat
Aboard a wayward boat
Or arriving atop a bus?
The cat and I
Both did sigh,
For we had come to understand,
Never could we see things quite the same
Life as serious or life as game
For she is a cat and I a man.
So now on the bench she and I continue to sit
Without expressing thoughts one bit,
And thus it shall remain until one or the other does die,
When arrives that lonely day
So long pal will be the only words to say
A simple understanding between intimate friends... the cat and I.
poem by Smoky Hoss
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Sunday
O day most calm, most bright
The fruit of this, the next world's bud,
Th'endorsement of supreme delight,
Writ by a friend, and with his blood;
The couch of time; care's balm and bay:
The week were dark, but for thy light:
Thy torch doth show the way.
The other days and thou
Make up one man; whose face thou art,
Knocking at heaven with thy brow:
The worky-days are the back-part;
The burden of the week lies there,
Making the whole to stoop and bow,
Till thy release appear.
Man had straight forward gone
To endless death: but thou dost pull
And turn us round to look on one,
Whom, if we were not very dull,
We could not choose to look on still;
Since there is no place so alone,
The which he doth not fill.
Sundays the pillars are,
On which heav'n's palace arched lies:
The other days fill up the spare
And hollow room with vanities.
They are the fruitful beds and borders
In God's rich garden: that is bare,
Which parts their ranks and orders.
The Sundays of man's life,
Threaded together on time's string,
Make bracelets to adorn the wife
Of the eternal glorious King.
On Sunday heaven's gate stands ope;
Blessings are plentiful and rife,
More plentiful than hope.
This day my Saviour rose,
And did enclose this light for his:
That, as each beast his manger knows,
Man might not of his fodder miss.
Christ hath took in this piece of ground,
And made a garden there for those
Who want herbs for their wound.
The rest of our Creation
Our great Redeemer did remove
With the same shake, which at his passion
Did th'earth and all things with it move.
As Samson bore the doors away,
Christ's hands, though nail'd, wrought our salvation,
And did unhinge that day.
The brightness of that day
We sullied by our foul offence:
Wherefore that robe we cast away,
Having a new at his expense,
Whose drops of bloud paid the full price,
That was requir'd to make us gay,
And fit for Paradise.
Thou art a day of mirth:
And where the weekdays trail on ground,
Thy flight is higher, as thy birth.
O let me take thee at the bound,
Leaping with thee from sev'n to sev'n,
Till that we both, being toss'd from earth,
Fly hand in hand to heav'n!
poem by George Herbert
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Feel It
I look at you and go mad
With thoughts of things that i'd do
If one chance i had to show you
What this man really wants to do
When i'm through, you would say
It's been done never that way
And i know you can learn something new every day
And it feels so good
If you don't think too much
Don't even try to be serious
Just let my hands take control
And give me all of your soul
You know i tried
To run away but i can't hide
From the moment that's suspended deep inside
When you were mine
Now i need to feel it
One more time
Won't you try to feel it
Let me try to feel it
Feels so good when you lean into me
In the dark i can see
I can feel in my mind what is reality
Why can't you see
Things like this are meant to be
Yet somehow once again
You have thrown me aside
But always this feeling survives
song performed by by Todd Rundgren
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Impressive Midnight
Thanks God its midnight
The hour of the night to pause
To serenity away from stress
Erased the grueling day had possessed
For the mind, heart, body and soul to applause
Thanks God its midnight
The hour to pause life for short - term
Favorable for the soul flight
To travel the starry starry night
Pondering the theme of dreams
poem by Ency Bearis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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