Springs beneath street,
cobble stones echo old bones,
heedless of time, fleet.
haiku by Jonathan Robin (02 November 1990)
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Related quotes
Echo
Echo, echo...
We come, we go-woah
No I don't want to be just another
Echo, echo...
Everywhere I go
There's something I really need
Everyone I know
Is someone I want to be
Even though
I don't really know me
I better pick it up
Before I let it slip away
I better stick it out
Before I take another day
Into mouth
Everything I say fades out
Echo, echo...
We come, we go-woah
No I don't want to be just another
Echo, echo...
Can I open up your eyes?
Only when the clouds break?
Can I feel the light?
Even though the world shakes
Every night,
You're my quiet satellite
Can I hold you close?
Do her out of focus
And everything I know
I don't even know this
It all falls through
I'm here and I hear you
Echo, echo...
We come, we go-woah
No I don't want to be just another
Echo, echo...
Do you hear me?
Do you hear me?
Cause I need to, just to reach you
Do you hear me?
Coming clearly?
Am I hollow?
Just an echo
Echo, echo...
We come, we go-woah
No I don't want to be just another
Echo, echo...
Echo, echo...
We come, we go-woah
No I don't want to be just another
Echo, echo...
song performed by by Vertical Horizon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ultima Thule: My Cathedral
Like two cathedral towers these stately pines
Uplift their fretted summits tipped with cones;
The arch beneath them is not built with stones,
Not Art but Nature traced these lovely lines,
And carved this graceful arabesque of vines;
No organ but the wind here sighs and moans,
No sepulchre conceals a martyr's bones.
No marble bishop on his tomb reclines.
Enter! the pavement, carpeted with leaves,
Gives back a softened echo to thy tread!
Listen! the choir is singing; all the birds,
In leafy galleries beneath the eaves,
Are singing! listen, ere the sound be fled,
And learn there may be worship with out words.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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The Ever Popular Street
Rictameter Poem.
Fleet Street
that ancient door
where the printing machines
produced editions by the score
Hearts were aglow with paperboys calling
they made family life complete
and thanks went to London
to a place called
Fleet Street.
poem by Joyce Hemsley
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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My worst nightmare
My worst nightmare I dread and fear
To be buried beneath a street far from my dears
I will be long dead and my heart full of dust
The place, the dwell of my wherever lost lust
The wheels and hooves of machines and beasts rolling over my head
My bones will be shaken with pain and dread
This is how it will be
If no one is going to take a heed of me
If into a shallow grave my tattered skeleton is thrust
Imagine only inches beneath a heavy traffic street bust
The gallop of horses and the trot of goats and cows
Will keep their relentless beat with a chorus of crows
Beat into my scalp and my brain
Like never an end to the stream of rushing ants under rain
Heedless of poor me carrying, traveling, hurrying, leaving
In my life I shun away from front busy street living
When the wretched age catch up with my bones
Not a bell will be rang, not a pray or eulogy will be read
It is that which makes us noble in the world of the dead
Just like this lowering me down to my eternal tomb bed?
Ah, my spirit where does it wander where does it pass
My soul where does it dwell in heaven or in hell
In the face of immortality and ancient laws unveil
Deep sleep, eternal doom comes to every sinew and lust
No more pleasant summer night dreams, no more morning first shine
But this eternal entity; all formless kingdom divine
Along my bones the creeping tattered flesh will quake
And my all damped besmeared hair stiffened with dust and thus it spake
Do you find God there in this colossus universe of ultimate justice pure
Or you be-left to deem and contemplate in land of spiritual desolation insecure
Among creatures of grave clay; the vain dwellers of tomb dust
A moth out survive you; a mold digs and borrows under your gravel rust
Things of normal routine day you never see nor attend the dusk of night
Heedless, stale and blind to wisdom and light
Copy rights 2010
All rights reserved
The falling is the constant mate of fear
The falling is the constant mate of fear,
And feel of emptiness is the feel of fright.
Who throws us the stones from the height --
And stones here refuse the dust to bear?
Once, striding in a monk’s unbending mode,
You pierced the yard from rim to other rim;
The cobble-stones and the coarse dream --
Have thirst for death and sadness of the broad-
Let Gothic shelter be in ruins turned
Where ceiling serves as a deceptive fable,
And in the heath the gaily logs don’t burn!
A few here for eternity were born;
But if your mind has only instant label
Your lot is awful and your home unstable!
poem by Osip Emilevich Mandelstam
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Sticks And Stones
Sticks and stones, might break my bones
And words, shall never harm me,
I was told that story, when I was a Boy
Along with the birds and bees, I believe
So I lived my life, through that advice
That was given to me in my youth,
That sticks and stones would break my bones
And words could do no harm was true.
So I stayed away from sticks and stones
And tried never calling anyone names
But the sticks still arrived, in my life
And also the words of hate and pain.
But then I had healed from broken bones
And bruises and all the nasty cuts,
It made me stronger, then I thought longer
About the words of hate and such.
Because the words of hate, I couldn't escape
As I noticed them around everyday
Destroying ones soul, until life they'd let go
Or asking GOD for vengeance as they'd pray.
Sticks and stones had broke my bones
And words of hate had really harmed me,
As I look around, I can still hear the sound
Of hate, and belittlement, and bigotry.
There are still broken bones and nasty cuts,
As I see as I enter every day with a walk,
But doctors heal then, as they are new again
But the words of hatred never balks.
In my life I have made many choices,
And I hope with one I don't stand alone
Never to ever use any word of hate
As I don't mind getting hit with sticks or stones.
Randy L. McClave
poem by Randy McClave
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Lament 2
Lament
Bucolic village
Full of romantic cobble stones
Fucking hard to walk on
When your feet are old
And you need slippers and carpets
And not bogus rustic charm
poem by Oskar Hansen
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Antagonishtic - Parody Hughes MEARNS Antagonish and Thomas PERCY Warkworth Hermit
As I was strolling down Fleet Street
I met three tweeters texting fleet,
then Time defeated one more day,
and when one sun set where were they?
1 November 2009
robi03_1933_perc01_0001
robi03_193 3_mear01_0004
See
Thomas Percy: Warkworth
Samuel Johnson
Hughes Mearns: Antagonish et al
Last line parody of Lord BYRON Destruction of Sennacherib
poem by Jonathan Robin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Maybe Baby
I heard stories about you
Id like to think that they were true
I did not know youd be like that
With those surprises under hat
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my maybe baby
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my maybe baby
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my maybe baby
When you dance between the stars
In the night late sweet and dark
Turn them over one by one
You dont need to jump the gun
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my maybe baby
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my maybe baby
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my maybe baby
When the night is feeling flush
And when the night is all a hush
Electric look eclectic blue
Keep one dream that wont come true
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my maybe baby
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my maybe baby
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my ma-aybe baby
Be my (echo), be my (echo), be my ma-aybe baby
Maybe baby
Maybe baby
Be my, be my, be my, be my maybe baby
Maybe baby
Maybe baby
Youre the one (? )
Maybe baby
Maybe baby
Maybe baby
Be my, be my, be my, be my maybe baby
(unintelligible) maybe baby
I heard stories about you
Id like to think that they were true
Be my maybe (? )
Be my, be my, be my, be my
(fade)
song performed by by Cars
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Bones Of Angels
Long shadows
Bright light
That falls to the front
From a darkness behind
There is no end
To this mountain top
Inside these stones
Only peace will we find
Inside out
We're all part of the stone
That makes up the mountain
And harbours the bones
The bones of angels
That showed us the way
You can feel them at night
While they sleep through the day
The bones of angels
The bones of angels
Together we will be
Forever we will see
I see you
And I see me
And the bones of angels
song performed by by Chris Rea
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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As I my steps
As I my steps
Along the grated streets
Of sweet Valletta I retraced
I passed from street to street
And I me thought that I could find
The dwelling where you lived.
For me those streets familiar quite
Became as dearer and dearer
As I from city street to street
My steps retraced their bearer
Aye! Aye! The streets became as dearer
And beautiful more than I had seen
For years and years before:
The pregnant windows frowning black
Unmoving ghosts in city pent
I wandered quite what did they hide
Behind their closed doors:
The small quaint front doors in the street
A few light inches the cobble stones above
With memories faint and dim
And with fast-fretting hither and thither
The hazy residents of those small abodes
Hid from my anxious questioning sight.
And as I passed along the street
A chimney high I saw smiling with glee
As it played child-like with white passing clouds
Above the warm sun shone on the old stones
That dreamt and dreamt and dreamt of years untold.
Aye! Aye! The city old
Above the harbor glideth
In my warm dreams:
The sailing clouds
Above the trees
In the small garden passing:
The green leaves
In their high towers
With each to each
In their wild love-making
To each and each are rustling:
The citizens in city streets
With hurried steps are passing.
And whither do they pass
And thither do they go?
The silent steps
In the small sullen street
I start descending
As if some thief to catch
That in some city nook
From me is hiding:
A lazy cat
Watches with half-open’d eye:
Little beyond
The stench of its urine
Drown’d by the sweet sense
Of roses pent in mortar cask
And hanging from the city wall.
Yes! Time is passing
In this sweet silent city of my dreams:
Let me allow it pass
Into the ocean sea-blue
That in midst of it
Like as in lover’s arms
My senses and myself will sink.
And I will not speak
And I will not sing
If not my lyre speaks
If not my lyre sings.
poem by Emmanuel George Cefai
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Stone Fleet
I have a feeling for those ships,
Each worn and ancient one,
With great bluff bows, and broad in the beam:
Ay, it was unkindly done.
But so they serve the Obsolete-
Even so, Stone Fleet!
You'll say I'm doting; do but think
I scudded round the Horn in one-
The Tenedos, a glorious
Good old craft as ever run-
Sunk (how all unmeet!)
With the Old Stone Fleet.
An India ship of fame was she,
Spices and shawls and fans she bore;
A whaler when her wrinkles came-
Turned off! till, spent and poor,
Her bones were sold (escheat)!
Ah! Stone Fleet.
Four were erst patrician keels
(Names attest what families be),
The Kensington, and Richmond too,
Leonidas and Lee:
But now they have their seat
With the Old Stone Fleet.
To scuttle them-a pirate deed-
Sack them, and dismast;
They sunk so slow, they died so hard,
But gurgling dropped at last.
Their ghosts in gales repeat
Woe's us, Stone Fleet!
And all for naught. The waters pass-
Currents will have their way;
Nature is nobody's ally; 'tis well;
The harbor is bettered-will stay.
A failure, and complete,
Was your Old Stone Fleet.
poem by Herman Melville
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Street of Sorrow
It's time to wake up, stand up in any given city
It seems the lights have all gone to bed
and the rain pours hard into my mind
and then it hits me
move so fast, rain drops pass
left standing dry with dread
Bury the story, suppress the sanity
Moving down the street of sorrow
No street lights, kick againt the stones
walking down the street of sorrow
Another given moment the cauldren boils
and then the slag begins to rise
The moulten Mass pours on bended knees
Impurities melt and burn away
Pray at last madness pass
There is always one who'll bleed
Bury the story, suppress the sanity
Moving down the street of sorrow
No street lights, kick againt the stones
walking down the street of sorrow
poem by Barbara Vanier
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Bag of Bones
Just a bag of bones
At which life throws its stones
Time passes, I hear them creak
If only they could speak
Ask now! Before it's too late
Of their life and fate
I hear them groan
Against life's pressure
Against others measure
Am I just a bag of bones?
RG
poem by Robert Green
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Life
What know we of the dead, who say these things,
Or of the life in death below the mould--
What of the mystic laws that rule the old
Grey realms beyond our poor imaginings
Where death is life? The bird with spray-wet wings
Knows more of what the deeps beneath him hold.
Let be! Warm hearts shall never wax a-cold,
But burn in roses through eternal springs;
For all the vanished fruit and flower of Time
Are flower and fruit in worlds we cannot see,
And all we see is as a shadow-mime
Of things unseen, and Time that comes to flee
Is but the broken echo of a rhyme
In God's great epic of Eternity.
poem by Victor James Daley
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Why We Fight pt 1 (Lock and Load)
You’ve walked out the garden and watched your hands go
From picking up berries to picking up ammo
The same sticks and twigs that build up your village
Fight off the conquers and plunders and pillage//
-Stones and sticks and sticks and stones
Gather them up to protect your home
And when needed use them on some bones
Lay them all down to outline your zone
Raise them and burn them on your throne
Monsters can’t outrun the sticks and stones-
Sharpen your spears to take down your dinner
You and the beast can’t both be the winner
It’s about time you got out of this slump
Load up your brains to outsmart the hunt
poem by P.R. Prosper
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Heart And Bones
(Paul Simon)
One and one-half wandering Jews
Free to wander wherever they choose
Are travelling together
In the Sangre de Cristo
The Blood of Christ Mountains
Of New Mexico
On the last leg of the journey
They started a long time ago
The arc of a love affair
Rainbows in the high desert air
Mountain passes slipping into stones
Hearts and bones
Hearts and bones
Hearts and bones
Thinking back to the season before
Looking back through the cracks in the door
Two people were married
The act was outrageous
The bride was contagious
She burned like a bride
These events may have had some effect
On the man with the girl by his side
The arc of a love affair
His hands rolling down her hair
Love like lightning shaking till it moans
Hearts and bones
Hearts and bones
Hearts and bones
And whoa whoa whoa
She said why?
Why don't we drive through the night
And we'll wake up down in Mexico
Oh I
I don't know nothin' about nothin'
About Mexico
And tell me why
Why won't you love me
For who I am
Where I am
He said:
'Cause that's not the way the world is baby
This is how I love you, baby
This is how I love you, baby
One and one-half wandering Jews
Returned to their natural coasts
To resume old acquaintances
Step out occasionally
And speculate who had been damaged the most
Easy time will determine if these consolations
Will be their reward
The arc of a love affair
Waiting to be restored
You take two bodies and you twirl them into one
Their hearts and their bones
And they won't come undone
Hearts and bones
Hearts and bones
Hearts and bones
Hearts and bones
song performed by by Paul Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Up and Down
Down the Hill of Ludgate,
Up the Hill of Fleet,
To and fro and East and West
With people flows the street;
Even the King of England
On Temple Bar must beat
For leave to ride to Ludgate
Down the Hill of Fleet.
poem by Walter de la Mare
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Party In My Bones
party in my bones
I'm shuffling down on the street
this cold night laid me bare
I'm going down with the stream
into the city's blare
Passing by the hooker's row tempting lips,
oh burning curse
Hey babe save yourself for tomorrow
keep your passion in your purse
Came on! I can hear those crazy tones
If I can't find a party,
I'll have a party in my bones
I'm spinning round and round
around my tattooed bones
The dreams are razed to the ground
and covered with heavy stones
Passing by the junky's square
it feels so dizzy, feels so gay
A giddy sniff from the air
and I'm dating fairies right away
Come on! I can hear those crazy tones
If I can't find a party,
I'll have a party in my bones
I'm falling outta my skin
into the midnight glass
The shade of human sin
is walking on magic grass
Bright morning makes me sober
twilight's gone it seems so dull
I fall prey to the brandy soaked suburb
Hey, pour some brandy in my skull!
Come on! I can hear those crazy tones
If I can't find a party,
I'll have a party in my bones
song performed by by Quimby
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Stones of Death
I gather the stones of death,
My options are few and a breath;
This I design with my hands
And the feet may be from badlands.
The stones I picked deceived me,
Their large amount was ivory;
I wanted a little pebble or parable
To consist of the wisdom not horrible.
The horror I concerned myself with
Was loved by demons and the gunsmith;
Shooting carried disorder like stones,
Pebbles called bullets fired at bones.
poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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