Theme with Variations
I never loved a dear Gazelle--
Nor anything that cost me much:
High prices profit those who sell,
But why should I be fond of such?
To glad me with his soft black eye
My son comes trotting home from school;
He's had a fight but can't tell why--
He always was a little fool!
But, when he came to know me well,
He kicked me out, her testy Sire:
And when I stained my hair, that Belle
Might note the change and this admire
And love me, it was sure to dye
A muddy green, or staring blue:
Whilst one might trace, with half an eye,
The still triumphant carrot through
poem by Lewis Carroll
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Related quotes
Your Boom, My Bust
So the he said
'Tell me capitalist
what is profit? '
He said
profit is what I earn
when I sell something for more than it is worth,
it is a reward for my effort.'
Ah, I said, if everyone did that
then the price of an object would
keep going up forever
since each person in the chain
would want their profft
and finally, the price would be so high
nobody could afford to buy
what the capitalist had to sell
and then we would all be in poverty
the last capitalist
would be the only one left with money
enough to buy up our properties
since the price would have dropped
because nobody could afford to pay
and in the end
the richest capitalist
would be the only one standing
and would own everything
while everyone else would have to sell everything to him
because all of the rest of us would be too poor
to pay the high prices its costs to live.
Sell something for more than it is really worth
on the grounds that a profit must be made
leads to disasters, and boom and bust.
Hello Wall Street.
And by the way
if everyone loses everything
who had the money to buy
it all up?
Hello Wall Street.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Ma Belle
The world is full of charm, ma belle,
And blithe as you are young;
It echoes with a silver note
The lispings of your tongue;
It lays upon your fairy hand
A touch as light as down;
It smiles approval, and, ma belle,
You have not felt its frown.
The world is very rich, ma belle,
And all its gifts are yours.
It bows before you, little one,
And while the mood endures,
With roses, freshly garlanded,
Your pathway bright adorns;
But roses fade, ma belle, ma belle—
And there are left the thorns!
To snare your feet, the world, ma belle,
Has spread a shining net,
What wonder then, believing child,
If you awhile forget,
Midst suitors who to-night adore,
And may to-morrow range,
A love that has been always yours—
A love that cannot change!
What wonder!—still they whisper praise,
And I have oft reproved;
Of love they speak with eloquence,
And I have only loved.
Sometimes, alas, I envy them,
Yet in the days to be,
You may forget them all, ma belle—
But will remember me!
poem by Florence Earle Coates from Poems (1898)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Not To Self: Don't Die
I'm as blue
I'm as blue as the ocean is true, it's just reflections of the sky
I'm as cold
I'm as cold as the stories you told but never sick enough to die
Note to self: don't change for anyone
Note to self: don't die
Note to self: don't change for anyone
Don't change, just lie
I'm as sick
I'm as crass as the things in your past, you wished that you could let them go
Caged birds
Caged animals starving for class
In your house when you're alone
Note to self: don't change for anyone
Note to self: don't die
Note to self: don't change for anyone
Don't change, just lie
Who do you call when you're alone
Nobody, baby
Who do you want to be, figure out and just let me know
Don't change, don't change, don't change
Just let me go
Just let me go
Just let me go
song performed by by Ryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Note To Self: Don't Die
I'm as blue
I'm as blue as the ocean is true, it's just refelctions of the sky
I'm as cold
I'm as cold as the stories you told but never sick enough to die
Note to self: don't change for anyone
Note to self: don't die
Note to self: don't change for anyone
Don't change, just lie
I'm as sick
I'm as crass as the things in your past, you wished that you could let them go
Caged birds
Caged animals starving for class
In your house when you're alone
Note to self: don't change for anyone
Note to self: don't die
Note to self: don't change for anyone
Don't change, just lie
Who do you call when you're alone
Nobody, baby
Who do you want to be, figure out and just let me know
Don't change, don't change, don't change
Just let me go
Just let me go
Just let me go
song performed by by Ryan Adams
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Highly-Colored Romance
Ben Green was a New-Hampshire boy,
Who stood full six feet two:
A jovial chap this same Ben Green,
Though he had oft been blue.
He loved a girl named Olive Brown,
Who lived near Bixby's pond,
And who, despite her brunette name,
Was a decided blonde.
"A Highly Colored Romance."
A pink of rare perfection she,
The belle of all the town;
Though Ben oft wished her Olive Green,
Instead of Olive Brown.
And she loved Ben, and said that nought
Should mar their joy serene;
And, when she changed from Olive Brown,
'Twould surely be to Green.
She kept her word in-violet,
And vowed, ere she was wed,
Although when Brown she had Be(e)n Green.
When Green she'd be well read.
But, ah! her young affections changed
To Gray, a Southern fellow;
And Green turned white the news to hear,
Though first it made him yell, oh!
Says he, " How can you lilac this,
When you vowed to be true?
I'll take your fine young lover, Gray,
And beat him till he's blue."
Then Olive Brown to crimson turned,
And said, "Do as you say:
The country long has wished to see
'The Blue combined with Gray.'"
Ben Green to purple turned with rage,
And black his brow as night;
While on the cheek of Olive Brown
The crimson changed to white.
"O cruel Olive Brown!" says Ben,
"I've been dun-brown by you:
Let this 'Grayback' his steps retrace,
And take Greenback, — oh, do!"
Poor Olive Brown, what could she say,
To sea-Green look so sad ?
And so she rose, and said to him,
"I'll go and ask my dad."
. . . .
The years rolled by: Ben's raven locks
For silver did not lack;
And Olive, with her hair of gold,
Was glad she took Greenback.
poem by Charles Follen Adams from Yawcob Strauss and Other Poems
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Best Buy, Good Sale, Fine, Sell
ok, you got the best buy
in the history of sales
got this contract
with lesser obligations
but more returns
maximized at most
for your benefit
though, it's scratched
with what?
with some hidden defects
got the best buy today
cheap
tomorrow i will have a good sale
of course, more expensive
for my gain & profit
that's how capitalism works
a third country having the best
buy from the rich country
and sells the same
to its people at a higher cost
of their freedom
and other liberties
ok, fine, if everything is at its highest
sell
what you bought at the cheapest
this is the law
and this will always be the law
when cheap buy
when high, sell
boils down to....
what do i get? yes, profit.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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For Anne Gregory
"Never shall a young man,
Thrown into despair
By those great honey-coloured
Ramparts at your ear,
Love you for yourself alone
And not your yellow hair."
"But I can get a hair-dye
And set such colour there,
Brown, or black, or carrot,
That young men in despair
May love me for myself alone
And not my yellow hair."
"I heard an old religious man
But yesternight declare
That he had found a text to prove
That only God, my dear,
Could love you for yourself alone
And not your yellow hair."
poem by William Butler Yeats (1933)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Never Said
That summer of 62
on the school playing field
and she sitting there
with her friends
and you trying to impress
and taking in her smile
and bright eyes and the way
she sat with her knees visible
beneath the green skirt
and the white ankle socks
and the scuffed black shoes
and wanting to say love you
sweet thing but only coming out
with words about the weather
or the way her friend had her hair
tied back with the green ribbon
or how bucktoothed her
other friend was and even though
she’d told you so many times
she loved you and hugged you
on the way home from the school bus
you could never bring yourself
to say the words that sat
on your lips back then
and there are lonely nights
you wish you had those days again.
poem by Terry Collett
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Which Is The Favourite?
Brothers and sisters I have many:
Though I know there is not any
Of them but I love, yet I
Will just name them all; and try
If there be one a little more
Loved by me than all the rest.
Yes; I do think, that I love best
My brother Henry, because he
Has always been most fond of me.
Yet, to be sure, there's Isabel;
I think I love her quite as well.
And, I assure you, little Ann,
No brother nor no sister can
Be more dear to me than she.
Only I must say, Emily,
Being the eldest, it's right her
To all the rest I should prefer.
Yet after all I've said, suppose
My greatest favourite should be Rose.
No, John and Paul are both more dear
To me than Rose, that's always here,
While they are half the year at school;
And yet that neither is no rule.
I've named them all, there's only seven;
I find my love to all so even,
To every sister, every brother,
I love not one more than another.
poem by Charles Lamb
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Ballade Of The Unchanged Beloved
(TO I----a)
When rumour fain would fright my ear
With the destruction and decay
Of things familiar and dear,
And vaunt of a swift-running day
That sweeps the fair old Past away;
Whatever else be strange and new,
All other things may go or stay,
So that there be no change in you.
These loud mutations others fear
Find me high-fortressed 'gainst dismay,
They trouble not the tranquil sphere
That hallows with immortal ray
The world where love and lovers stray
In glittering gardens soft with dew--
O let them break and burn and slay,
So that there be no change in you.
Let rapine its republics rear,
And murder its red sceptre sway,
Their blood-stained riot comes not near
The quiet haven where we pray,
And work and love and laugh and play;
Unchanged, our skies are ever blue,
Nothing can change, for all they say,--
So that there be no change in you.
ENVOI
Princess, let wild men brag and bray,
The pure, the beautiful, the true.
Change not, and changeless we as they--
So that there be no change in you.
poem by Richard Le Gallienne
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That's my school
Up at my school
everyone is different
yet we are treated
like an equal
everyone is always smiling
or laughing so hard
they start to cry
that's my school
a lot of people
go through my school
home of the blue jays
to cool for school
standing tall upon the hill
behind all the trees
stands the blue jay's school
yup, that's my school
each person is unique
form the clothes
to the hair
to their personality
each person is free
to express themselves
and be who they want
that's my school
WHS blue jay pride
that's something
that can never be beat
and something that we can't hide
friends come and go
but one thing will live on
the pride we had for our team
just like my school did
no matter where I go
or how far I leave town
I'll always be proud to say
WHS in WashMo is my school.
poem by Shauna Stoltz
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He wonders whether to praise or to blame her
I have peace to weigh your worth, now all is over,
But if to praise or blame you, cannot say.
For, who decries the loved, decries the lover;
Yet what man lauds the thing he's thrown away?
Be you, in truth, this dull, slight, cloudy naught,
The more fool I, so great a fool to adore;
But if you're that high goddess once I thought,
The more your godhead is, I lose the more.
Dear fool, pity the fool who thought you clever!
Dear wisdom, do not mock the fool that missed you!
Most fair, - the blind has lost your face for ever!
Most foul, - how could I see you while I kissed you?
So . . . the poor love of fools and blind I've proved you,
For, foul or lovely, 'twas a fool that loved you.
poem by Rupert Brooke (1913)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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If...
If there will come a day when the people whom i love the most
Will leave me alone and lost
When the ones whom i trust the most
Will fade away and leave my way with their choice
Alone and lost
Ill cry the most
If there will come the day that
All my dear ones whom i loved the most
Become strangers and all the love that we have once shared
Fly away and get lost
Then ill lose my way beck to home
My heart will weep bloody tears
For those whom we love the most
When they hurt, , it hurts the most
If there will come the day when you my love return home
Then ill cry
And ill try
To not admire
And get lost
If.....
If you and i
Some day
One day
Half way
Meet once again
Oh no way
Ill look to your eyes
Just once again
Ill knee to kiss the ground
If some day if...
Then i can die...
If...
poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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Krishnakali
In the village they call her the dark girl
but to me she is the flower Krishnakali
On a cloudy day in a field
I saw the dark girl's dark gazelle-eyes.
She had no covering on her head,
her loose hair had fallen on her back.
Dark? However dark she be,
I have seen her dark gazelleeyes.
Two black cows were lowing,
as it grew dark under the heavy clouds.
So with anxious, hurried steps,
the dark girl came from her hut.
Raising her eyebrows toward the sky,
she listened a moment to the clouds' rumble.
Dark? However dark she be,
I have seen her dark gazelle-eyes.
A gust of the east wind
rippled the rice plants.
I was standing by a ridge,
alone in the field.
Whether or not she looked at me
Is known only to us two.
Dark? However dark she be,
I have seen her dark gazelle-eyes.
This how the Kohldark cloud
rises in the northeast in Jaistha;
the soft dark shadow
descends on the Tamal grove in Asharh;
and sudden delight floods the heart
in the night of Sravan.
Dark? However dark she be,
I have seen her dark gazelle-eyes.
To me she is the flower Krishnakali,
whatever she may be called by others.
In a field in Maynapara village
I saw the dark girl's dark gazelle-eyes.
She did not cover her head,
not having the time to feel embarrassed.
Dark? However dark she be,
I have seen her dark gazelle-eyes.
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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Katrini
do you remember how we competed for a painting contest
in high school?
i was always looking at you for inspiration,
you were so beautiful
i got near you to make a scent
of your black silky hair
you were looking at me too
perhaps my black curly hair
complimented yours,
we were drawing something what our parents
did not tell us
it was too late for us to know
their love
was theirs not ours to follow
the year comes talking to me
my very own beautiful sister
how could i have loved you?
nature's foolishness played
a prank on me again,
but no, i didn't mind, my heart
knows how to love anew
it has its own feet to walk me
away and start loving for some
exciting beginnings.................
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Witches' Glen - An Auld Tale
Gather aroon the ingle nuek
For ae eerie tale I'll tell -
'Boot a glen whar a witchy spook
Cast folk in her terrible spell.
Her hair sae black, her eyes sae green
Black Meg she was the devil's queen.
Warlocks an witches dance at night
When the full-moon turns its ken!
Thunder rides on a bolt of light
The deil's in the witches' glen!
Her hair sae black, her eyes sae green
Black Meg she was the devil's queen.
Auld trees hang o'er the twisted wynd
An' blot oot the licht o' day;
An there, there's staring eyes tae find
A stranger wha's lost their way.
Her hair sae black, her eyes sae green
Black Meg she was the devil's queen.
Frae Grennan wood she hailed an flew
A flash thru the black night wind
Come witchin hour everyin knew
She'd get a' the folks wha sinned.
Her hair sae black, her eyes sae green
Black Meg she was the devil's queen.
They burned her on Kirkmaiden hill
An' they bound her on a stake:
She chanted spells that made 'em ill
An' they pray'd for Jesus' sake.
Her hair sae black, her eyes sae green
Black Meg she was the devil's queen.
When ere ye walk the witches' glen,
Whar branches stretch oot like hands
Tak' Bible, cross an' say, Amen!
An' heed the guid Lord's commands.
Her hair sae black, her eyes sae green
Black Meg she's still there tae be seen.
poem by Patrick Scott Hogg
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Murder is a Colorful Thing
Red is the color of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.
Orange is the color of her stained shirt because of the red of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.
Yellow is the color of her shirt before it was stained orange because of the red of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.
Green is the color of her stomach as I cut her tummy open through her once yellow shirt stained orange because of the red of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.
Blue is the color of the happy sky while I cut into the green of her tummy through her once yellow shirt now stained orange because of the red of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.
Violet is the color of my swollen face from crying under the blue happy sky while I cut into the green of her tummy through her once yellow shirt now stained orange because of the red of the blood splashed on the walls of my home.
Murder is a colorful thing...
poem by Tamara Buengener
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The Wild Blue-Bells
Came a bouquet from the city,
Fragrant, rich and debonair -
Sweet carnation and geraniium,
Heliotrope and roses rare.
Down beside the crystal river,
Where the moss-grown rocks are high,
And the ferns, from niche and crevice,
Stretch to greet the azure sky;
In the chaste October sunlight,
High above the path below,
Grew a tuft of lovely blue-bells,
Softly wind-swung to and fro.
Reached a dainty hand to grasp them,
Bore them home with loving care,
Tenderly and proudly placed them
'Mid the flowers so sweet and fair.
But my timid little blue-bells,
Children of the leafy wild,
Dazzled by their city sisters,
Turned away and, tearful, smiled.
When alone, I bent to kiss them,
Pleadingly they sighed to me,
'Take us, when we die, we pray thee,
Back beneath the dear old tree.'
'We would sleep where first the sunshine
Kissed us in the dewy morn;
Where, while soft, warm zephyrs fanned us,
Leaf and bud and flower were born.'
So I bore them, when they faded,
Back to where love sighed for them;
Laid them near the ferns and mosses,
'Neath the dear old parent stem; -
Deeply grieved that all things lovely
Must so soon forever die, -
That upon the gentle blue-bells
Winter's cold, deep snow must lie.
And I half arraigned the goodness
That made Death king everywhere -
Stretching forth his cruel sceptre -
Lord of sea, and earth and air.
Summer came, and all the hillsides
Wore a shim'ring robe of green;
And with rifts of sky and cloudlet
Flashed the river's golden sheen.
I was walking the old pathway,
When a tiny shout I hears;
Harken! was it elfin fairy,
Or some truant mocking bird?
No! a family of blue-bells
Waved their slender arms on high
Clapped their tiny arms in triumph,
Crying, 'See! we did not die.'
'Never more distrust the Master,
Love and Truth his ways attend
Death is but a darkened portal
Of a life that ne'er shall end
'Loved ones, parted from in anguish,
Your glad eyes again shall see, -
Brighter than the hopes you cherished
Shall the glad fruition be.'
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Mutability - II.
I.
The flower that smiles to-day
To-morrow dies;
All that we wish to stay
Tempts and then flies.
What is this world’s delight?
Lightning that mocks the night,
Brief even as bright.
II.
Virtue, how frail it is!
Friendship how rare!
Love, how it sells poor bliss
For proud despair!
But we, though soon they fall,
Survive their joy, and all
Which ours we call.
III.
Whilst skies are blue and bright,
Whilst flowers are gay,
Whilst eyes that change ere night
Make glad the day;
Whilst yet the calm hours creep,
Dream thou—and from thy sleep
Then wake to weep.
poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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Beg For Simplicity
My dear soul,
of Love!
Fly
over the mountains
with countless
shades of brown
and green
Away
from the things
of venetian
beauty
keep clean
the colours
taken within
butterfly swim
from one of each sea
the blue
the red or the green
Be fast back
please
find the tracks
of
simple
Me...
(...half soul of black)
poem by Elena Sandu
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