War Profits
THE horns of the moon are tipped
With pearl. Her lover, wooed
By charms and won, Endymion,
Inherits quietude.
White the gleam
Of the dream
On his eyes.
The horns of the sun are dipt
In ruddy flame that flings
Adventurous young Icarus
To earth on ruined wings.
But he flew,
But he knew
Winds and skies.
Lucifer's horns have a crust
Of gold and topaz gem
On points that thrust to yellow dust
The heart that covets them.
Heed! take heed!
For by greed
Glory dies.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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Related quotes
The horns of the sister are horns of gold; the horns of the wife are true horns.
Halos & Horns
Halos and horns, sinners and saints,
Hearts that are torn between what's wrong and ain't
Just because it feels right does not make it so
So we struggle through life in horns and halos
Tempted and tried with each step we take
We stumble and slide and make our mistakes,
Ask God to forgive us for all of our sins,
Then we take off our horns and wear halos again
Halos and horns, sinners and saints,
Hearts that are torn between what's wrong and ain't
Just because it feels right does not make it so
So we struggle through life in horns and halos
Halos and horns, sinners and saints,
We're praised or we're scorned, we either run or we faint
Oh, but life is a challenge from the day that we're born
Just tryin' to balance halos and horns
It's heaven or hell, halos or horns
Halos and horns, sinners and saints,
Hearts that are torn between what's wrong and ain't
But just because it feels right; well, that don't make it so
So we struggle through life in horns or halos
It's either horns or halos
song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Soccer!
GOAL! SCORE! HORNS BLARING!
soccer fans blowing there horns, eating their food, jumping up and down, painted faces, soccer jerseys, foam fingers, hot blistering sun, fun.
soccer balls roll and fly across the field soaring though the air like a bird with no wings, black and white moving so fast.
soccer bleachers, sweating fans, crumbs of food left in the stands, bird and bees and hornets to fly all around looking for food.
GOAL! SCORE! HORNS BLARING! SOCCER!
poem by Katrina Stewart
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O Lady Moon
O Lady Moon, your horns point toward the east:
Shine, be increased;
O Lady Moon, your horns point toward the west:
Wane, be at rest.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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A Trick Of The Tail
Bored of the life on the city of gold
Hed left and let nobody know.
Gone were the towers he had known from a child,
Alone with the dream of a life
He travelled the wide open road,
The blinkered arcade,
In search of another to share in his life.
Nowhere.
Everyone looked so strange to him.
Theyve got no horns and theyve got no tail
They dont even know of our existence.
Am I wrong to believe in a city of gold
That lies in the deep distance, he cried
And wept as they led him away to a cage
Beast that can talk, read the sign.
The creatures they pushed and they prodded his frame
And questioned his story again.
But soon they grew bored of their prey
Beast that can talk?
More like a freak or publicity stunt.
Oh
No.
Theyve got no horns and theyve got no tail
They dont even know of our existence.
Am I wrong to believe in a city of gold
That lies in the deep distance, he cried
And broke down the door of the cage and marched on out.
He grabbed a creature by the scruff of his neck, pointing out:
There, beyond the bounds of you weak imagination
Lie the noble towers of my city, bright and gold.
Let me take you there, show you a living story
Let me show you others such as me
Why did I ever leave?
Theyve got no horns and theyve got no tail
They dont even know of our existence
Am I wrong to believe in a city of gold
That lies in the deep distance, he cried
And wept.
And so we set out with the best and his horns
And his crazy description of home.
After many days journey we came to a peak
Where the beast gazed abroad and cried out.
We followed his gaze and we thought that maybe we saw
A spire of gold - no, a trick of the eye thats all,
But the beast was gone and a voice was heard:
Theyve got no horns and theyve got no tail
They dont even know of our existence
Am I wrong to believe in a city of gold
That lies in the deep distance
Hello friend, welcome home.
song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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For instance, if you're playing a record with drums - horns would sound nice to enhance it so you get a record with horns and slip it in at certain times.
quote by Grandmaster Flash
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Minimus Stuck - Fragment Abramic
.
To be continually caught as the ram,
redundant among thorns,
horns at branches push,
blood ignored,
flow, more,
to come,
itself,
or other,
kindred bodies
entangled, who
waits a commanding authority,
sacrifice with thorns,
horns, first born.
I am caught up in the matter.
.
poem by Warren Falcon
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You grow by drives
The bull got horns to fight with.
The horse has no horns for that.
The horse learnt running to escape by.
Skill grows in adopted ways,
As demanded by sex and safety.
It is a myth the God fevours
For each growth and each loss.
Gravels turn to pebbles by force
28.05.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Phanopoeia
I
ROSE WHITE, YELLOW, SILVER
The swirl of light follows me through the square,
The smoke of incense
Mounts from the four horns of my bed-posts,
The water-jet of gold light bears us up through the ceilings;
Lapped in the gold-coloured flame I descend through the æther.
The silver ball forms in my hand,
It falls and rolls to your feet.
II
SALTUS
The swirling sphere has opened
and you are caught up to the skies,
You are englobed in my sapphire.
Io! Io!
You have perceived the blades of the flame
The flutter of sharp-edged sandals.
The folding and lapping brightness
Has held in the air before you.
You have perceived the leaves of the flame.
III
CONCAVA VALLIS
The wire-like bands of colour involute mount from my fingers;
I have wrapped the wind round your shoulders
And the molten metal of your shoulders
bends into the turn of the wind,
AOI!
The whirling tissue of light
is woven and grows solid beneath us;
The sea-clear sapphire of air, the sea-dark clarity,
stretches both sea-cliff and ocean.
poem by Ezra Pound
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Hide and go get It
Ladies! Ladies!
The male steel is in your world
Private and otherwise...
Once at the tender age
The male steel to you was like sage
A strong big pleasant scent, so plesant in fact
As that young woman you just had to re-act.
And from that day forth was a new road,
A new idea and a new feeling.
Yes! steel for the will...
The 'man trap' and woman's thrill.
Roll-Back the tape...
A woman has that which infatuates, intimidates and in most cases
still carry horns...
She has been name a pollard now and as men we know
There are no horns? ? ? ? ? or don't we?
So why do we show so much fear...
When the horn-less is near?
Speaking for me and me only....
I fear regulation and control of an affair
Out of thin air...
Speak of being 'shang-hai-ed'...That female gold mine
She will take you a trip through time...
Everytime and back again.
You need not ask how, why or when
Once you are in your adventure begins...
So my young brotheren be wise
Very wise when it comes to 'The Queen and her thighs'
Remember Adam always....you can't blame someone for what you
Truly know to be fact....and Adam knew for a fact...
Where that rule was at...
Yes! Eve's thighs to apply...and poor Adam could not deny.
poem by whisperkwane Lamb
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In between two horns
In between two horns
My father is the best man
For better study he sent me to a distant land
I read carefully medicine
Philosophy and dialectic materialism
He refuses to listen
When I say there is no inauspicious time
He is confused as I am
Why he did send me to that wonderland
He can not disbelieve his long time belief
And I can not agree to disagree
I can neither leave him with his superstitions
Nor I can live with all the reasons
I just keep bleeding on the two horns…
poem by Abdul Wahab
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Glass of Absinthe
No use pleading anymore at the dawn,
The waved-off world gone disastrous with time.
Decisions are uncomfortable
In this atmosphere. Valves drain, raise ballad—
Measures pound to flaked light, sun astride
Iron lace of railing on Royal Street—
Scrolled into oak leaves, acorns, sad long horns
In day shadows—urinal, late coffee.
They are restorations of ruined night,
But no beacon in our silver hours.
A life shaped by digressions: Linger long
Enough, and death itself loses the way to us.
She seems drunk but is not, her white skirt striped
With black from a fall on wet cobblestones.
Nothing is nimble. There is no good news.
She lights a small cigarette. She nods off.
She knots up and moves on. The horns stop, sprawl,
Speed up. Snares salvo again in new dark.
poem by Ernest Hilbert
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An Inscription
Go little book,
To him who, on a lute with horns of pearl,
Sang of the white feet of the Golden Girl:
And bid him look
Into thy pages: it may hap that he
May find that golden maidens dance through thee.
poem by Oscar Wilde
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The Satyr
When the flowery hands of spring
Forth their woodland riches fling,
Through the meadows, through the valleys
Goes the satyr carolling.
From the mountain and the moor,
Forest green and ocean shore
All the faerie kin he rallies
Making music evermore.
See! the shaggy pelt doth grow
On his twisted shanks below,
And his dreadful feet are cloven
Though his brow be white as snow-
Though his brow be clear and white
And beneath it fancies bright,
Wisdom and high thoughts are woven
And the musics of delight,
Though his temples too be fair
Yet two horns are growing there
Bursting forth to part asunder
All the riches of his hair.
Faerie maidens he may meet
Fly the horns and cloven feet,
But, his sad brown eyes with wonder
Seeing-stay from their retreat.
poem by Clive Staples Lewis
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To June. Written After An Ungenial May
I'll heed no more the poet's lay-
His false-fond song shall charm no more-
My heart henceforth shall but adore
The real, not the misnamed May.
Too long I've knelt, and vainly hung
My offerings round an empty name;
O May! thou canst not be the same
As once thou wert when Earth was young.
Thou canst not be the same to-day-
The poet's dream-the lover's joy:-
The floral heaven of girl and boy
Were heaven no more, if thou wert May.
If thou wert May, then May is cold,
And, oh! how changed from what she has been-
Then barren boughs are bright with green,
And leaden skies are glad with gold.
And the dark clouds that veiled thy moon
Were silvery-threaded tissues bright,
Looping the locks of amber light
That float but on the airs of June.
O June! thou art the real May;
Thy name is soft and sweet as hers
But rich blood thy bosom stirs,
Her marble cheek cannot display.
She cometh like a haughty girl,
So conscious of her beauty's power,
She now will wear nor gem nor flower
Upon her pallid breast of pearl.
And her green silken summer dress,
So simply flower'd in white and gold,
She scorns to let our eyes behold,
But hides through very wilfulness:
Hides it 'neath ermined robes, which she
Hath borrowed from some wintry quean,
Instead of dancing on the green-
A village maiden fair and free.
Oh! we have spoiled her with our praise,
And made her froward, false, and vain;
So that her cold blue eyes disdain
To smile as in the earlier days.
Let her beware-the world full soon
Like me shall tearless turn away,
And woo, instead of thine, O May!
The brown, bright, joyous eyes of June.
O June! forgive the long delay,
My heart's deceptive dream is o'er-
Where I believe I will adore,
Nor worship June, yet kneel to May.
poem by Denis Florence MacCarthy
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At an Old Drawer
Before this scarf was faded,
What hours of mirth it knew;
How gayly it paraded
From smiling eyes to view.
The days were tinged with glory,
The nights too quickly sped,
And life was like a story
Where all the people wed.
Before this rosebud wilted,
How passionately sweet
The wild waltz smelled and lilted
In time for flying feet;
How loud the bassoons muttered,
The horns grew madly shrill,
And oh! the vows lips uttered
That hearts could not fulfill.
Before this fan was broken,
Behind its lace and pearl
What whispered words were spoken,
What hearts were in a whirl;
What homesteads were selected
In Fancy's realm of Spain,
What castles were erected
Without a room for pain.
When this odd glove was mated,
How thrilling seemed the play;
Maybe our hearts are sated--
We tire so soon to-day.
O, thrust away these treasures,
They speak the dreary truth;
We have outgrown the pleasures
And keen delights of youth.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Defy Greed
Pay no heed
To your greed
Do it once
Just to give your greatness
A chance.
Once and then once more
As never before
Defy the greed
Pay it no heed.
Here and there
A small sacrifice
Would suffice
You’re learning to share.
You’re learning to defy greed
Learning the worth of a good deed
You’ve it to take the lead
To free the world from greed.
poem by Pradip Chattopadhyay
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The Temple
Between us leapt a gold and scarlet flame.
Into the hollow of the cupped, arched blue
Of Heaven it rose. Its flickering tongues up-drew
And vanished in the sunshine. How it came
We guessed not, nor what thing could be its name.
From each to each had sprung those sparks which flew
Together into fire. But we knew
The winds would slap and quench it in their game.
And so we graved and fashioned marble blocks
To treasure it, and placed them round about.
With pillared porticos we wreathed the whole,
And roofed it with bright bronze. Behind carved locks
Flowered the tall and sheltered flame. Without,
The baffled winds thrust at a column's bole.
poem by Amy Lowell
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The Merry Window
The alabaster legs of the lonely woman
hang from the window like white ensigns
out of the laughing window like false teeth
sheets, flagstaffs, telescopes, rolls of music,
or you would say beheaded necks of swans
or the electric horns of factories
where foreign dreams are nightly fabricated.
Yearning for her coal once heaved in the seam
for her the sewers shrieked their way through London
and pigeons ate each other in the air.
But the deserted lady is frozen to the marrow
her heart has floated into her left leg
and her forked tongue asks in three languages
for a bassoon, a pyramid, and an egg.
All the white birds have flown out of her lips
the Polar Bear has eaten her left breast
her eyes are covered with yellow webs of dust,
in fact she is what a Saint would call abandoned
since even her own self has forgotten her.
poem by Francis Scarfe
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Fragment
Moon of leaves,
Moon of the falling leaves,
To you I bring the slippers
of the sun.
That you may dance upon the
floor of sun,
My lady carries sun within her eyes.
Moon of the Unrevealed,
Moon of the gold-encrusted shield,
To you I bring the fragment
of my prayer.
Moon of the crinkled hair,
Tell me, will my lady yield
Eyes and mouth and breasts unsealed?
Will my lady yield?
Moon of the yellow streaked with red,
Moon that the sun would lead to bed,
Moon with the death's head
More than dead,
Why do you frighten the Goddess of Love,
Whose frail white fingers are moving above
The lover's white body lost in his love?
Moon, you are more than dead.
Moon of the ermine loist in the snow,
Moon of the frozen furbelow,
Moon of the nothingness here below,
Moon, you must go.
It is the Sun that tells you so-
Moon, you must go.
And I was dark beneath the moon,
And you were dark beneath the moon,
And we were dark beneath the moon.
Now I am gold beneath the sun,
Now you are gold beneath the sun,
Now we are gold beneath the Sun.
poem by Harry Crosby
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