I Flee The City, Temples, And Each Place
I flee the city, temples, and each place
where you took pleasure in your own lament,
where you used every forceful argument
to make me yield what I could not replace.
Games, masques, tournaments bore me and I sigh
and I dream no beauty that is not of you.
And so I try to kill my passion too,
forcing another image to my eye,
hoping to break away from tender thought.
Deep in the woods I found a lonely trail,
and after wandering in a maze I sought
to put you wholly out of mind. I fail.
Only outside my body can I live
or else in exile like a fugitive.
poem by Louise Labe
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Related quotes
From This City I Want To Escape (Free Verse Quatern)
From this city I want to flee,
to find a place of some solace,
not again I want to return,
where city lights sometimes blind people.
I still think about how it was,
from this city I want to flee,
I cannot fit in this anthill,
a bridge to escape, I must find.
The city makes me uneasy,
I want to wander on the beach,
from this city I want to flee,
I want to vanish by bus or train.
Now I splash in a city stream,
at times are in the open air,
about freedom I can just dream,
from this city I want to flee.
poem by Gert Strydom
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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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Drama On The Golden Prince On The 7th Floor, Cebu City...
i am in a place away from home.
in my room there are two beds
the curtains are double layered
the thicker one i set aside leaving the
silky one transparent so i can see
vaguely the outline of the whole city
as i am on top of this little world
where i may have a holistic view
of this present moment.
i need some definitions of what
solitude is. It does not have the haunting qualities of
the guilty mind.
when i sleep tonight i shall not make creases
on the blanket.
i do not turn on
the TV
I will be listening to the sound of the carpet on the floor
when i walk barefooted and put my hands on the railing
of the window
watching the city glow
the lights of the cars moving
in different colors
other friends may make a call
but i am turning my cellphone off
really, really, there is no place
to replace a home.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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The Fairy's Gift
The Fays that to my christ'ning came
(For come they did, my nurses taught me),
They did not bring me wealth or fame,
'Tis very little that they brought me.
But one, the crossest of the crew,
The ugly old one, uninvited,
Said, 'I shall be avenged on YOU,
My child; you shall grow up short-sighted!'
With magic juices did she lave
Mine eyes, and wrought her wicked pleasure.
Well, of all gifts the Fairies gave,
HERS is the present that I treasure!
The bore whom others fear and flee,
I do not fear, I do not flee him;
I pass him calm as calm can be;
I do not cut--I do not see him!
And with my feeble eyes and dim,
Where YOU see patchy fields and fences,
For me the mists of Turner swim -
MY 'azure distance' soon commences!
Nay, as I blink about the streets
Of this befogged and miry city,
Why, almost every girl one meets
Seems preternaturally pretty!
'Try spectacles,' one's friends intone;
'You'll see the world correctly through them.'
But I have visions of my own,
And not for worlds would I undo them.
poem by Andrew Lang
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Varanasi
Religious and cultural centre, holy city Varanasi
A revered shrine at bank of holy river Ganges.
Founded by God himself, Lord Shiva's adobe Kashi
Religious and cultural centre, holy city Varanasi.
Bathing in Ganges purifies soul and remits the sin,
Dying in Kashi ensures, obtaining the final release.
Religious and cultural centre, holy city Varanasi
A revered shrine at bank of holy river Ganges.
***
Morning mantra hymns make you feel in heaven,
Ghat, temples and festivals, are icons of Varanasi.
Sacred river, sacred place; Hindu's great pilgrimage
Morning mantra hymns make you feel in heaven.
The city has given birth to many great personalities
Great souls Tulsi, Kabir, Ravidas lived in varanasi.
Morning mantra hymns make you feel in heaven
Ghat, temples and festivals, are icons of Varanasi.
***
Varanasi is the city, where Budhism was founded
Sarnath, Budhist's holy place, is too in Varanasi.
First sermon to his disciples Budha here sounded
Varanasi is the city where Budhism was founded.
Glorified by creation of great music and literature,
Classical folk culture, music, craft and philosophy.
Varanasi is the city where Budhism was founded
Sarnath, Budhist's holy place, is too in Varanasi.
***
Triolet form
(C) S. D. Tiwari
sdtiwari1(at) gmail(dot) com
poem by S.D. Tiwari
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PC Games
PC Games are children's favorite nowadays
Oh! those days have gone
When children used to play in the fields
They used to play football, cricket and hockey...
Now children are busy playing PC games
Various games like Farm Ville, City ville, Empire Earth, San Andreas, Age of Empires etc
Some of them are so addicted to it
They don't study
But others are exceptional
Playing those PC games are harmful for eyes, health etc
Those games are 3D and 2D...
PC games...
What about those old games?
poem by Z.I. Mahmud
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Evil Woman
I've seen a look of evil in your eyes
You've been filling me all full of lies
Sorrow will not change your shameful deeds
Do well best, someone else has better seen
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me
Now I know just what you're looking for
You want me to claim that child you bore
Well you know that it must he not be
And you know the way it got to be
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me
Evil woman, don't you play your games with
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me
Wickedness lies in your moisten lips
Your body moves just like the crack of a whip
Blackness sleeps on top of your stray bed
Do you whish that you could see me dead
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me
Evil woman, don't you play your games with me
song performed by by Black Sabbath
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The City Of Damn-His Soul
He was nursed and cursed : he lied and died,
In the City of Damn-His-Soul ;
He was mothered and smothered in the slimy tide
Of the City of Damn-His-Soul,
And, strange to say, there were preachers there,
And temples, many and broad ;
But he never had taught him the simplest prayer,
Or had heard of the word of God !
For nobody cared for the poor galoot,
And fewer had cared for his soul
For they said that Hell had a new recruit
From the City of Damn-His-Soul.
But the angels they waited, outside the gate
Of the City of Damn His Soul ;
And they bore him away, with step elate,
To the City of Save-His-Soul ;
And the angels they put him to school How odd !
And they taught him the A B C
Of the Love, and the Wisdom, and Truth of God.
On the winterless side of the sea
He played and was taught, with the angels for chums,
Where the rivers of Paradise roll :
Ah, me, what a change from the bums and the slums
Of the City of Damn-His-Soul !
He has learned a trade in that wonderful place
In the City of Save-His-Soul ;
All traces of sin have been wiped from his face
In the college of Save-His-Soul ;
They Ve taught him to work : they Ve taught him to
pray:
They 've taught him to read and write ;
He works in the gardens of God, by day,
And learns new lessons by night.
The poor lone youth, who had carried the hod
For the devil's designs below,
Is a power and a prince in the realms of God
And I 'm glad that these things are so.
poem by Robert Kirkland Kernighan
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2112: II. The Temples Of Syrinx
... "The massive grey walls of the Temples rise from the heart of every Federation city. I have always been awed by them, to think that every single facet of every life is regulated and directed from within! Our books, our music, our work and play are all looked after by the benevolent wisdom of the priests..."
We've taken care of everything
The words you hear, the songs you sing
The pictures that give pleasure to your eyes.
It's one for all and all for one
We work together, common sons
Never need to wonder how or why.
We are the Priests of the Temples of Syrinx
Our great computers fill the hallowed halls.
We are the Priests, of the Temples of Syrinx
All the gifts of life are held within our walls.
Look around at this world we've made
Equality our stock in trade
Come and join the Brotherhood of Man
Oh, what a nice, contented world
Let the banners be unfurled
Hold the Red Star proudly high in hand.
We are the Priests of the Temples of Syrinx
Our great computers fill the hallowed halls.
We are the Priests, of the Temples of Syrinx
All the gifts of life are held within our walls.
song performed by by Rush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To visit templesTo visit temples
I visit temples and conduct rites
More to please the priest than the deities.
I visit temples and do sacrifices
More to bribe the God than cleanse myself.
I visit temples and do worships
More to fake being pious than be so.
I visit temples and give offerings
To make clean myself of sins for fresh ones.
18.01.2010
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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The Drowned City
She once bore fruit of exquisite taste
Lemons, apples and bananas
Were eaten by sailors who came by
Her fruits bore life
The trees that she had
Sheltered the citizens from the sun
Now it is gone!
She will be no more
Trucks came by with bricks of stone
They built on her
A city that was cold
She was pushed back into a corner of herself
Eventually she drowned
When people come to visit her on the map
They were blinded by what they saw
They don’t know what lies under the sea
Under the sea lies a city in shock!
The city is no longer there
The city can no longer be
This was Olympus
But now she is I!
poem by Lee John Siebritz
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To Win Another One
People play games to win, not for fun
Otherwise, it’s meaningless
In competitive games like basketball or golf
To win is the primary purpose
While to have fun or make friends is at most the second
Because people need to win to establish confidence and conquer others
It’s victory that excites us, not failure
It’s victory that makes our names familiar to others, not failure
It’s victory that makes us want to play again
It’s victory that tells us not to give up
Not only the human beings
Animals either fight to win and to kill or to be killed
They have no second chance
They have to fight till death
To win or to lose
Is a choice we are facing everyday
Golf masters are having fun all the time
Because they won many tournaments and they are champions
So let’s win another one
And win them all
poem by Michael Guo
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At The Chime Of A City Clock
A city freeze
Get on your knees
Pray for warmth and green paper.
A city drought
Youre down and out
See your trousers dont taper.
Saddle up
Kick your feet
Ride the range of a london street
Travel to a local plane
Turn around and come back again.
And at the chime of the city clock
Put up your road block
Hang on to your crown.
For a stone in a tin can
Is wealth to the city man
Who leaves his armour down.
Stay indoors
Beneath the floors
Talk with neighbours only.
The games you play
Make people say
Youre either weird or lonely.
A city star
Wont shine too far
On account of the way you are
And the beads
Around your face
Make you sure to fit back in place.
And at the beat of the city drum
See how your friends come in twos;
Or threes or more.
For the sound of a busy place
Is fine for a pretty face
Who knows what a face is for.
The city clown
Will soon fall down
Without a face to hide in.
And he will lose
If he wont choose
The one he may confide in.
Sonny boy
With smokes for sale
Went to ground with a face so pale
And never heard
About the change
Showed his hand and fell out of range.
In the light of a city square
Find out the face thats fair
Keep it by your side.
When the light of the city falls
You fly to the city walls
Take off with your bride.
But at the chime of a city clock
Put up your road block
Hang on to your crown.
For a stone in a tin can
Is wealth to the city man
Who leaves his armour down.
song performed by by Nick Drake
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Pleasure Beach
(words & music by john oates)
Pleasure beach
You may look but never find
That neglected place in time
Like a dream just out of reach
Pleasure beach
Not a place you left behind
Or a place youll ever find
Its a dream just out of reach
Its a place called pleasure beach
There aint no waves in a swimming pool
There aint no fun til you break the rules
Were ever young but never free
I guess thats how it was meant to be
On the beach our thoughts were hot
But our hearts were cool
We fell in love
But we like to fool around with everyone we meet
Its you for you
And me for me
Pleasure beach
You make look but never find
That neglected place in time
Like a dream just out of reach
Pleasure beach
Not a place youll ever find
Its a dream just out of reach
Its a place called pleasure beach
song performed by by Hall & Oates
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Is There Any Truth in Beauty?
Is there any truth in Beauty?
What of the lies beauty tells thee?
Could my beauty not be as worthy
As I make thy Beauty part of me?
Such is Beauty as to make one's sight loud.
This beauty that veils our sense in a shroud.
beauty: that which deters seeing the person.
Does Beauty not conceal what is and isn't?
Yet merciless time holds beauty as a hostage,
Defiles Beauty and scars it with lasting ravage.
Thus the years that pass send Beauty to its resting-place
For vain beauty will yield, to woefully fall from grace.
If beauty should ever lament on age's cruelty,
Let not Beauty forget how little it has wept for me.
Heart Of A City
In this city excitement happens everyday,
No two days play out the same,
For the nightlife is cool to the extreme,
Where sometimes gangs play their games,
But most people just congregate in the city's bars,
As they listen to jazz, rock and all kinds of music,
For this is the heart of a city,
And car follows car: sometimes picking up hookers,
Yet usually on their way to the colourful nightlife,
To chat, laugh and dance throughout the night,
And sometimes - yes - there are fights,
But whatever goes on, no one seems to care,
Gangs of girls tottering on their high heels,
And young men drinking beer from cans,
And this is paradise, this is life,
And the city buzzes with people,
All searching for inner truth,
Trying to find somewhere to replace their stolen youth,
But soon the night will turn to morning,
And a vibrant new day will begin,
Lovers untangling themselves in their bedroom sheets,
To shower and drink coffee and orange juice,
Slowly waking from last night's alcoholic spell.
poem by by unknown author
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A little home
It is home, sweet home that counts on and matters
In my sound sleep also sometimes I utter
I long for those atmosphere and beautiful walls
Some type of magnetic pull that always gives call
All sweet and bad memories are deeply attached
Not for a moment it takes us away and keep detached
Birth place, childhood and youth very happily spent
Protection under kind parents and happy moments
I will never forget the place which helped to build?
Kind love, affection and impregnable protective shield
So much influence form all over and everything to yield
Fresh air, lovely atmosphere and free games in open field
You long for your own home when gain maturity
It goes on in succession with continuity
You have your home with kids and beautiful wife
Days are passing off very smoothly in life
The end of universe is your dear home
You may not find beautiful city like Rome
But home is called home and has no parallel
When you reach at home you feel so well
You may get tired while working at sites
It may compel you to work and more wishes to ignite
You are lifeless when returned home at night
Your mind is not at rest and continues to fight
When you reach home and find everything alright
You may be able to think what is wrong or right
You may find all comforts at home when reach
You may feel at the top of the world and rich
You may have to work hard for your livelihood
You too may have to care for your neighborhood
Home is where you get all comforts and joy
You will have to make it heaven and completely enjoy
No where on earth you will feel at ease
Tension and worries altogether may cease
Morning sun may brighten your hope
Yu may be well prepared to walk on rope
All individual dream of happy home to take refuge
You can have easy access, free entry and no one can refuse
It is for us to make it worth while and suitable
No other place can make us happy or comfortable
I shall pray for suitable house with complete peace
Where I can hang on for all times to come at ease
It is place to seek solace and new energy release
Opening of new relation and not try it to freeze
Home has remained a holy place
Nobody every could replace
It is complete reality
Go for it and improve the quality
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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My Pride Zomba City
My pride Zomba City
Whose people take pleasure in working
Chancellor College and useful facilities in the City
My pride Zomba City
Beautifulness is the maker of the City
with valleys and mountains ranging
My pride Zomba City
Whose people take pleasure in working
poem by Samuel WODEKHA Mang'anya
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The Child in Us All
Children we are all
When it comes to love
When it comes to the fall
Games need to be played
For in the world of games comes pleasure
Its good to take measure
Common place in our homes
It reminds us we are not alone
When it becomes hated and ill related
We are lost in the seriousness of forgetfulness
Where we came from
Who we are
A constant reminder
We can't let it drift to far
Look at the shining star
Tell me what you see
Is it the child in me
It gives me the power to believe
When others will not
They say let it die and rot
You see it as a fashion
I see it as a passion
Lets agree to disagree
Under this great tree of irony
poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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