Exeter
To Maher's Spirit
Blue sky,
Singing birds
Flying every where,
Bright trees,
Dewy flowers
Spreading all over the place,
Different is the town
From any site on earth,
It is very special indeed,
Exeter
taught me to replace
Loving human beings
With loving sceneries
Of the countryside;
It made me
Change my view
About whom my
emotion should shower
A town never postpones love,
Or does not like to rush
It does not say hush
To the beats of the heart
And prefer to plan
Instead of reacting spontaneously
Exeter is a great teacher
Like my friend Huda,
Who taught me how to analyze accurately,
Exeter made me write poesy
About land,
My futur husband:
You should be jealous
From EXETER,
Not from a radio program;
From an interview
Made with me about
My first book of bilingual poetry
Exeter took me away from you
It erased my pain,
Cuddled my brain,
And here I am writing poetry again.
written in 2004
poem by Nadia Abduljabbar
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Related quotes
Exeter City's trip to Old Trafford will be a great day for their fans but that is about it - they won't get the result they want against Manchester United.
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The summer of 1943 at Exeter was as happy a time as I ever had in my life.
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The best teaching I ever experienced was at Exeter. Yale was a distinct letdown afterward.
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My faith grew strong, and I sent a letter (as I was ordered) to the Rev. Dignitary of the Cathedral of Exeter. I was assured, before I sent it, he would not answer it.
quote by Joanna Southcott
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Exeter was, I suspect, more crucial in my life than in the lives of most members of my class, and conceivably, than in the lives of almost anyone else who ever attended the school.
quote by John Knowles
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Revolution Poetry Is....!
Are you writing words of rhythm according to thoughts?
Or are you coining words of thoughts according to rhythm?
Or are you writing poetry both working at the same time?
Asking so, if they ask me how to write poetry, what shall I say?
Poetry writing is natural, spontaneous expression from heart!
How can this be taught to anyone to write poetry ever at all?
Poetry is a spontaneous flow of words direct from heart ever!
I wonder many a time how am I writing poetry at all ever!
But this is happening to my great surprise since longtime!
Due to engagements ever poetry only I am able to write
Though my aim in the beginning was writing stories.....,
Novels, short stories and nonfiction articles of criticism!
Poetry books too I have completed writing so since long
But what a pity there is no reception for poetry books...!
poem by Ramesh T A
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Public Waste
Walpole talks of "a man and his price."
List to a ditty queer --
The sale of a Deputy-Acting-Vice-
Resident-Engineer,
Boug ht like a bullock, hoof and hide,
By the Little Tin Gods on the Mountain Side.
By the Laws of the Family Circle 'tis written in letters of brass
That only a Colonel from Chatham can manage the Railways of State,
Because of the gold on his breeks, and the subjects wherein he must pass;
Because in all matters that deal not with Railways his knowledge is great.
Now Exeter Battleby Tring had laboured from boyhood to eld
On the Lines of the East and the West, and eke of the North and South;
Many Lines had he built and surveyed -- important the posts which he held;
And the Lords of the Iron Horse were dumb when he opened his mouth.
Black as the raven his garb, and his heresies jettier still --
Hinting that Railways required lifetimes of study and knowledge --
Never clanked sword by his side -- Vauban he knew not nor drill --
Nor was his name on the list of the men who had passed through the "College."
Wherefore the Little Tin Gods harried their little tin souls,
Seeing he came not from Chatham, jingled no spurs at his heels,
Knowing that, nevertheless, was he first on the Government rolls
For the billet of "Railway Instructor to Little Tin Gods on Wheels."
Letters not seldom they wrote him, "having the honour to state,"
It would be better for all men if he were laid on the shelf.
Much would accrue to his bank-book, an he consented to wait
Until the Little Tin Gods built him a berth for himself,
"Special, well paid, and exempt from the Law of the Fifty and Five,
Even to Ninety and Nine" -- these were the terms of the pact:
Thus did the Little Tin Gods (lon may Their Highnesses thrive!)
Silence his mouth with rupees, keeping their Circle intact;
Appointing a Colonel from Chatham who managed the Bhamo State Line
(The wich was on mile and one furlong -- a guaranteed twenty-inch gauge),
So Exeter Battleby Tring consented his claims to resign,
And died, on four thousand a month, in the ninetieth year of his age!
poem by Rudyard Kipling
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That Book Of Poetry....
there is no need
to pay
a semester of poetry
from any
teacher of poetry
who teaches whom?
can poetry be taught?
can poetry have
a dictated form?
no one teaches whom
and it cannot be taught
neither can it have a form
for poetry is here
deep in the heart of man
embedded in the mind
felt and then
whether you like it or not
becomes written
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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I'm saying every day
373
I'm saying every day
"If I should be a Queen, tomorrow"—
I'd do this way—
And so I deck, a little,
If it be, I wake a Bourbon,
None on me, bend supercilious—
With "This was she—
Begged in the Market place—
Yesterday."
Court is a stately place—
I've heard men say—
So I loop my apron, against the Majesty
With bright Pins of Buttercup—
That not too plain—
Rank—overtake me—
And perch my Tongue
On Twigs of singing—rather high—
But this, might be my brief Term
To qualify—
Put from my simple speech all plain word—
Take other accents, as such I heard
Though but for the Cricket—just,
And but for the Bee—
Not in all the Meadow—
One accost me—
Better to be ready—
Than did next morn
Meet me in Aragon—
My old Gown—on—
And the surprised Air
Rustics—wear—
Summoned&mdas h;unexpectedly—
To Exeter—
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Gunface
Gonna go downtown
Gonna get my gun
Gonna dress real sharp
Gonna beat my drum
I ain't gonna lie
Gonna walk so slow
Gonna talk just right
And my diamond ring
Gonna shine so bright
I ain't gonna lie
I've got a debt to repay
I ain't gonna cry
I put a gun in your face
You'll pay with your life
And I got my ears
And I got my eyes
And I got my narks
And my alibis
I won't waste your time
You made one false move
You made one mistake
When the juice is squeezed
That's the way it breaks
You'll pay for your crime
Your tongue lickin' way out of place
I'll rip it out
I'll stick a gun in your face
You'll pay with your life
I taught her everything I taught her how to dream
I taught her everything
I'm gonna teach her how to scream
I taught her all she knows
I taught her how to lie
I taught her everything
I'm gonna teach her how to cry
And you cause me hurt
And you cause me pain
And you turned the tap
On my burning rage
And I can't put it out
Gonna leave no sign
Gonna leave no trace
Gonna leave this town
In a state of grace
Give me the power
I got a debt to repay
I ain't gonna lie
I put a gun in your face
You'll pay for the crime
I taught her everything
I taught her how to speak
I taught her all she knows
I taught her how to eat
I half invented her
And now she acts so chic
I taught her everything
But now she's obselete
I taught her everything
How to read and write
I taught her all she knows
She was a neophyte
I taught her everything
I loved to watch her grow
I taught her everything
And now I want to see her go
I taught her everything
I got a debt to repay
I ain't gonna cry
I'll put a gun in your face
You're playing with your life
I taught her everything
I taught her how to cheat
I taught her all she knows
She was so indiscreet
I taught her everything
I taught her how to lie
I taught her everything
I'm gonna teach her how to cry
song performed by by Rolling Stones from Bridges To Babylon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Poetry
Poetry.......
Poetry defines me
Poetry.......
A place where you be you and I'll be me.
Poetry.......
We are best friends for eternity.
My Poetry.......
Is the daughter of my emotion,
There I've said it, no need to interpret the connection.
Poetry.......
Where my pen and paper are sealed with a kiss,
So easy to write for my mind is a bliss.
Poetry.......
Poetry has multiple meanings,
An indescribable feeling when I realize others understand them.
My Poetry.......
It just comes natural to me.
My Poetry.......
Is out there, , , , , away from exile,
And style of writing is very versatile.
Poetry.......Poetry.......
P oetry.......
It speaks out to me.
poem by Anita Khelawan
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Pigmy seraphs—gone astray
138
Pigmy seraphs—gone astray—
Velvet people from Vevay—
Balles from some lost summer day—
Bees exclusive Coterie—
Paris could not lay the fold
Belted down with Emerald—
Venice could not show a check
Of a tint so lustrous meek—
Never such an Ambuscade
As of briar and leaf displayed
For my little damask maid—
I had rather wear her grace
Than an Earl's distinguished face—
I had rather dwell like her
Than be "Duke of Exeter"—
Royalty enough for me
To subdue the Bumblebee.
poem by Emily Dickinson
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A Freedom By Poetry!
Poetic freedom is the real freedom for human race;
The freedom they enjoy nobody enjoys in the world!
Free birds are the poets leading the world to freedom;
Nothing can stop the poetic spirit of human beings here!
Human life is incomplete without poetry in the world;
Poetry expresses the dreams, visions and imagination
Not only of the poets but also of the whole of mankind!
Poetry is also the criticism of human life in the world.
Poetry talks about the past, present and future for all;
Tells about love, life, Nature and beauty, a full knowledge!
Otherwise not anyone can gain that by any way in the world
And the place of poetry nothing can capture or replace ever!
Humankind is inspired by poetry for freedom to achieve freedom
And education for freedom can be imparted only by poetry ever!
poem by Ramesh T A
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On The Goddess Of Poesy
The Goddess of Poesy the Goddess of Song
To the Universal immortals she surely belong
The poets of the World her praises do sing
The gift of poetry to their souls she does bring.
The poets to write poems Goddess Poesy inspire
And of singing her praises they don't seem to tire
The poetry of sorrow the poetry of joy
The poetry of youth of the young girl and boy.
The poetry of youthfulness and of growing old
Of young women in their prime lovely to behold
The beauty of Nature the birds and the bees
The mammals and fishes of land and of seas.
The Goddess of poets of every gender race and creed
For their inspiration to write in her lives her they need
Of love, life and Nature she inspires poets to write
For the lovers of poetry to read and recite.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Woman made the man
Woman made the man
~
it was woman who made the man
drove him to poetry and the arts
to celebrate the beauty he found
who fed and clothed him daily
who taught him about love
taught him about humility
kept his ego at safe distance
he found in her passion
a fire from the depths of his soul
he shared in her pain
knew full well the wealth
that a good woman brings
he wrote of her and to her
nature and nurture
mother and friend
it was woman who made the man
so he gave his love to her
poem by Matthew Holloway
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Poetry Made Me Diving In You!
Poetry made me thinking
Poetry made me playing
Poetry made me hiding
Poetry made me riding
Poetry made me surviving
Poetry made me diving, in you!
poem by Kazi Ahmed
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The Woman Who Loves Poesy
She has a twenty years old daughter but she leads a single life
And she knows what it feels like to be a mother but not to be a wife
Her great love is Goddess Poesy only poesy she admire
And her creative source it comes from poesy and poesy in her verse inspire.
She writes such beautiful poetry as a poet she is well known
And as a genuine wordsmith her reputation it has grown
The woman who loves poesy is good at what she do
At least one can say of her to her own self she is true.
Since writing poetry can be a hungry belly game the well informed say
She works as a bar maid in the Golf Club Rooms for to earn her hard earned pay
But all of her spare time devoted to poesy since poetry she loves to write
Her poems on many different subjects are a source of delight
To poetry lovers who read her verses and many of her say
That from penning verse she will grow wealthy and become quite well known one day
But she does not write for fame or money she only writes because she
Happens for to be a person devoted to Goddess Poesy.
poem by Francis Duggan
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To My Most Beloved School-Teacher, Mr. B.E. Coates
Dressed in coat and suit and tie,
Anglo-Indian Teacher my;
Wearing shoes with shine always;
Tall in stature, meek, honest, Ayes!
Speaking English in great style;
Punctual, walking ev’n a mile;
Teaching subjects ardently;
A gentle-man seen, quite rarely!
He taught us English with great care,
Like how Englishmen would dare;
Its nuances, he laid thread-bare,
Pronouncing with Anglo-air!
He made the class so interesting;
Chiding mischief, not punishing;
A pious man who forgave fast;
Advising students till the last.
He was my class-teacher at times;
And read us poetry with rhymes;
He taught us Geography as well;
‘Be hard-working, ’ he’d always tell.
Because of him, I loved English,
And rose to levels, many wish;
He taught us Catechism too,
And say in life, ‘How do you do? ’
My teacher most-beloved was he;
He fanned my sparks of poesy!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 3-11-2007
Dedicated most lovingly to
Master BE Coates, CGMS, CBE
poem by John Celes
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‘Aywa’; Oh Yes: Iowa
On the Green Silky Carpet,
Bride of all brides,
Walk slowly and Proudly,
On the Green Carpet,
In a low voice,
I heard myself singing,
With trembling lips,
I was singing calmly,
After a year of continuous crying,
But I am no body's bride,
And I intend not to be so;
My bridegroom was pushed to go;
To leave this life a year ago,
To leave me dreaming
To continue the journey;
The road
All alone,
Just a week before our union
Could have taken place,
And I exclaimed:
‘How weird this life is’! !
When the right man appeared,
He was forced to disappear,
Why? I really do not know! ! !
Finally, I learned how to keep
My expectations low,
Yet, I was chosen out of all
Visitors of the American Conciliate,
No body from those
Who licked the floor;
No one from those who compete;
For the Americans' love,
Was selected,
Yet I who said no
To their policy,
Was asked to go;
To be a member of Iowa's
Program for writing,
What? !
The total death of DEMOCRACY
Is not yet complete? !
Has its brain died,
But the heart
Is not yet! !
It still beats,
Who knows?
I replied with a big 'NO',
I could not travel
All of this distance alone,
I asked myself what for? !
They insisted…I yielded,
Arabic modesty, decency,
I felt shy for
They solved every problem
Every obstacle
That could make me
Hesitant to accept their offer;
To make me see Iowa;
To mingle with people there,
I consulted Fatma,
My former Egyptian instructor
And friend,
Whom I could keep
For many years,
Her words for me
Are far more precious
Than gold,
She studied in Iowa,
Her Ph. D was about Defoe
And Moll Flanders,
She once told me
‘People in Iowa
Are true liberal, ’
Though we differ
Every now and then,
This never touched
The essence of our two free spirits,
Nor our friendship,
She advised me to go,
Not to hesitate and to accept
The generous invitation;
Not to loose a chance
As such,
I said to myself:
‘Nothing to loose anymore’.
A quarter of a century ago,
I wanted to study
For my M. A in Iowa,
But was accepted in Denver;
Life's ways with Nadia,
I chose a British supervisor
Who worked in Jeddah
Instead,
Much later I became a distant learner;
I chose Exeter,
As a temporary exit
Form the invisible cage
Of femininity in a man’s world,
My Ph. D thesis:
I s on Faith & liberty
And my models are
Arabic and British poetesses;
It is an important topic
To women as well as men,
In today’s confused world,
Now I’ m invited to talk
About women’s freedom,
And position in Islam;
By a woman priest in a Church!
She is doing what I did and said
In my poem: “ The Spiritual Link”;
Most people care for humanity,
But in politics…well
No comment.
Here I am hearing
Myself singing,
But still my voice is low,
Amazed from myself,
As the case always is,
I looked from the tiny window
Of the tiny airplane,
And I saw the natural GREEN CARPET
Down there with yellowish ending
Just like that of a velvet skirt,
Before, I was so sure
That America is not my 'cup of tea',
But now I am not that sure,
I have always liked the countryside;
To live in a place so green and wide,
And here I am in the midst
Of green hills,
I asked myself: what am I supposed to do?
Trying to investigate,
To dive into this mind;
Into this heart
Of mine,
I began to think; to ask
What made me sing in the first place,
And why was it this song
In particular? !
Who is my new BRIDEGROOM,
Certainly not a human being,
To find a true mate is rare,
Life can not give me again
Another man who can
Share my spirituality...
My intellectuality,
In Vain,
Is it self fulfillment?
Well, I am done with that too,
Is it publishing my new book;
It is for and about him,
Well even this is not supposed
To make me sing,
I am far beyond happiness
Or sadness for simple things,
While I was still singing,
The airplane landed
In Cedar Rapids,
‘Aywa’; Oh Yes I like Iowa,
Yet my questions are still lingering
In the air.
(27 August(the beginning of the poem in airplane) -30 Sept.2005(The final touch on the poem) -The River Room Iowa House Hotel.)
poem by Nadia Abduljabbar
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Chima
My poetry is about love and,
My mind is about the muse of imagination!
And like the joy of the singing birds in the air,
But your sorrow will fly away so soon like the wind.
From the views of a bird i became a bard,
And from the views of the public i became a teacher;
But your love is why i am here today,
And like the muse of joy in the land of peace.
Chima my friend,
The mysteries around you do have masks on them! !
But i am here today to love you for who you are;
Because, the calendar of my life is now hanging up in your room!
No mere works of academic criticism,
For the spirits taught me how to read and write! !
And now my will is like your will in the land of peace,
But purported to have come from the realms!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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