Smoke rings
Didn't life see us dance?
In the arms of death,
That giver of breath, if, so.
What commodities, do
These smoke rings have left.
Surely in essences burned
It is purer, watered and fed.
Better than a single scant,
Mountain-rowan tree:
Whose berries be amber
Pink, white or red,
Who amongst us need lodgings?
When vapours condense
Beyond the rip-shore-tides
Of flesh: Better to be, the
Music; never heard sung.
Than one, that has rung.
And rung, and rung...
Only to be virulently alive!
But;
Still in essence, tone deaf.
poem by Mark Heathcote
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Related quotes
Not All The Angels Of The Lord Are On The Highest Rung
Not all the angels of the Lord are on the highest rung-
I ascended on the ladder
But have not touched the top rung
And will not -
An angel of the middle and the bottom rows
I nonetheless sing out my praises to God -
While trying to climb higher,
Yet somewhere always
no matter how high I think I come
never touching the top rung.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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You said that you'd call me!
Don't hate me for caring
Don't tear me apart
I'm lost without you
Please don't break my heart
You said that you'd call me
But my phone hasn't rung
Now the radio's playing
Our song that you sung
My world isn't worth it
Without you by my side
The pains getting worse
But i have to bide by the time
You said that you'd call me
But my phone hasn't rung
Now the radio's playing
Our song that you sung
Everything reminds me of you
I'm scared of never seeing your face again
Your eyes
Your smile
Your lips
Or hearing you speak
Or hearing you laugh
Even hearing you cry
I need you
Here
Here by my side
You said that you'd call me
But my phone hasn't rung
Now the radio's playing
Our song that you sung
poem by Lucy Vernezze
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On The Run
When youre on the run
Lookin for a friend you can depend on
Your phone it never rung for days that
When youre on the run
Lookin for a friend you can depend on
Your phone it never rung for days that
When youre on the run
When youre on the runused
Used to make a stand
Right up until the day that you were wanted
Then you had to move
cause you were hunted
Anywhere you hide
Tough to find a place to lay your head down
Your phone it never rung for days that
When your on the run
When youre on the run
You better keep lookin behind you
When youre on the run
When youre on the run
*
Look out for the lies theyre comin down the line
*
*
Love upon the wire you gotta find out
Youre phone it never rung
*
*
*
(agnew, charlton, mccafferty, rankin)
Fool circle music
1983 nazareth (dunfermline) ltd.
song performed by by Nazareth
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Jacobs Ladder
I met a fan dancer
Down in south side birmingham
She was running from a fat man
Selling salvation in his hand
Now hes trying to save me
Well Im doing alright the best that I can
Just another fallen angel
Trying to get through the night
Step by step, one by one, higher and higher
Step by step, rung by rung climbing jacobs ladder
Coming over the airwaves
The man says Im overdue
Sing along, send some money
Join the chosen few
Well mister Im not in a hurry
And I dont want to be like you
And all I want from tomorrow
Is to get it better than today
Step by step, one by one, higher and higher
Step by step, rung by rung climbing jacobs ladder
song performed by by Huey Lewis And The News
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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In this industry, there are only two ways up the ladder. Rung by rung or claw your way to the top. It's sure been tough on my nails.
quote by Jack Nicholson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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God Give Me Strength
(words sung by the character in the movie given in brackets)
Now I have nothing, so God give me strength
cause Im weak in her [his] wake
And if Im strong I might still break
And I dont have anything to share
That I wont throw away into the air
That song is sung out
This bell is rung out [this belle is wrung out]
[he] she was the light that Id bless
[he] she took my last chance at happiness
So God give me strength, God give me strength
I cant hold onto [him] her, God give me strength
When the phone doesnt ring
And Im lost in imagining
Everything that kind of love is worth
As I tumble back down to the earth
That song is sung out
This bell is rung out
[he] she was the light that Id bless
[he] she took my last chance at happiness
So God give me strength,
God if [hed] shed grant me [his] her indulgence and decline
I might as well wipe [him] her from my memory
Fracture the spell as [he] she becomes my enemy
Maybe I was washed out like a lip-print on his shirt
See, Im only human, I want him to hurt
I want him
I want him to hurt
[instrumental]
Since I lost the power to pretend
That there could ever be a happy ending
That song is sung out
This bell is rung out
[he] she was the light that Id bless
[he] she took my last chance at happiness
So God give me strength, God give me strength
song performed by by Elvis Costello
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Wise Men Still Find Him
Though He of course was there
They did not see Him at the mall
They did not find him at the big box stores
At least, not as they recall
The discount store was too crowded to search
Though He walked its aisles as well
The Hallmark store was a madhouse today
If He was there, they could not tell
They did not see Him standing outside
Though it was He who rung the bell
They thought they caught a glimpse of Him
When a stranger wished them well
At the restaurant with all tables full
They did not see Him among that crowd
Though many holiday parties they attend
His soft voice was lost among the loud
The days of Christmas flew quickly by
While His presence they did not feel
Trees were trimmed, lights shone brightly
But without Him it was not quite real
On Christmas Eve they attended service
Surely they would find Him there
Carols were sung and church bells rung
Most left with the same vacant stare
Beneath the tree the gifts were stacked
Would they find one there from Him
With ribbons, bows and paper removed
To encounter Him chance seemed slim.
Finally silence prevailed in their space
Holiday bustle now at last swept aside
Within still hearts His presence revealed
God’s love ~ which Christmas tried to hide
poem by Mary Havran
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Fatso & His Lady!
That mango tree was no normal
It got immense love so mortal
From dawn to dusk he watered
Hoping it is never left shattered
Plucking the fruits in noon
He sat by it with all bloom.
That mango tree is no normal
It got immense love so mortal
What is it that brings that bloom
In this man so fat & hair so white
Was the thought that always rung
When I usually see him sing.
That mango tree is no normal
It got immense love so mortal
My lady love sowed this seed
& fed to it her life
I cried cried & I cried
And one day she grew up
Through ground & this is it
He told with a whisper.
That mango tree is no normal
It got immense love so immortal
Telling his tale of love
He had the last mango from it
He bore a smile on face
A tear in each eye
The seed in his palm.
That mango tree is no normal
It got immense love so mortal
Inspite of it being watered
Although I gave utmost care
In no time it became dry
And in air remained only their love……..
poem by BhanuPrakash Singh
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The Crow Sat On The Willow
The crow sat on the willow tree
A-lifting up his wings,
And glossy was his coat to see,
And loud the ploughman sings,
'I love my love because I know
The milkmaid she loves me';
And hoarsely croaked the glossy crow
Upon the willow tree.
'I love my love' the ploughman sung,
And all the fields with music rung.
'I love my love, a bonny lass,
She keeps her pails so bright,
And blythe she trips the dewy grass
At morning and at night.
A cotton dress her morning gown,
Her face was rosy health:
She traced the pastures up and down
And nature was her wealth.'
He sung, and turned each furrow down,
His sweetheart's love in cotton gown.
'My love is young and handsome
As any in the town,
She's worth a ploughman's ransom
In the drab cotton gown.'
He sang and turned his furrow oer
And urged his team along,
While on the willow as before
The old crow croaked his song:
The ploughman sung his rustic lay
And sung of Phoebe all the day.
The crow he was in love no doubt
And [so were] many things:
The ploughman finished many a bout,
And lustily he sings,
'My love she is a milking maid
With red rosy cheek;
Of cotton drab her gown was made,
I loved her many a week.'
His milking maid the ploughman sung
Till all the fields around him rung.
poem by John Clare
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If you're climbing the ladder of life, you go rung by rung, one step at a time. Don't look too far up, set your goals high but take one step at a time. Sometimes you don't think you're progressing until you step back and see how high you've really gone.
quote by Donny Osmond
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ladder Rung One
Ladder Rung One
Ladder Rung One
Tom Thumb and Thumbelina and baby thumbnail
Tom is starting now to speak:
“listen to me Thumbelina baby {thumbnail} ewe listen tewe
This old world has got me hypnotized and they stuck me on the bottom rung”
Thumbelina answers him:
“Tom my husband please do not speak so rough in front of the thumbnail baby she does not need to knoe about the way of the world she is just a baby not yet in collage…
Baby thumbnail is speaking baby talk in gibberish:
“The world is mye oyster and eye am gonna shuck it
Gonna learn to drive and gonna learn to party.
Narrator me:
Listen to me baby the old man still loves ewe the father of the daughter and the mother she adores ewe and the author of the poem. The ladder it is steep and hard to climb them all the steps are hard please stay upon the bottom rung.
poem by Charles Hice
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By fairy hands their knell is rung; By forms unseen their dirge is sung.
quote by William Collins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Liberty Bell
The Liberty Bell which is a symbol of freedom
cracked as it was being rung.
Maybe its founders thought it would last
as it was being hung.
But the bell itself, did it know
that someday our liberty would crack?
Because it's inanimate doesn't mean it couldn't feel
that our nation would come under attack.
And so the bell that should have stayed solid
and be rung every day,
quietly cries and feels for its nation
as it sits on display.
Many file by it and never ask why
our liberties are tearing apart like the bell?
Maybe it's because we've never learned
what it's like in a living hell?
poem by Edwina Reizer
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A Wand Over You
He preferred me over you and lazed afterwards,
Fatal goodbyes are captivating, always in time.
The mortal destruction commits a spirit too well;
Terrified by it, the farewells are fairly spoken.
My favourite wand is his, my own wand is his,
Yet summer comprises a laughter, so lazy;
Kinfolk are swinging from tree to tree to tree,
Like apes of the kind that bring in the fruits to eat.
You are with family, relatives and scientists,
So that the banana is refreshing, mostly for them
And not you, who loses after music has rung its tune.
Music is the cause of mischief for me, for me.
poem by Naveed Akram
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John Schlesinger had one of his friends designing it and he had never done a film before. Ten days before it started, they didn't have any costumes. I was rung up and joined up.
quote by Julie Harris
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Love's Remains
Cobble stones
are his tears,
his monuments;
I hear
ragged air
flapping
over his garments
as he falls-
her face before him.
She gave him water;
clothed him.
His gnarled heart
sang for her,
his flight-
swan death down-
because of her;
the church bells rung for her
by him
in his tall tower pedestal.
How much love is it
in downward death
to have love's name
on your breath?
How much love it is
for love's one glance
be enough
your life to forfeit?
Quasimodo
breathed
his love
in earthward
flight;
before crash
his heart burst
surely
as he called her name-
Esmeralda,
Esmeralda;
he then felt her kiss
once more
before shattering land.
All sufficed
for what then
came:
Cobblestone Tears:
Love's Remains.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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You Make Me Feel So Young
You make me feel so young
You make me feel so spring has sprung
And every time I see you grin
I'm such a happy individual
The moment that you speak
I want to go and play hide-and-seek
I want to go and bounce the moon
Just like a toy balloon
You and I, are just like a couple of tots
Running across the meadow
Picking up lots of forget-me-nots
You make me feel so young
You make me feel there are songs to be sung
Bells to be rung, and a wonderful fling to be flung
And even when I'm old and gray
I'm gonna feel the way I do today
'Cause you make me feel so young
You and I, are just like a couple of tots
Running across the meadow
Picking up lots of forget-me-nots
Cause you make me young
Give me songs to be sung
Fell like bells should be rung
And a wonderful fling should be flung
And even when I'm old and grey
I'm gonna fell the way I do today
Cause you make me feel so
You make me feel so
You make me feel
I feel so young
song performed by by Barry Manilow
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'll Be Thinking Of You
I’ll be thinking of you
In all the hustle of Christmas day
I’ll be thinking of you in all I do or say.
I’ll be thinking of you
Each time a song is sung
I’ll think of you each time
A Christmas bell is rung.
I’ll be thinking of you
In this hot Texas weather
I’ll be thinking of you
And wishing we were together.
I’ll be thinking of you each time
I hear “A Blue Christmas” being played
I’ll be thinking of you
When new Christmas memories are being made.
I’ll be thinking of you when I read
About how our Saviour came
And because of that first Christmas night long ago
Our lives will never be the same.
I’ll be thinking of you
In the glow of the Christmas lights
And I’ll be hoping and praying
You have a Christmas of white.
I’ll be thinking of you
Each time I see an angel on a tree
And I’ll thank God he sent
Someone special, like you, to me.
poem by Valerie Christine Anderson
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Flash Jack From Gundagai
I've shore at Burrabogie, and I've shore at Toganmain,
I've shore at big Willandra and upon the old Coleraine,
But before the shearin' was over I've wished myself back, again
Shearin' for old Tom Patterson, on the One Tree Plain.
All among the wool, boys,
Keep your wide blades full, boys,
I can do a respectable tally myself whenever I like to try,
But they know me round the back blocks as Flash Jack from Gundagai.
I've shore at big Willandra and I've shore at Tilberoo,
And once I drew my blades, my boys, upon the famed Barcoo,
At Cowan Downs and Trida, as far as Moulamein,
But I always was glad to get back again to the One Tree Plain.
I've pinked 'em with the Wolseleys and I've rushed with B-bows, too,
And shaved 'em in the grease, my boys, with the grass seed showing through.
But I never slummed my pen, my lads, whate'er it might contain,
While shearin' for old Tom Patterson, on the One Tree Plain.
I've been whalin' up the Lachlan, and I've dossed on Cooper's Creek,
And once I rung Cudjingie shed, and blued it in a week.
But when Gabriel blows his trumpet, lads, I'll catch the morning train,
And I'll push for old Tom Patterson's, on the One Tree Plain.
poem by Andrew Barton Paterson
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The Young Friar
When leaves broke out on the wild briar,
And bells for matins rung,
Sorrow came to the old friar
– Hundreds of years ago it was! –
And May came to the young.
The old was ripening for the sky,
The young was twenty-four.
The Franklin's daughter passed him by,
Reading a painted missal-book,
Beside the chapel door.
With brown cassock and sandalled feet,
And red Spring wine for blood;
The very next noon he chanced to meet
The Franklin's daughter, in a green May twilight,
Walking through the wood.
Pax vobiscum – to a maid
The crosiered ferns among!
But hers was only the Saxon,
And his the Norman tongue;
And the Latin taught by the old friar
Made music for the young.
And never a better deed was done
By Mother Church below
Than when she made old England one,
– Hundreds of years ago it was! –
Hundreds of years ago.
Rich was the painted page they read
Before that sunset died;
Nut-brown hood by golden head,
Murmuring Rosa Mystica,
While nesting thrushes cried.
A Saxon maid with flaxen hair,
And eyes of Sussex grey;
A young monk out of Normandy: –
'May is our Lady's month,' he said,
'And O, my love, my May!'
Then over the fallen missal-book
The missel-thrushes sung
Till – Domus Aurea – rose the moon
And bells for vespers rung.
It was gold and blue for the old friar,
But hawthorn for the young.
For gown of green and brown hood,
Before that curfew tolled,
Had flown for ever through the wood
– Hundreds of years ago it was! –
But twenty summers old.
And empty stood his chapel stall,
Empty his thin grey cell,
Empty her seat in the Franklin's hall;
And there were swords that searched for them
Before the matin bell.
And, crowders tell, a sword that night
Wrought them an evil turn,
And that the may was not more white
Than those white bones the robin found
Among the roots of fern.
But others tell of stranger things
Half-heard on Whitsun eves,
Of sweet and ghostly whisperings –
Though hundreds of years ago it was –
Among the ghostly leaves: –
Sero te amavi –
Grey eyes of sun-lit dew! –
Tam antiqua, tam nova –
Augustine heard it, too.
Late have I loved that May, Lady,
So ancient, and so new!
And no man knows where they were flown,
For the wind takes the may:
But white and fresh the may was blown
– Though hundreds of years ago it was –
As this that blooms to-day.
And the leaves break out on the wild briar,
And bells must still be rung;
But sorrow comes to the old friar,
For he remembers a May, a May,
When his old heart was young.
poem by Alfred Noyes
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