I Refuse to Lament
I have things to lament.
You have things to lament.
I refuse to lament.
But, you stay glued to sentiments,
With contented reasons meant.
I have things to lament.
You have things to lament.
I refuse to lament.
But, you stay glued to sentiments,
With contented reasons meant.
Growing old,
You lament.
As if you're sold,
To lament.
Inviting mold,
To convince to start a pointless argument.
Growing old,
You lament.
As if you're sold,
To lament.
Inviting mold,
To convince to start a pointless argument.
I have things to lament.
You have things to lament.
I refuse to lament.
But, you stay glued to sentiments,
With contented reasons meant.
Growing old,
You lament.
As if you're sold,
To lament.
Inviting mold,
To convince to start a pointless argument.
I refuse to lament.
But, you stay glued to sentiments,
With contented reasons meant.
I have things to lament.
You have things to lament.
Why shoiuld we be here lamenting,
When lamenting makes no sense.
I have things to lament.
You have things to lament.
Why shoiuld we be here lamenting,
When lamenting makes no sense.
I have things to lament.
You have things to lament.
Why shoiuld we be here lamenting,
When lamenting makes no sense.
I refuse to lament.
I refuse to lament.
I refuse the consenting when to me it makes no sense.
I refuse to lament.
I refuse to lament.
I refuse the consenting when to me it makes no sense.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Related quotes
Those Who Betray And Lament
At THIS hour of the day.
And with time allowed,
Over the years to slip away.
Someone sits not to forget or forgive,
Those who intentionally took steps to offend,
With a doing of it they went ahead to inflict.
And at THIS hour of the day,
It would not matter who said what to have what's been done...
Wished away,
To acknowledge what took place.
Since what took place can not be erased,
From the mind of the one this misdeed continues to sit...
Long after it was considered someone's fun!
And at THIS hour of the day...
Wishing for a way to turn back the clock,
To prevent what should not have happened...
To have it stopped and blocked from a doing,
Is not on the mind of the one who is visited with memories...
At THIS hour of the day,
When one witnesses images from a distance...
A payback paid to those who betray and lament.
Those who betray and lament...
Grieve.
Those who betray and lament...
Can't sleep.
Those who betray and lament,
Become haunted.
Unwanted.
Those who betray and lament...
Grieve.
Those who betray and lament...
Can't sleep.
Those who betray and lament,
Become haunted.
Unwanted.
And have nobody near them to hear their pleas!
Those who betray and lament...
Grieve.
Those who betray and lament...
Can't sleep.
Those who betray and lament,
Become haunted.
Unwanted.
And have nobody near them to hear their pleas!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Pibroch Dhu For Jim Hogg
The piper plays his sad lament
Alone upon the bleak hillside.
A bitter hymn of discontent
recalling those who bravely died.
A living breathing testament
to regimented homicide.
The piper plays his sad lament
alone upon the bleak hillside.
This world is not as it was meant
The ten commandments are defied
as warfare rages far and wide.
As in the past and the present.
The piper plays his sad lament.
poem by Ivor .e Hogg
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Lament
Lament is a hollow song
we sing to ourselves
about misgivings in our past.
A song of our wayward life
of when we were young.
Lament is the hurtful baggage
that we carry around
to torment us in silent times
when we sit alone.
We sing it to ourselves
hoping it could be undone.
Once a word is spoken,
it can never be withdrawn.
Once a hurt is caused,
no bandage can repair.
We can only lament on it later
in our silent moments
when we sit alone.
26 November 2009
poem by David Harris
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The Angst...
Lament
knows better
Joy dances with
Bliss but as soon
as Grief arrives
Joy cries and Lament
as usual sits down
reflects
writes and knows
the exit towards
Enlightenment.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Lament of a Wash-basin
LAMENT OF A WASH-BASIN
Very sorry my friends,
If by my lament,
Your tender hearts, I hurt,
When thus out I blurt.
But no other way have I,
To gain your sympathy o'er my cry,
Than in black and white to mention
And draw your kind attention.
All of you I beseech,
To yonder bin to reach
And, my dears-there to empty
Your tiffin-boxes, of left-overs sundry.
Of my gurgling throat, I'm sure,
It'll no more be wrote to cure,
For, I hope, you'll ne'er again so choke
And then, with a rod try to poke!
Thank you so much, my dears,
For so patiently lending your ears,
To the lament of a poor sink,
In this emanating stink!
poem by Chandra Thiagarajan
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You lament not the dead, but lament the trouble of making a grave; the way of the ghost is longer than the grave.
Distill My Soul
The sylphs of mountain high give voice to solar winds.
The sirens of the sea - The sailors death she sings.
Lament, lament now that the shadow of the sun has cast faith and indistinct upon the hope of salvation.
Can you hear them still?
Faint murmurs?
Nothing to salvage is there left drifting in the sway.
Be still my head
Distill my soul
Take me half
And make me whole.
A multitude of madness
Generations lost to sadness
Bleeding
Begging for a better life.
They would lock me away for seeing all I have seen
They would praise me for the things I could have been.
poem by David Lacey
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Don't Commence Lamenting
Discuss,
You must.
But distrust your rush,
To judgement.
Or...
Laments commenced.
That don't pay your mortgage,
Or rent.
That's pending.
Don't lament!
Discuss,
You must.
But distrust your rush,
To judgement.
Or...
Laments commenced.
Or anyone who doesn't pay,
A single cent...
Back,
You lend them!
Don't commence lamenting...
Anyone who doesn't pay a single cent back,
You lend them.
Don't lament...
Anyone who doesn't pay a single cent back,
You lend them.
Don't commence lamenting...
Anyone who doesn't pay a single cent back,
You lend them.
Don't lament...
Anyone who doesn't pay a single cent back,
You lend them.
Don't commence lamenting...
Anyone who doesn't pay a single cent back,
You lend them.
Just,
Don't do it again!
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Flowers Of The Forest
A lone piper plays a sad lament.
Silhouetted against the sky.
Parading on the battlements.
A focal point for every eye.
A single ray of sunlight shone
Through a break in clouds of grey.
As if to grant a benison.
A blessing on the memory
of those who died in freedoms cause.
Remembered for eternity.
The sad lament a tour de force.
Which foreign tourists flock to see.
A tribute to our proud history.
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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Breffne Caoinc
NOT as a woman of the English weeping over a lord of the
English
Do I weep—
A cry that scarcely stirs the heart!
I lament as it is in my blood to lament—
Castle and stronghold are broken,
And the sovereign of the land beside the lake lies dead
Mahon O'Reilly!
In his day the English were broken:
I weep beside Loch Sheelin and the day is long and grey!
poem by Padraic Colum
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Priest at the Serapeum
My dear old father,
who always loved me the same;
my dear old father I lament
who died the day before yesterday, just before dawn.
Jesus Christ, it is my daily effort
to observe the precepts
of Thy most holy church in all my acts,
in all words, in all thoughts.
And all those who renounce Thee
I shun.-- But now I lament;
I bewail, Christ, for my father
although he was -- a horrible thing to say --
a priest at the accursed Serapeum.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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You make me smile!
In the darkness of the night,
Your smile is like a candle light,
Makes me feel like am in a first class flight,
And turns me from dark to bright.
When in my dullest moment,
You smile and make me forget,
‘Coz your smile is like an aroma of an unsullied bloom,
It takes away my lament.
Even when in my coldest moment
Your smile is like the warm glow of the morning sun,
It takes away coldness,
Warming each fraction of my heart,
Smile ‘coz you turn me bright,
Smile ‘coz you takes away my lament,
Smile ‘coz you warms my heart,
Smile ‘coz you make me smile.
poem by Emmanuel Kaunda
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Where's Loneliness?
and you heard it how i told her
she must free herself from her own depression she is too old for it
fifteen years, twenty another ten and she is not worth it anymore
sorrow overwhelming can be wasteful, sadness seeping is simply a sagging
surge of a salvaged symphony,
quit, it is quiet, quite a quilt of guilt,
quit, now, depression does not deserve her, she is too weak for an escape,
going down to your own knees and beg that you must be
lamenting forever, when lament knows how to lament by itself alone.
where's loneliness? is it inside you always and alone with you?
girl, this is not the rules of the game.
nature says, everything is temporary, nothing is permanently prim
nothing is permanently prime, someone goes down and another one
goes up, you are down under, and it is surprising
why,
your only tendency now is to go up, why deny yourself such a right?
go girl, go up, opt for sanity, be dandy
be groovy, take the new haircut, the sleazy one,
buy yourself a new dictionary of life and find the words
fit for your style this year. You're the ox and it is your year.
where's loneliness? it is no longer inside you.
I swear.
Gladness also knows how to steal you from the cruel
fingers of your foes.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Sheep-Washers' Lament
Come now, ye sighing washers all,
Join in my doleful lay,
Mourn for the times none can recall,
With hearts to grief a prey.
We'll mourn the washer's sad downfall
In our regretful strain,
Lamenting on the days gone by
Ne'er to return again.
When first I went a-washing sheep
The year was sixty-one,
The master was a worker then,
The servant was a man;
But now the squatters, puffed with pride,
They treat us with disdain;
Lament the days that are gone by
Ne'er to return again.
From sixty-one to sixty-six,
The bushman, stout and strong,
Would smoke his pipe and whistle his tune,
And sing his cheerful song,
As wanton as the kangaroo
That bounds across the plain.
Lament the days that are gone by
Ne'er to return again.
Supplies of food unstinted, good,
No squatter did withhold.
With plenty grog to cheer our hearts,
We feared nor heat nor cold.
With six-and-six per man per day
We sought not to complain.
Lament the days that are gone by
Ne'er to return again.
With perfect health, a mine of wealth,
Our days seemed short and sweet,
On pleasure bent our evenings spent,
Enjoyment was complete.
But now we toil from morn till night,
Though much against the grain,
Lamenting on the days gone by,
Ne'er to return again.
I once could boast two noble steeds,
To bear me on my way,
My good revolver in my belt,
I never knew dismay.
But lonely now I hump my drum
In sunshine and in rain,
Lamenting on the days gone by
Ne'er to return again.
A worthy cheque I always earned,
And spent it like a lord.
My dress a prince's form would grace.
And spells I could afford.
But now in tattered rags arrayed,
My limbs they ache with pain,
Lamenting on the days gone by,
Ne'er to return again.
May bushmen all in unity
Combine with heart and hand,
May cursed cringing poverty
Be banished from the land.
In Queensland may prosperity
In regal glory reign,
And washers in the time to come
Their vanished rights regain.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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Heaven Welcomes Another Angel
My heart joins with thee, in your sorrow;
I shan't say it will ease in the morrow,
Nor any day soon, if it shall, ever-
Truth be told, it may cease never!
Whence thee lament, surely I lament too;
I feel your pain, as though as one, with you!
I shall provide solace, when solace is wanted;
When all others cower or flee, I remain, undaunted!
Heaven welcomes another Angel into its realm,
Our loss of same, surely now doth overwhelm!
Obligation is owed for what was so precious-
Grieve, yet, celebrate what was left with us;
Yes, a glory hath passed from our sights-
Yet, its memory shall endure, for all our nights!
Maurice Harris,10 March 2010
poem by Maurice Harris
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We mourn the death of the forest universal
The town outside my window moans.
We mourn not for the death of Industry
Nor for the ghost of the English gentle men
We lament for the stars that have been hidden from gazers.
We lament for dead rats trapped electronic cages.
Have we learnt nothing through the ages?
We mourn the death of the forest universal
We mourn the death of culture as media vultures
Prey upon the minds of the young.
Outside the rain takes its toll upon the pavement
Washing away the reminents of Autumns presence.
He awaits in hibernatuin, a soul ready for consideration.
I dreamt last night of a gleaming crown, An Angel
Came forth to say. ‘Embrace the child don’t shoot her down,
Make love throughout the day.
poem by David Lacey
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Sensations Invented
It is so clear,
What is here!
What is near,
And appears.
Regardless of those,
Who choose to listen...
With opened ears.
It is apparent,
As the feeling in one's fingertips.
Even if some are numb to these senses...
The implementation done,
Has been imprinted.
Without effective lament.
Sensations invented,
Are meant to be left as sentiments.
Emotions within to mend with a willingness...
Are absent of attention.
At least hints intended,
Are not given to them.
It is so clear,
What is here!
What is near,
And reappears.
Regardless of those,
Who choose to listen...
With opened ears.
It is apparent,
As the feeling in one's fingertips.
Even if some are numb to these senses...
The implementation done,
Has been imprinted.
Without effective lament.
And we,
The people...
Receive beliefs under steeples.
Although through a peephole we peek.
To behold as told!
With full comrepension,
We desperately seek.
Prisoners of limited knowledge told.
To live with wishes to fulfill.
But then to become victims,
To that which we do not know!
It is so clear,
What is here!
What is near,
And appears.
Regardless of those,
Who choose to listen...
With opened ears.
Dismissing an acceptance,
That could be generated but disappears.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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I Don't Know If I Heard The Thing Itself
I don't know if I heard the thing itself,
Or perhaps the idea of the thing-
I do know
It ceased to be,
as all things cease to be-
Even the wind will die one day,
And our Earth have no one to sing songs of lament for it.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Uncertain Sea
If your tide goes sweeping out to sea
Let it be- do not despair -nor cast lament
Let not imagination conjure rip and rent
For this may be- this journey on uncertain sea
A journey of things never imagined-grand
More exhilarating than things thus planned
Your adventure not planed but free- all upon the uncertain sea
poem by Isabelle Cooper
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