The Labour Night
April passed away with its fragrant airs,
And it was the bright hot day of the month next;
Evening began to befall; the men and women
Halted their vehicles in the commodious lawn,
XLIs, Mercedes and Paradoes dazzled the eyes.
They were producers, manufacturers, and firm-owners
And were heading to the egg-white grand building:
The rain-washed edifice of the five stars hotel,
Green grass had a virgin tread of the gents and ladies.
They all went up the stairs of the first floor,
Entered sluggishly into the gigantic hall
Rounding arms around waists of the rented-whores.
They sat in the chairs placed along the rectangular tables
Laden with the rare roses, sheeted with
The red shining cloth hemmed silky golden.
In the first phase they were offered rare beverages
Warming their bodies, wakening the contents of lust,
They snivelled in intimacy of the hired-beloveds.
Then a stout bald man spoke gently to attract their ears,
And began to tattle on the new-fangled labour policy,
Behind played an orchestra synchronizing the occasion.
In the final course they ate the rare items of the dinner,
Chicken steamed, mutton steaks, things of the minced meat,
Then they took in the arms the dainty graceful ladies,
And entered they into the luxuriant ample rooms
To commemorate the night of the Labour Day.
poem by Muhammad Shanazar
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Related quotes
Rare, Precious & Gone
Cry baby boy, not tears of joy
The one you held is no longer your toy
Shes got her new boots and her make up on
You can call her your friend
But not your lover again
Shes made it clear as air that this affair is at an end
So what are you doing holding on?
Dont you see shes
Rare, precious and shes gone
Shes rare, precious and shes gone
She was soft in your hands, now shes shattered your plans
Im sympathetic but youve got to understand
You tried to squeeze her somewhere
She just dont belong
She was being sincere when she breathed in your ear
As long as there were stars in the night sky shed be near
Even angels get it wrong!
Wont you see shes
Rare, precious and shes gone
Shes rare, precious and shes gone
Its a subtle trap
Seeding guilt in her mind
But she aint taking your crap
This time
Boy youre out on a line...
Shes a queen among women, a child among queens
The finest thing that your lovesick eyes have ever seen
Shes a rose without a thorn
Shes a peach, shes a prize
A gift in disguise
Shes graceful and colourful and when she grows
Shell be wise
But most of all my friend, shes gone
Gone, gone gone!
Shes rare, precious and shes gone
Rare, precious and shes gone
Yes, shes rare, precious and shes gone
Shes rare, precious and shes gone
Gone, gone gone...
song performed by by Waterboys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rare Meat.
Rare meat.
The blackbird seem to sing.
And though I spluttered
'I am vegetarian'
Rare Meat, rare meat!
And my neighbour
Talked of the importance of
'Being in harness again'
Then I realised,
The bird was much nearer to understanding
The kind of species I am!
Rare meat!
And cannon fodder for the cowboys
And manipulators,
All the same!
For my heart
Will always stray to the unheard tune.
And the song of the bird,
Comforted the taut nerves
Of a weary owl.
Who`s been round the clock,
But still does not like the carousel!
poem by Peter Vealey
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Ladies Pay
All the sailors theyre all home from leave
And everybodys waiting for them to try to deceive
The storekeepers have drawn their lace curtains bare
And all the women and the wee young girls all waiting there
Oh, but how the ladies pay
Oh, if they only knew how the ladies pay
Yeah now, how the ladies pay
Oh, when the men theyve gone away
Nobody is standing on upon the door
And nobody is feeding any of the poor
The poor sick soldier lies in bed beside his girl
Thinking of another place on the other side of the world
Ah
How the ladies pay
Oh-oh, oh, how the ladies pay
When the men theyve gone away
Oh, I wish I knew how the ladies pay
Day and night, night and day
How the ladies pay
Day and night, night and day
How the ladies pay
Day and night
Night and day
Day and night
Day and night, night and day, ladies pay now
Night and day, day and night
How the ladies pay
Day and night, night and day
How the ladies pay
Day and night now
Night and day and now
How the pay now
Oh, how the pay now
Ladies pay, ladies pay
Ah, ladies pay the way now
Ladies pay, ah, ladies pay
Ah, ladies pay
Night and day, night and day, night and day
Oh, how the ladies pay
Oh, night and day, night and day, night and day
Oh, how the ladies pay
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Rare Friend
I will be your rare friend;
Spend many hours meditating on your success.
I will be your rare friend;
Be there for you when you are not at your best.
I will be your rare friend;
One who will take you home when your legs tire.
I will be your rare friend;
And will be beside you when go through the fire.
I will be your rare friend;
When others abandon you and laugh at you.
I will be your rare friend;
Not caring the color of your skin or what you do.
I will be your rare friend;
I will be your rare friend because its true, I am you.
poem by Saint Eule
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Roses In Madrid
Roses, Senors, roses!
Love is subtly hid
In the fragrant roses,
Blown in gay Madrid.
Roses, Senors, roses!
Look, look, look, and see
Love hanging in the roses,
Like a golden bee!
Ha! ha! shake the roses--
Hold a palm below;
Shake him from the roses,
Catch the vagrant so!
High I toss the roses
From my brown palm up;
Like the wine that bubbles
From a golden cup.
Catch the roses, Senors,
Light on finger tips;
He who buys red roses,
Dreams of crimson lips!
Tinkle! my fresh roses,
With the rare dews wet;
Clink! my crisp, red roses,
Like a castanet!
Roses, Senors, roses,
Come, Hidalgo, buy!
Proudly wait my roses
For thy rose's eye
Be thy rose as stately
As a pacing deer;
Worthy are my roses
To burn behind her ear.
Ha I ha! I can see thee,
Where the fountains foam,
Twining my red roses
In her golden comb!
Roses, Donnas, roses,
None so fresh as mine,
Pluck'd at rose of morning
By our Lady's shrine.
Those that first I gather'd
Laid I at her feet,
That is why my roses
Still are fresh and sweet.
Roses, Donnas, roses!
Roses waxen fair!
Acolytes my roses,
Censing ladies' pray'r!
Roses, roses, roses!
Hear the tawny bull
Thund'ring in the circus--
Buy your arms full.
Roses by the dozen!
Roses by the score!
Pelt the victor with them--
Bull or Toreador!
poem by Isabella Valancy Crawford
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Velvet Green
Walking on velvet green. scots pine growing.
Isnt it rare to be taking the air, singing.
Walking on velvet green.
Walking on velvet green. distant cows lowing.
Never a care: with your legs in the air, loving.
Walking on velvet green.
Wont you have my company, yes, take it in your hands.
Go down on velvet green, with a country man.
Whos a young girls fancy and an old maids dream.
Tell your mother that you walked all night on velvet green.
One dusky half-hours ride up to the north.
There lies your reputation and all that youre worth.
Where the scent of wild roses turns the milk to cream.
Tell your mother that you walked all night on velvet green.
And the long grass blows in the evening cool.
And augusts rare delight may be aprils fool.
But think not of that, my love,
Im tight against the seam.
And Im growing up to meet you down on velvet green.
Now I may tell you that its love and not just lust.
And if we live the lie, lets lie in trust.
On golden daffodils, to catch the silver stream
That washes out the wild oat seed on velvet green.
Well dream as lovers under the stars ---
Of civilizations raging afar.
And the ragged dawn breaks on your battle scars.
As you walk home cold and alone upon velvet green.
Walking on velvet green. scots pine growing.
Isnt it rare to be taking the air, singing.
Walking on velvet green.
Walking on velvet green. distant cows lowing.
Never a care: with your legs in the air, loving.
Walking on velvet green.
song performed by by Jethro Tull
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The door to Yesterday
I walked this campus in my youth,
forty years ago today.
The air is sweet from recent rain
here on the quad lawn where we played.
It's changed, of course,
that building is new.
Jefferson Hall is next, they say.
I graduated here in May.
I need not give the year away
I 'll only say it was a time,
like now, of great uncertainty.
I remember you like yesterday,
Your eyes a deep cerulean blue.
Your long and flowing auburn hair.
Those bee stung lips so sweet and true.
On impulse, just then
I tried the door.
Surprised I was when it gave way
I entered in the Bursars room
and heard your voice just down the hall.
For sure, twas you.
I'd know that voice
if all the world should pass away
I made my way towards your voice
anticipating ecstasy.
A joyful union there awaits
to hold you once more in my arms
life beyond death to be united
with you so many years since gone.
I entered then into the room
in hopes that she I loved was there.
This was the place where we first met
a place where, sadly, none appeared.
A wistful smile, a final glance
from your poor poet of Romance.
too much a dreamer, most would say,
as I closed the door to yesterday
poem by John F. McCullagh
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Our Life
Our life appears akin the floor
Of mosaic tiles, spotted, three hues;
Each tile denotes a month that passed;
The spots refer to good and bad!
Umpteen are grey spots – venial sins,
By habit done, incessantly;
The fewer black spots – mortal sins,
Against the Ten Commands of God!
The spots of white were good deeds done;
Some tiles had few, some had galore;
The size of dots too varied much;
Such tiles were scarcely found and rare!
We yearn to see the floor all tiled,
With spots of white, all huge and bright;
Yet, earthly life is what we make
By labour, done in heaven’s light!
(24-07-11)
poem by John Celes
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Today... 'The Consolation of Israel
It was a busy world at Your nativity
People were too busy to even stop and see
As into the temple Your family had come
In obedience to the law and Jewish custom
The glory of the Lord was present there that day
In that building composed of earthly stone and clay
The same glory that appeared in Solomon's reign
Was present as God entered His temple again
Simeon and Anna were also present there
And in prophecy they both began to declare
That Child in their arms was the promised Holy one
Born of God, His One and Only Belovéd Son
In wonder Simeon in his arms held his Lord
And began speaking out loud God's prophetic word
And Anna also join in with him to proclaim
These things happened when to His temple Jesus came
The Holy Spirit entered Simeon that day
Causing him to cry out with prophecy and say
'Behold the Consolation of Israel' he cried
He'd been told he would see Jesus before he died
This Consolation of Israel was to be seen
Just as the prophets of old said it would have been
But just Simeon and Anna saw the real glory
Of this momentous occasion in history
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
Mutton
Gently stir and blow the fire,
Lay the mutton down to roast,
Dress it quickly, I desire,
In the dripping put a toast,
That I hunger may remove --
Mutton is the meat I love.
On the dresser see it lie;
Oh, the charming white and red;
Finer meat ne'er met the eye,
On the sweetest grass it fed:
Let the jack go swiftly round,
Let me have it nice and brown'd.
On the table spread the cloth,
Let the knives be sharp and clean,
Pickles get and salad both,
Let them each be fresh and green.
With small beer, good ale and wine,
Oh ye gods! how I shall dine.
poem by Jonathan Swift
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Mother India
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are the paradise on earth
Where things are not in any dearth.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
In Your Lap live men and women
Of every caste and religion.
You rain your love and affection
On them all without distinction.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You have got a peculiar trait
Due to which you are very great.
You adopt the foreigners too,
Who like to live and die for you.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are beautiful, all perfect;
You are rich in every aspect.
In the ancient times, we have heard,
Aliens called you ‘a golden bird’
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
The mountains guard your honour here;
The ocean washes your feet there.
The rivers contain sweet water
Which for us is just like nectar.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Our culture is ancient and high,
We are respected that is why.
Culture has bound us by and by,
With a chain of pure love and tie.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men
Who are not loyal, but still then,
Pose as lovers of this nation,
Whom we do not like to mention.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men;
Fire of hatred they ever fan.
Freedom, we fear, may not be lost,
Which we have got at a great cost.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Let us be wise not to be tool
Of selfish powers which befool
Those who do not well understand
Their aim which is behind their stand.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We will be lucky, if we die
For you, O Gracious Country High!
We’ll give them a fitting reply,
Who see you with a slanting eye.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
poem by Aziz Ahmad
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Mother India
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are the paradise on earth
Where things are not in any dearth.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
In Your Lap live men and women
Of every caste and religion.
You rain your love and affection
On them all without distinction.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You have got a peculiar trait
Due to which you are very great.
You adopt the foreigners too,
Who like to live and die for you.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
You are beautiful, all perfect;
You are rich in every aspect.
In the ancient times, we have heard,
Aliens called you ‘a golden bird’
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
The mountains guard your honour here;
The ocean washes your feet there.
The rivers contain sweet water
Which for us is just like nectar.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Our culture is ancient and high,
We are respected that is why.
Culture has bound us by and by,
With a chain of pure love and tie.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men
Who are not loyal, but still then,
Pose as lovers of this nation,
Whom we do not like to mention.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We are sorry here live some men;
Fire of hatred they ever fan.
Freedom, we fear, may not be lost,
Which we have got at a great cost.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
Let us be wise not to be tool
Of selfish powers which befool
Those who do not well understand
Their aim which is behind their stand.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
We will be lucky, if we die
For you, O Gracious Country High!
We’ll give them a fitting reply,
Who see you with a slanting eye.
O Mother Land! O Mother Land!
You are very dear and rare land.
poem by Aziz Ahmad 'Aziz Moradabadi'
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We found a new religion
We had our own suite
at Alpine Heath
in one of the villas
of that great hotel
on our honeymoon
and it was only
you and me
and the big bed
in the room upstairs.
We didn’t even watch
DSTV, although we could
and we loved
every moment there.
At times we ate in the hotel
and I had fresh trout
and you loved roasted chicken
or made our own dinner
and had lots of champagne
and some white wine
and slices of bread and cheese
for our own communion
or holy union.
That winter had icy snow
(a first for you)
and what shelter did we find
in each other’s arms.
Sometimes we walked
up to the waterfall
jumping from rock to rock
where you swam naked
in the stream
and we began to dream
and started our own religion,
a new fundamentalist faith
believing in each other
and the magic
of bodies joining together.
We secluded our selves
and being remote
from everyone
played in the light and darkness
deep into the night.
Revival of body, spirit and soul
brought us to our knees in passion
and I believed in your love
experienced something
close to the divine
while you were truly mine.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Golden Roses
Golden Roses just for you,
anyone can give red roses,
theres plenty around,
for you white roses,
won't do.
Golden Roses just for you,
none other will do,
for someone special
so rare and true.
Golden Roses just for you,
dipped in pure gold,
just as your heart
has dipped your love into mine,
and shall not depart.
wrote 1-2-07
Rarities
Peace, love, knowledge and laughter
Who can measure?
These great items are a few of God's
greatest treasures
Hoq rare they seem, to those who are mean
Yet they lie dormant in humans specimens
Just waiting to be seen
Any vesse, whom can allow themselves to explore
May find in their soul is much more valuable
Than a mahogany wood antique
priceless door, with these rare valuables displayed on the floor
Look deep inside, there's always more.
poem by Angel A. Lockwood
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Villanelle of His Lady’s Treasures
I took her dainty eyes, as well
As silken tendrils of her hair:
And so I made a Villanelle!
I took her voice, a silver bell,
As clear as song, as soft as prayer;
I took her dainty eyes as well.
It may be, said I, who can tell,
These things shall be my less despair?
And so I made a Villanelle!
I took her whiteness virginal
And from her cheek two roses rare:
I took her dainty eyes as well.
I said: “It may be possible
Her image from my heart to tear!”
And so I made a Villanelle.
I stole her laugh, most musical:
I wrought it in with artful care;
I took her dainty eyes as well;
And so I made a Villanelle.
poem by Ernest Christopher Dowson
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The Rare Flower
There's beauty in such a sacred structure, oh,
That thing that is nurtured and loved.
It's quite an occasion.
It's driving me crazy.
I'm not allowed to touch on lust.
I've gotta get a hold of myself.
I mustn't admit it.
I don't see why I shouldn't,
I don't see why I shouldn't,
I don't see why I shouldn't
Pick the rare flower.
I don't see why I shouldn't,
Well I don't see why I shouldn't,
I don't see why I shouldn't
Pick the rare flower.
Whoooo
Walking in a Paradise or Eden,
Whoa, temptation:
Give me one second to succumb.
It's calling me.
With a menacing whisper of,
Magic offer a-charming me./Magical world enchanting me.
Why I've gotta get a hold of myself,
You see, but it ain't easy.
I don't see why I shouldn't,
I don't see why I shouldn't,
I don't see why I shouldn't
Pick the rare flower.
I don't see why I shouldn't,
I don't see why I shouldn't,
I don't see why I shouldn't
Pick the rare flower.
Whoooo
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sheep and Lambs
All in the April evening,
April airs were abroad;
The sheep with their little lambs
Passed me by on the road.
The sheep with their little lambs
Passed me by on the road;
All in the April evening
I thought on the Lamb of God.
The lambs were weary and crying
With a weak, human cry.
I thought on the Lamb of God
Going meekly to die.
Up in the blue, blue mountains
Dewy pastures are sweet;
Rest for the little bodies,
Rest for the little feet.
But for the Lamb of God,
Up on the hill-top green,
Only a Cross of shame
Two stark crosses between.
All in the April evening,
April airs were abroad;
I saw the sheep with their lambs,
And thought on the Lamb of God.
poem by Katharine Tynan
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The Ballroom-A Pantoum
'And gilded couples all in whirling trance
Follow holiday revel begun long since.'
-Sylvia Plath, 'Cinderella'
The orchestra begins a new melody.
The crystal chandelier dims; red velvet curtains part.
Guests sip white wine and champagne, and
scores of couples begin to dance.
The crystal chandelier dims; red velvet curtains part
as the violins and cellos play their song.
Scores of couples begin to dance:
Men in tuxedoes, and ladies in scarlet gowns.
As the violins and cellos play their song,
dancers twirl on the white marble floor.
Men in tuxedoes and ladies in scarlet gowns
fill the grand palace hall with applause.
Dancers twirl on the white marble floor;
guests sip white wine and champagne and
fill the grand palace hall with applause.
The orchestra begins a new melody.
poem by Kimberly Kastner
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The Elopement
'A woman never agreed to it!' said my knowing friend to me.
'That one thing she'd refuse to do for Solomon's mines in fee:
No woman ever will make herself look older than she is.'
I did not answer; but I thought, 'You err there, ancient Quiz.'
It took a rare one, true, to do it; for she was surely rare -
As rare a soul at that sweet time of her life as she was fair.
And urging motives, too, were strong, for ours was a passionate case,
Yea, passionate enough to lead to freaking with that young face.
I have told no one about it, should perhaps make few believe,
But I think it over now that life looms dull and years bereave,
How blank we stood at our bright wits' end, two frail barks in distress,
How self-regard in her was slain by her large tenderness.
I said: 'The only chance for us in a crisis of this kind
Is going it thorough!' - 'Yes,' she calmly breathed. 'Well, I don't mind.'
And we blanched her dark locks ruthlessly: set wrinkles on her brow;
Ay - she was a right rare woman then, whatever she may be now.
That night we heard a coach drive up, and questions asked below.
'A gent with an elderly wife, sir,' was returned from the bureau.
And the wheels went rattling on, and free at last from public ken
We washed all off in her chamber and restored her youth again.
How many years ago it was! Some fifty can it be
Since that adventure held us, and she played old wife to me?
But in time convention won her, as it wins all women at last,
And now she is rich and respectable, and time has buried the past.
poem by Thomas Hardy
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