The Paper Nautilus
For authorities whose hopes
are shaped by mercenaries?
Writers entrapped by
teatime fame and by
commuters' comforts? Not for these
the paper nautilus
constructs her thin glass shell.
Giving her perishable
souvenir of hope, a dull
white outside and smooth-
edged inner surface
glossy as the sea, the watchful
maker of it guards it
day and night; she scarcely
eats until the eggs are hatched.
Buried eight-fold in her eight
arms, for she is in
a sense a devil-
fish, her glass ram'shorn-cradled freight
is hid but is not crushed;
as Hercules, bitten
by a crab loyal to the hydra,
was hindered to succeed,
the intensively
watched eggs coming from
the shell free it when they are freed,--
leaving its wasp-nest flaws
of white on white, and close-
laid Ionic chiton-folds
like the lines in the mane of
a Parthenon horse,
round which the arms had
wound themselves as if they knew love
is the only fortress
strong enough to trust to.
poem by Marianne Moore
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Symbols
I watched a rosebud very long
Brought on by dew and sun and shower,
Waiting to see the perfect flower:
Then, when I thought it should be strong,
It opened at the matin hour
And fell at evensong.
I watched a nest from day to day,
A green nest full of pleasant shade,
Wherein three speckled eggs were laid:
But when they should have hatched in May,
The two old birds had grown afraid
Or tired, and flew away.
Then in my wrath I broke the bough
That I had tended so with care,
Hoping its scent should fill the air;
I crushed the eggs, not heeding how
Their ancient promise had been fair:
I would have vengeance now.
But the dead branch spoke from the sod,
And the eggs answered me again:
Because we failed dost thou complain?
Is thy wrath just? And what if God,
Who waiteth for thy fruits in vain,
Should also take the rod?
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Jane and Bullfinch Eggs
Those are Bullfinch's eggs
Jane said
pointing at
the 5 eggs
in a nest
hidden in a hedge
and as she pointed
you imagined
that some god
modelled all female fingers
on that before you
how the nail was set
so perfectly
on the finger's tip
the colour pinkish white
the skin almost blending in
we mustn't disturb
she added
or the mother bird
will fly away
and not return
oh right
you said
gazing at the eggs
once her finger
had been removed
from the hedge
you studied
the pale blue eggs
speckled there
and sensed her presence
near your cheek
the lavender
that she wore
the way her hair dark
coming to her shoulders
was tied back
from her face
some collect them
Jane said
and pierce the top
and bottom
and blow through the contents
and have them on display
do they?
you said
seeing the sad expression
she wore
why is that?
you asked
she stood back
from the hedgerow
and looking at you
with her dark eyes
said
because they must have
they have to collect
what is there
for all to see
they must just have
for themselves alone
the May sun
was shining warm
and she took your hand
in hers and walked
you on along the lane
the small stream running
by the lane's edge
her grey skirt
and white blouse
and white socks
giving her a plain look
but her eyes lit up
and she smiled again
and you wanted
at that moment
as she held your hand
for that hour
to be there forever
not to be lost
thinking you knew then
the depth of love
and not its loss
of that
and feeling sense
and not the cost.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
A Dot On White Sheet!
Green leaves of spring are not there;
Colourful flowers of all seasons are gone;
Only white snow covers all in winter!
Winter snow thick or thin is white sheet
That covers all colourful things long!
Scrubbing snow on the road is a daily exercise
To clear route for all vehicles to go smooth;
All covered with fur cloth move in the street;
This white snow is like a white sheet of paper;
All the movements on it are the dots of scribble!
Writers are hungry of white paper to write on;
Poets are fond of writing poems on white sheet;
And the matters on white paper are men on snow;
But nobody likes winter as all are for colourful life!
poem by Ramesh T A
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Grinning Crab
Come with me, said the fish to the crab
and I will show you a cave where beautiful coral live.
When do we leave, said the crab to the fish
and tell me what I should bring.
Just bring a sense of adventure, said the fish to the crab, and some sun tan oil
You forget, said the crab to the fish, my shell is thick and impenetrable by rays of any kind.
What about the metal-tipped arrows, asked the fish of the crab, from a cheeky cherub?
Oh they don’t stand a chance, said the crab with a grin.
The fish, having eyes that could not blink, felt the molten tears sting his star-crossed eyes.
poem by Vernon Adrian Emuang
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Right Here In My Arms
She is smiling like heavens down on earth
Sun is shining so bright on her
All her wishes have finally come true
Her heart is weeping. this happiness is killing her.
Its right, shes in love
Shell be right here in my arms
So in love
Shell be right here in these arms
She cant let go
Repeat
So hard shes trying
But her heart wont turn to stone...oh no
She keeps on crying
But I wont leave her alone
Shell never be alone
Shell be right here in my arms
So in love
Shell be right here in these arms
She cant let go
Repeat
song performed by by H.i.m. (his Infernal Majesty)
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
2008: When You Let Sunlight Work On Your First Draft
We know why the old piece of paper is yellow
It's not because of overuse
With very little written on it
It's been set aside for so long
Not that anyone expected this page
To do anything by itself
He may have had high hopes
When he added a few black lines on white
If he had valued his work
Safely put it away
But it was left exposed
In a corner of the room
Right where the bright morning sun
Not slowed down by the thin glass
Did what he didn' t do
Finished turning the color of the paper
copyright 05-02-08
poem by Tom J. Mariani
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Strawberry Blonde
There she goes down in my head
Saying things she never said
Ee comings coming soon
But shell be reading on the moon
And I dont know why shes gone
Id welcome her in my arms
But shell always be strawberry blonde
There she goes back in my heart
Blowing cobwebs in the dark
The five oclock comes round the bend
And so she goes off with her friend
Chorus
She wrote a letter to her sister
She said this time its the end
She never knew how much I missed her
Around the bend
There she goes down in my head
Leaving cobwebs in my bed
Ee comings coming soon
But shell be laughing on the moon
Chorus
song performed by by Eels
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Mother Song
_From the Portuguese._
HEAVY my heart is, heavy to carry,
Full of soft foldings, of downy enwrapments--
And the outer fold of all is love,
And the next soft fold is love,
And the next, finer and softer, is love again;
And were they unwound before the eyes
More folds and more folds and more folds would unroll
Of love--always love,
And, quite at the last,
Deep in the nest, in the soft-packed nest,
One last fold, turned back, would disclose
You, little heart of my heart,
Laid there so warm, so soft, so soft,
Not knowing where you lie, nor how softly,
Nor why your nest is so soft,
Nor how your nest is so warm.
You, little heart of my heart,
You lie in my heart,
Warm, safe and soft as this body of yours,
This dear kissed body of yours that lies
Here in my arms and sucks the strength from my breast,
The strength you will break my heart with one of these days.
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Quail's Nest
I wandered out one rainy day
And heard a bird with merry joys
Cry 'wet my foot' for half the way;
I stood and wondered at the noise,
When from my foot a bird did flee--
The rain flew bouncing from her breast
I wondered what the bird could be,
And almost trampled on her nest.
The nest was full of eggs and round--
I met a shepherd in the vales,
And stood to tell him what I found.
He knew and said it was a quail's,
For he himself the nest had found,
Among the wheat and on the green,
When going on his daily round,
With eggs as many as fifteen.
Among the stranger birds they feed,
Their summer flight is short and low;
There's very few know where they breed,
And scarcely any where they go.
poem by John Clare
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Dont Quote Me On That
Its all eggs bacon beans and a fried slice.
Did you see the one, yeah yeah,
The one they wrote in the paper just the other day,
Well, well would you believe it,
Well what I said, they took it all the wrong way.
Now youve gotta be careful, bout what you say,
Cos theyve got a bad habit
Were you reading in between the lines?
Or is that what I said? , now I just cant remember
They seem to have a very good memory though
But as far as Im concerned, as as far as Im concerned
You don;t have to be black white, chinese or anything really
Just enjoy, shut up, listen and dance...
Its all eggs bacon beans and a fried slice
Dont quote me on that, dont quote me on that
Dont quote me on that, please dont quote me
Dont quote me on that
Dont quote me on that
Hey hey, you know something, I said I liked that guy,
But thats not what I read in the paper
I dont have anything against them,
Its just eggs bacon and a fried slice
Dont quote me on that dont quote me on that
Dont quote me on that please dont quote me
Dont quoe me on that
Dont quote me on that.
You know, now we get worried about what we say
We shouldnt be that way
You know, I dont care who comes,
Cos as far as Im concerned,
Its, eggs bacon beans and a fried slice
Dont quote me on that
Dontr quote me on that
Please dont quote me
Mama mama, you know Im still friends with mickey
They say I shouldnt like him anymore, because Im all white,
Well hes allright by me
Dont quote me on that
Please dont quote me
Dont quote me on that
Dont quote me on that
Now what I do, I bring all my old friends along to see the show
And if you have the wrong ideas well,
Its all eggs bacon beans and a fried slice
Dont quote me on that oh no
(dont quote me on that)
Please dont quote me
(dont quote me on that)
I never said that
(dont quote me on that)
Thats not what I meant
(dont quote me on that)
Well I suppose you could take it that way
(dont quote me on that)
But thats not what I meant to say
(dont quote me on that)
Wont you give me another chance
(dont quote me on that)
Please please
Dont quote me on that....
Id like to say thank you to pete, peter tosh
And all the other people who come and they believe in us for the fun and the music
Cos all Ive got to say to you press now is
Its all bacon beans and a fried slice
Eggs bacon beans and a fried slive
Go to maggies caff
132 liverpool road
Just down the road, just round the corner
Only theres not much corner
Its just chairs and tables and theyve even got a space invaders machine...
A cup of tea, thats fine for me,
Cos its all eggs bacon beans and a fried slive
Are you sure you turned that tape recorder off?
Are you sure? ,
Are you sure?
song performed by by Madness
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
Don't Take It Personal
I feel you there,
Waiting for me.
Anticipating something I will say...
To excite your mind.
Or put you to sleep instead.
And each time I compose,
I regard it as a blessing to do so.
There are others who think of this...
As an artform they can quickly dismiss.
However...
There is much more to this,
Than the reading of lines...
For rhyme and how those rhymes might fit.
Or the prose of it and if it makes sense.
I practice the 'science of an artform'.
And it is going to change.
Just like all of nature does.
But nothing can describe how these 'messages' begin.
A poet lets it flow.
Others throw together pieces and bits...
Hoping someone reads it with an understanding,
In their minds that lingers and sits.
You know...
Like some who study for a quiz.
And 'think' they've got all the right answers?
Some submit their writings just for 'ratings'
As if to satisfy an ego.
And the greatest of those who do what they do...
Do it to let it go!
Look at Picasso's work.
Or read anything from Beck!
Haiku...?
'Two birds nestle in one nest.
Eggs yoke the heavens.
But none are white or fried.'
I...
On the other hand,
Feel extremely blessed and pleased...
God has awarded me this gift,
As a form of therapy.
And using this 'method' to release my thoughts,
To free them for others who are unsuspecting...
When I'm done with one revelation,
I am on to another one.
So if anyone anticipates what I have to say...
In the way I say it.
Don't take it personal.
I've already done that!
~Two birds nestle in one nest.
Eggs yoke the heavens.
But none are white or fried.~
*That makes absolutely no sense! *
Perhaps not to you.
But neither does this statement to me...
'Let us make man in 'our' image.'
What 'image' is that?
If the Creator is unseen.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Incantation
A white well
In a black cave;
A bright shell
In a dark wave.
A white rose
Black brambles hood;
Smooth bright snows
In a dark wood.
A flung white glove
In a dark fight;
A white dove
On a wild black night.
A white door
In a dark lane;
A bright core
To bitter black pain.
A white hand
Waved from dark walls;
In a burnt black land
Bright waterfalls.
A bright spark
Where black ashes are;
In the smothering dark
One white star.
poem by Elinor Morton Wylie
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
White Letters On Green Green Grass
Never had he spoken of what they saw
He’d held it back- his emotions raw
Until this day when it came to pass
He found the name etched in black glass
Before that wall he found himself kneeling
Couldn’t shake the overwhelming feeling
His ravaged soul opened up at last
As long-buried memories flooded from the past
Black ink against the paper lined
On and on as he spoke his mind
Comrades-in-arms; friends ‘till the last
White letter on green green grass…..
His tears spilled and on the paper fell
As he wrote it all down; describing their hell
Fevered and hard; the words came fast
Purging his soul as he relived their past
Black ink against the paper lined
On and on as he spoke his mind
Comrades-in-arms; friends till the last
White letter on green green grass…..
poem by Julie Dant
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Behold a Pale Stranger
Behold a pale stranger
with white skeletal arms.
A blood red dance
in a mask of death.
Behold a pale stranger
with a cross of misgiving,
a staff of virginal white,
and arms crossed on his chest.
Behold a pale stranger
with a message of pending doom.
A white stallion
with headless rider.
Behold a pale stranger,
an empty shell of life.
7 January 1982
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Transparency
a egg shell
white as
clear skies
on a cloudless day
i hold it
against the sun
to see
if something
alive is
still there
to see
if you still
love me
opaque love
transparencies
of feelings
concealed
pains buried
like egg yolk
inside
this fragile shell
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Meditations Upon An Egg
1.
The egg's no chick by falling from the hen;
Nor man a Christian, till he's born again.
The egg's at first contained in the shell;
Men, afore grace, in sins and darkness dwell.
The egg, when laid, by warmth is made a chicken,
And Christ, by grace, those dead in sin doth quicken.
The egg, when first a chick, the shell's its prison;
So's flesh to the soul, who yet with Christ is risen.
The shell doth crack, the chick doth chirp and peep,
The flesh decays, as men do pray and weep.
The shell doth break, the chick's at liberty,
The flesh falls off, the soul mounts up on high
But both do not enjoy the self-same plight;
The soul is safe, the chick now fears the kite.
2.
But chicks from rotten eggs do not proceed,
Nor is a hypocrite a saint indeed.
The rotten egg, though underneath the hen,
If crack'd, stinks, and is loathsome unto men.
Nor doth her warmth make what is rotten sound;
What's rotten, rotten will at last be found.
The hypocrite, sin has him in possession,
He is a rotten egg under profession.
3.
Some eggs bring cockatrices; and some men
Seem hatch'd and brooded in the viper's den.
Some eggs bring wild-fowls; and some men there be
As wild as are the wildest fowls that flee.
Some eggs bring spiders, and some men appear
More venom'd than the worst of spiders are.[16]
Some eggs bring piss-ants, and some seem to me
As much for trifles as the piss-ants be.
Thus divers eggs do produce divers shapes,
As like some men as monkeys are like apes.
But this is but an egg, were it a chick,
Here had been legs, and wings, and bones to pick.
poem by John Bunyan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Town Between the Hills
The further the little girl leaped and ran,
The further she longed to be;
The white, white fields of jonquil flowers
Danced up as high as her knee
And flashed and sparkled before her eyes
Until she could hardly see.
So into the wood went she.
It was quiet in the wood,
It was solemn and grave;
A sound like a wave
Sighed in the tree-tops
And then sighed no more.
But she was brave,
And the sky showed through
A bird's-egg blue,
And she saw
A tiny path that was running away
Over the hills to--who can say?
She ran, too.
But then the path broke,
Then the path ended
And wouldn't be mended.
A little old man
Sat on the edge,
Hugging the hedge.
He had a fire
And two eggs in a pan
And a paper poke
Of pepper and salt;
So she came to a halt
To watch and admire:
Cunning and nimble was he!
"May I help, if I can, little old man?"
"Bravo!" he said,
"You may dine with me.
I've two old eggs
From two white hens
and a loaf from a kind ladie:
Some fresh nutmegs,
Some cutlet ends
In pink and white paper frills:
And--I've--got
A little hot-pot
From the town between the hills."
He nodded his head
And made her a sign
To sit under the spray
Of a trailing vine.
But when the little girl joined her hands
And said the grace she had learned to say,
The little old man gave two dreadful squeals
And she just saw the flash of his smoking heels
As he tumbled, tumbled,
With his two old eggs
From two white hens,
His loaf from a kind ladie,
The fresh nutmegs,
The cutlet-ends
In the pink and white paper frills.
And away rumbled
The little hot-pot,
So much too hot,
From the ton between the hills.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Eggs Of The Blue Bird On The Nest
the blue bird
takes care of its nest
all the white eggs
warm beneath its feathers
all those nights
and even cold days
and then when the eggs hatch
the fledgelings
prematurely spread their wings
fall off from the branch
where the nest hangs
on the following morning
you see the ants feasting on their flesh
ah! the blue bird sings again
readies itself for the rain
it escapes away from its sorrows
and flies away...far, far away
far, far away....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Polly strips His bed
Polly strips back the sheets
where Master George has lain.
She folds the white sheets and
lays them on a chair. She lies
her head on the pillow where
his head has been. She sniffs
and smells him. Closing her eyes
she imagines she's there beside
him and he has her in his arms,
his lips against her flushed cheek.
She imagines they are in bed
together when dawn's light breaks
through the shutters and Susie
the other maid enters and wide
eyed she mouths a huge round O.
She opens her eyes; the pillow
is vacant beside her head, just
a small indentation where he had
laid his head the night before.
She fingers into the pocket of her
white apron a few black hairs she's
discovered on the white pillowcase.
She strips off the pillowcases and
puts them with the sheets. The bed
is now stripped of all coverings
and is left to air. She imagines as
she stands that he is still there,
laid out unclothed, skin all bare.
But in reality she knows he has
gone of to war as he has before.
She hopes he will return alive
and in one piece; no missing
limps or blind or gassed as some
have been she's read; but most of all
she dreads him laid out cold and damp
in some foreign field lying still and dead.
poem by Terry Collett
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
White Hat White Coat
To the late doug whalan.... from your daughter.....
White hat white coat and greying in hair
he would dance around the dance floor with plenty of flair
White hat white coat black pants to boot
the men would all say 'silly old coot'
Whitehat white coat and a big friendly smile
when he went to a dance he'd dress in style
White hat white coat and a beat in his feet
it's of to the dance and people to meet
White hat white coat and a scotch on the rocks he'd love to dance
and the men would all mock
White hat white coat asleep at the wheel
he's danced all night 'boy i know how he feels'
White hat white coat have been put to the test
it's time to go home for a well earned rest
White hat white coat clean shirt and socks too
he's all geard up and ready for round two
White hat white coat so tired and run down
close your eyes and dream of your nights on the town
White hat white coat you've seen better days
your torn around the edges and your starting to fray
White hat white coat the time's come for us to part
but always remember ' i love you with all my heart '
poem by Debbie Gregory
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!