Crossbow
With a crossbow an arrow struck and pierced
The neck so worn by the gentry, for the compensation.
It sent his heart recruitment, delight and then
Resignation, according to knighthood and the kings.
This picture was a game of dice, no prowess
Or courtesy, according to the laws of probability.
One of the gentry so inflicted marched forward
Like a remote order, the file and rank being narrow.
The crossbow struck him, disfiguring his brow,
Making it frowned upon, for the brow was His.
This head gorged appeared on the floor of the jungle,
Like a holy relic, accustomed to mighty stares.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Related quotes
Your Heart, Love
your heart, love
as the rainbow
will fade away as the rain over
as the arrow
will fly so fast as released from its crossbow
your heart, love
how can't i hold it like forever?
your heart, love
offer me nothing but sad, pain and sorrow
heaven, tell me
why i can't choose for whom my love for?
still my love for thee
will last 'til endless tomorrow
will never like rainbow
nor like arrow
your heart, love, may i borrow?
poem by Magenta Cyans
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A Foretaste
AT length the then of my long hope was now;
Yet had my spirit an extreme unrest:
I knew the good from better was grown best
At length, but could not just as yet tell how.
So I lay straight along, and thrust my brow
Under the heights of grass. Hours struck. The West,
I knew, must be at change; but gazed not, lest
The heat against my naked face (no bough
For shade) should tease me mad, like poisoned spice.
I lay along, letting my whole self think,
Pressing my brow down that the thoughts might fix:
Just as a dicer who holds loaded dice,
Sure of his cast, keeps trifling with his drink
Ere he will throw, and still must taste and mix.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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Who Will Heal This Wound?
With all the carefulness I could muscle
I went for the rose, the red beautiful rose
Ouch! The thorn struck,
The sharp spike-like thorn struck
The heart pierced, spilled the contents
The wound has refused healing
The rose, the red beautiful rose, stares unseemly and unconcernedly
Who will gather the contents?
Who will heal this wound?
poem by Obed Akuma
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Two Arrows and a Bolt
ZENO
Travelling Travelling
arrow in space,
when does it move if it's fixed place to place?
Chance and uncertainty mend arrow's plight,
nature's duality sanctions its flight.
TIME
Entropy Entropy
woman or man,
how many fruits can you fit in a flan?
Pique at a simmer, add zest of a rhyme,
stirred from without by the arrow of time.
TELL
William William
poor diplomat,
failed to bow to the overlord's hat.
Son wore the apple the father must shoot,
Tell aimed his crossbow and bolt split the fruit.
poem by Diane Hine
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Crossbow...
crossbow...
my desire aimed
for your beating heart,
your tongue,
pulling the dreams
from my rusty soul...
destiny,
dialed in
on the time we share!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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Call On Me
Caught in the crossbow of ideas and journeys
sit here reliving the other self's mournings
Caught in the crossbow of ideas and dawnings
stand I
Oh oh oh oh
Reliving the past of the maddening impulse
violent upheaval, the pure driven instinct
The pure driven murder, the attraction of daring
stand I
Why didn't you call on me
why didn't you call on me
Why didn't you call on me
why didn't you call
[Rowena:]
A wild being from birth
my spirit spurns control
wondering the wide earth
searching for my soul
Dimly peering
I would surely find
what could there be more purely bright
in truth's day-star
Ooohhh
Why didn't you call on me
why didn't you call, call on me
Why didn't you call on me
why didn't you call
Why didn't you call on me
why didn't you call on me
Why didn't you call on me
why didn't you call
song performed by by Lou Reed
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Better to be shot with a crossbow than rejected by a window slammed shut.
Better be the head of the yeomanry than the tail of the gentry.
Here I Come-4
Holy holy is He
So merciful
Lion and King
Wonderful Counselor
Holy holy
Holy holy is He
Holy holy is He
Forever holy.
Most High God
Holy holy
Prince of Peace
Mighty Redeemer
King of Kings
Most High God
Holy holy
Holy holy is He
Holy holy is He
Forever holy.
Take my sins
As far as the east
Is from the west
Purge me
With your precious blood
Shelter me
From the storms
Cover me
With your glory
Holy holy
Holy holy is He
Holy holy is He
Forever holy.
You are so holy
You went to the cross
For me
So holy
You bled for me
So holy
You paid a price
I could not pay
Holy holy
Holy holy is He
Holy holy is He
Forever holy.
poem by Buxton Shippy
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The Arrow of His Glance
Friend, the arrow of his glance struck
my eyes;
Its point pierced my heart (and) his
sweet image entered my soul.
For a long time I have been staying
(here) watching the road, standing
at my house.
My life clings to (my) dark beloved,
(he is) a life-giving herb.
Mira says I am sold into the hands of
Giridhar, but people say I am loose.
When It Comes To Christmas
Written by teddy gentry, randy owen, and ronnie rogers
Well, imgladlittle johnny wants that remote control
I know Im gonna run it fast as it will go
And jenny wants every game that nintendo makes
Its just around the corner and I cant wait
Ive got my stocking hangin, its time to go to bed
I think I hear some reindeer, I better cover up my head
I know santas gonna bring us something just like he always dod
Yeah, when it comes to christmas Im still a kid
I still like shakin presents underneath the tree
And tryin to figure out what ole santas got for me
Oh, I get so excited on christmas eve
I try my best to close my eyes, but I cant sleep
Well, Ive got my stocking hangin, its time to go to bed
I think I hear some reindeer, I better cover up my head
I know santas gonna bring us something just like he always did
Yeah, when it comes to christmas Im still a kid
When it comes to christmas, Im still a kid
Just a kid
song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You Only Paint The Picture Once
(Teddy Gentry/Randy Owen/Ronnie Rogers/Greg Fowler)
Look at those evening shadows
Casting a peaceful light
The sun is disappearing
It's a beautiful sight
Moments caught forever
By the master's touch
A lasting reminder
To us
You only paint the picture once
(And) you only get one chance
Take the time to do your best
While the brush is in your hand
Make sure it's just right
Before the colors dry
You can't change it once it's done
You only paint the picture once
Love is the canvas
That's where it all starts
A lifetime together
Becomes a work of art
Just look what's been created
Between your heart and mine
Oh I believe that we're one of a kind
You only paint the picture once
(And) you only get one chance
Take the time to do your best
While the brush is in your hand
Make sure it's just right
Before the colors dry
You can't change it once it's done
You only paint the picture once
It's a portrait of life
You can't live it twice
You only paint the picture once
song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Frowning Big Man
You frown on my face,
Like a big man of status.
Like a wall is your picture,
The picture of you, and of me.
The big man was again in my head
As I fussed and fought for his headings.
The riches struck the gadgets,
My calculator was of prices too large.
He had big plans with money,
The same plans I saw with my eyes and ears.
The big-picture came together,
He was big and I was bigger.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Heads Were Dancing
You talked me into the game of chance.
It was 39, before the music started,
When you walked up to me and you said,
Hey, heads we dance.
Well, I didnt know who you were
Until I saw the morning paper:
There was a picture of you
A picture of you cross the front page.
It looked just like you, just like you in every way.
But it couldnt be true.
It couldnt be true.
You stepped out of a stranger.
They say that the devil is a charming man.
And just like you I bet he can dance.
And hes coming up behind in his long
Tailed black coat dance,
All tails in the air.
But the penny landed with its head dancing.
A picture of you, a picture of you in uniform,
Standing with your head held high,
Hot down to the floor.
But it couldnt be you.
It couldnt be you.
Its a picture of hitler.
He go do-do-do-do-do
He go do-do-do-do-do
He go do-do-do-do-do--
Do you want to dance?
Well, I couldnt see what was to be,
So I just stood there laughing.
A picture of you, a picture of you in uniform,
Standing with your head held high,
Hot down to the floor.
But it couldnt be you.
It couldnt be you.
Its a picture of hitler.
He go mmh-mmh-mmh-mmh-mmh
He go mmh-mmh-mmh-mmh-mmh
He go mmh-mmh-mmh-mmh-mmh--
Heads were dancing.
song performed by by Kate Bush
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Anger Lay By Me
Anger lay by me all night long,
His breath was hot upon my brow,
He told me of my burning wrong,
All night he talked and would not go.
He stood by me all through the day,
Struck from my hand the book, the pen;
He said: ‘Hear first what I’ve to say,
And sing, if you’ve the heart to, then.’
And can I cast him from my couch?
And can I lock him from my room?
Ah no, his honest words are such
That he’s my true-lord, and my doom.
poem by Elizabeth Daryush
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In the White
In the white, early morning
I hang my face
over her head
and kiss the flesh above her brow.
I hang my neck, a bow in the air
and kiss the tiny, tickling hairs above her brow.
In the white light of morning
I hang myself over her
and kiss the flesh of her skull
Her white skull
sleeps in the early morning as I hang myself
to kiss her.
I hang myself to kiss her
as she sleeps in the white, early morning.
She does not wake to my touch.
I hang myself above her
on the white bow
of early morning.
She does not wake to my hanging.
The window is cracked and taped.
The outside air is cold, forceful.
I bend myself
above her sleeping body
to kiss her, gently on the brow.
To kiss her gently on the brow
I hang myself.
poem by Chavisa Woods
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Tar Top
It was July hot 'cross Georgia on my way to Myrtle Beach
I just got my diploma so I set out in search of me
The honeymoon was over, and Alabama was far away
From being little more than just a southern state.
I got a gig down at the Bowery
I played for tip and watered drinks
Just a novice in a business
That's seldom what it seems.
And where are you goin' Tar Top
Where's J. C. And The Chosen Few
I saw the Flash without T. Gentry
And B. V. left for Malibu.
I was July hot and thirty, some years down the line
When the Boys touched the nation, unaware at the time
I got to go to Texas, California, New York too
A farm boy who is thankful to be standin' in his shoes.
But in the Bowery hangs the mem'ries
Of dreams that still come true
Every time I see the spotlight
I'm one of the chosen few.
And where are you going Tar Top
Where's J. C. and the Chosen Few
There's no Flash without T. Gentry
And B. V. where are you?
Where are you goin' Tar Top
Which direction will you take
What's this contrabanded clamor
About the music that you make?
And where are you goin' Tar Top
Is it country enough
Is it contemporary glamour
No it's us, just us.
Uh huh...
song performed by by Alabama
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Fall of Fitzmickle
Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet,
Rules with an iron rod
His house and home; 'neath its red-tiled dome
He struts like a little tin god.
When Popper says stay, the family stay;
When Popper says go, they go;
And early and late, like the trumpet of Fate,
Sounds the fierce Fitzmicklean 'No!'
Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet,
Came on his small son when
There, listening in to the cricketing din,
He sat as the clock struck ten.
'What? Sporting rubbish? At this hour, too!'
Said he: and his brow grew black.
'Things that I wouldn't do my son musn't do.
Bed, sir! And don't answer me back!'
Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet,
His hand on the wireless switch,
Listened a wile, and a ghost of a smile
His stern face seemed to twitch.
'Another man out!' He paused in doubt,
As he noted the latest score.
'Well, I might as well sit and listen a bit;
But a bare half hour, no more.'
Mr Fitzmickle, the martinet,
Just as the clock struck four,
Weary and worn in the cold, bleak morn
Crept by his small son's door.
And out of the stygian darkness there,
Swift to discover his sin,
A small voice cried from the gloom inside:
'Please Popper. Did our side win?'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Courtesy
Of Courtesy, it is much less
Than Courage of Heart or Holiness,
Yet in my Walks it seems to me
That the Grace of God is in Courtesy.
On Monks I did in Storrington fall,
They took me straight into their Hall;
I saw Three Pictures on a wall,
And Courtesy was in them all.
The first the Annunciation;
The second the Visitation;
The third the Consolation,
Of God that was Our Lady's Son.
The first was of St. Gabriel;
On Wings a-flame from Heaven he fell;
And as he went upon one knee
He shone with Heavenly Courtesy.
Our Lady out of Nazareth rode -
It was Her month of heavy load;
Yet was her face both great and kind,
For Courtesy was in Her Mind.
The third it was our Little Lord,
Whom all the Kings in arms adored;
He was so small you could not see
His large intent of Courtesy.
Our Lord, that was Our Lady's Son,
Go bless you, People, one by one;
My Rhyme is written, my work is done.
poem by Hilaire Belloc
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What is happening to you?
I find it strange how we stopped making new beginnings
With our two hands we grope no light, with your ring finger
You snap a fly and there it dies with nobody mourning,
With your eye you touch a stone
And throw it to the sky. How strong are your thoughts today?
How crazy, how messy.
In the kitchen with your knife
You slice more onions amazed that you will shed no tears,
Proud about your long stares
Staying on the stairs
Just beside your apron a cockroach is crawling
On used tissue paper. And a fish is leaping like a frog
Like a dove just struck a window and
Fell to the ground. Soiled bleeding heart. You are always busy asking-
Why is this why is that? There is no end to your murmur.
You’re making heat where ice is frozen, making
Pancakes when there is no electricity in the oven
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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