Why
Why poets are shy.
Shylock what's in a name.
Why do they then cry
from Yawning Depths
to Wuthering Heights.
Why do they pointy-late
in consonants and footnotes
and sketch an unsaid Why.
Rilke steered my mares,
Vroman turned me in his cell
and Komrij protected my shell.
But What I needed
Was carefully heeded
in urges to mystify.
poem by Madrason writer
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Related quotes
Wuthering Heights
Out on the wiley, windy moors
Wed roll and fall in green.
You had a temper like my jealousy:
Too hot, too greedy.
How could you leave me,
When I needed to possess you?
I hated you. I loved you, too.
Bad dreams in the night.
They told me I was going to lose the fight,
Leave behind my wuthering, wuthering
Wuthering heights.
Heathcliff, its me--cathy.
Come home. Im so cold!
Let me in-a-your window.
Heathcliff, its me--cathy.
Come home. Im so cold!
Let me in-a-your window.
Ooh, it gets dark! it gets lonely,
On the other side from you.
I pine a lot. I find the lot
Falls through without you.
Im coming back, love.
Cruel heathcliff, my one dream,
My only master.
Too long I roam in the night.
Im coming back to his side, to put it right.
Im coming home to wuthering, wuthering,
Wuthering heights,
Heathcliff, its me--cathy.
Come home. Im so cold!
Let me in-a-your window.
Heathcliff, its me--cathy.
Come home. Im so cold!
Let me in-a-your window.
Ooh! let me have it.
Let me grab your soul away.
Ooh! let me have it.
Let me grab your soul away.
You know its me--cathy!
Heathcliff, its me--cathy.
Come home. Im so cold!
Let me in-a-your window.
Heathcliff, its me--cathy.
Come home. Im so cold!
Let me in-a-your window.
Heathcliff, its me--cathy.
Come home. Im so cold!
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Requiem
Our friendship needed tending
Like a garden kept weed free.
Watered and fed, protected.
Yet we starved it of affection
Let it die, turned it to a desert.
Too late for revival it lies as dust.
No requiem just a corpse unmourned.
poem by Paul Brookes
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What I've tended to do is to use my own experiences to get into someone else's mind, like in Wuthering Heights.
Thoughts are tyrants that return again and again to torment us.
Emily Brontë in Wuthering Heights
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Proud people breed sad sorrows for themselves.
Emily Brontë in Wuthering Heights
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I absolutely adored Wuthering Heights and fell in love with Heathcliff as most girls do.
quote by Margaret Forster
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Heights
We fly to heights;
then sink to depths.
Like birds that fly in the sky;
but pick their feeds from earth.
Like plains that travel in the air;
but gather passengers from the ground.
Like great mountains, towering in glory,
but are founded on their bases.
Great men are small!
They bow to wash others feet,
they get their hands dirty,
to clean up the mess.
The greatest things on earth are small
But there are no mountains without bases
And no wave fails to see the shores
No bird feeds in the air
Heights are sweet but we soon come back home
The greatest imperfection lies in heights
The only temptations come from pride
There’s no warmth in heights
We strive for heights but fall to depths
Heights are never real.
poem by Timothy muggaga
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Sometimes it seems like there's more footnotes than text. This isn't something we're proud of, and over time we'd like to see our footnotes steadily shrink.
quote by Barry Diller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Komrij's Fado
Komrij's Fado
A message moving,
lifting hands shifting
through the sky
alike a boat
drifting
on a sea
of eternity.
Smell that scent,
the fragrant roses
of poetry promises
and of coming proses,
and tears
and breathless rain
for Holland's Mozes,
departure of our beloved literator and poet, columnist etc Gerrit Komrij
poem by Madrason writer
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Am I a romantic? I've seen 'Wuthering Heights' ten times. I'm a romantic.
quote by Johnny Depp
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Your Late
you live in lies
fabrications
delusion
denial
childlike fantasies
i live in truth sense
not in negative denials
you say
the way i
treat you sucks
yet it is you
always hours late
for every rendezvous
even in your late time
your late
i paid for your food
your drinks
your friends
i paid for your clothes
your i-pod
your cell phones
your lap top
your cell phones
limited edition model
ego demanded
i paid for hotels
for holidays
for your taxis
for your shopping
i paid your bank account
your credit card bills
your needed operations
you always complain
your always negative
your always late
actually your right
one of us has an attitude
an attitude that sucks
poem by Terence George Craddock
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If Only Shakespeare Would Have
If only Shakespeare would have known
That his vengeful money lender whom
He named Shylock the Jew has grown
[Which I wish was on his tomb] to,
For everyone of Shylock there is
One hundred vengeful moneylenders and
Believe me they are not Jews!
Tis only a silent news!
poem by Ken e Hall
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I Came Home At Last
'It's me it's Terry I came home at last'
is a Wuthering Heights reference
declaration I am off roaming wild moors
to landscape tempest fight
as much as a spectre apparition can
in a storm of decades thoughts
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Stardust
sleeping with Rilke,
wrapped in the rain.
attaining the heights
and depths of smallness...
unfolding, unwrapping,
of such is living;
layer upon layer
we discover ourselves
in everything that breathes,
in clouds, trees bent with rain.
in the hollow of the wind
where all is stillness.....
in the ordinary, the common,
we find stardust in a bird's
abandoned nest, in a nail
on the side of the barn...
rusted with time
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Excuses
Why no one will help me
I am too dumb I am too smart
They'll not understand me
I am lonely
They'll hate me
And there is not enough time
It's too hard to help me
And god wants me to work
No resting no lazy
These excuses how they served me so well
They've kept me safe
They've kept me stoic
They've kept me locked in my own cell
I'm too far from home
It takes far too much energy
And I cannot afford to
No one will ever see me
These excuses how they served me so well
They've kept me safe
They've kept me stoic
They've kept me locked inside my cell
These excuses how they're so familiar
They've kept me blocked
They've kept me small
They've kept me safe inside my shell
Bringing this into the light
Shakes their foundation
And it clears my side
Now my imagination
Is the only thing that limits
The bar that is raised to the heights
No one can have it all see
I have to they want me to
And I can't let them down
I'll never be happy
These excuses how they served me so well
They've kept me safe
Theyve kept me small
Theyve kept me locked inside my cell
These excuses how they're so familiar
They've kept me small
They've kept me stoic
They've kept me locked inside my cell
song performed by by Alanis Morissette
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Out of the simple consonants of the alphabet and our eleven vowels and diphthongs all possible syllables of a certain sort were constructed, a vowel sound being placed between two consonants.
quote by Hermann Ebbinghaus
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Crystal (Part II of A True Experience)
the multi-storey perhaps three storey
grim and desolate building
-so dark and devoid of love-
struck me like the one i saw recently
in Wuthering Heights, the 1930s
black and white British film
as the dream came on,
something inside told me,
it was a building where such
a chilling tragedy did strike
shadows, echoes and a
menacing atmosphere overran
the rundown building
there was no door except
an opening to a dark interior
cold as caves
Wuthering Heights where memories
only cut through the heart and wounds
to set them bleeding once more
the beau and belle so
completely overwhelmed by love
their despair still eats up
every moment here
my family quite strangely
i thought were all up there
looking at the furniture,
decor, relics perhaps
i felt the rush to join them
but was held back by the
intimidating atmosphere
that resulted in a drenched feeling
flitting bats threw their shadows
as they looked relentlessly for a corner
to hook on as home
a big black dog barked
from the dark hall, another one ran
onto the scene but miserably failed
to warm the place up
a middle aged depressive
looking caucasian male
walked from one side of the buidling
stared at me, before i was summoned
back to the darkness of my room
poem by John Tiong Chunghoo
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Secret Garden
Shell let you in her house
If you come knockin late at night
Shell let you in her mouth
If the words you say are right
If you pay the price
Shell let you deep inside
But theres a secret garden she hides
Shell let you in her car
To go drivin round
Shell let you into the parts of herself
Thatll bring you down
Shell let you in her heart
If you got a hammer and a vise
But into her secret garden, dont think twice
Youve gone a million miles
How fard you get
To that place where you cant remember
And you cant forget
Shell lead you down a path
Therell be tenderness in the air
Shell let you come just far enough
So you know shes really there
Shell look at you and smile
And her eyes will say
Shes got a secret garden
Where everything you want
Where everything you need
Will always stay
A million miles away
song performed by by Bruce Springsteen
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cell Phone Mania
Cell phones to the right,
Cell phones to the left,
Cell phones, cell phones,
everywhere I look.
Red alert, stop! Listen,
shut up and drive,
shut up and read,
Cell phones, why so many.
Everyone talking,
cell phones in cars,
cell phones in bars,
eating places, cell phones.
There you can't escape
from them, you say
to yourself, the restroom,
no one would dare
use cell phone in there,
oh no, I hear someone,
talking to me, I answer them,
oh, sorry sir, did not know you
were on cell phone.
Oh, so many,
shut up, and walk.
Do away with cell phones,
and it would be like,
the crash of '29'.
People need cell phones,
sometimes their nice,
to have, but so many,
cell phones, might
as well join them
if you can't lick 'em,
join them.
Cell phone, cell phone
now how do I use this
thing, oh cell phone, cell phone,
Hello, Hello, oh that's
you mert.
wrote 1-19-07
Teach Me How To Fly
It's never to late to open the gate.
'Teach me.
Teach me.'
Age is nothing but an excuse to make.
'Teach me to free myself.
Teach me like no one else.'
Moons come and those Summers go.
It's never too late to open the gate.
Minds in fear keep those dreams slowed.
Age aint nothing but an excuse to make.
'Teach me.
Teach me.
Teach me how to fly.'
It's never too late to open the gate.
'Teach me,
I'd like to try.'
You're the only one who decides it's too late.
You're the only one afraid to open the gate.
You're the one with urges wishing to escape.
'Why can't you reach me to teach me,
To break away from those limits made? '
You're the only one who decides it's too late.
You're the only one afraid to open the gate.
You're the one with urges wishing to escape.
'Teach me.
Teach me.
Teach me how to fly.'
I can't.
It was something I desired.
And with that desire...
I found it could be done.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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