Remembering an Arrow
I put this cipher to my memory
In the hope of elongated archery-
The proof of worth is in the arrow,
A blade may construct as narrow,
It is an arrow of waking worship,
Cinematic performance of a buildup.
The world has listened to my sound,
The sound of an arrowhead beating background.
My age grappled my weight
In overspread charm to evaluate.
The arrowhead is sharper than the quiver,
My lover, my loving friend is going to shiver.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Related quotes
Sonnet 65: Love By Sure Proof
Love by sure proof I may call thee unkind,
That giv'st no better ear to my just cries:
Thou whom to me such my good turns should bind,
As I may well recount, but none can prize:
For when, nak'd boy, thou couldst no harbor find
In this old world, grown now so too too wise,
I lodg'd thee in my heart, and being blind
Bu nature born, I gave to thee mine eyes.
Mine eyes, my light, my heart, my life alas,
If so great services may scorned be,
Yet let this thought thy tigrish courage pass:
That I perhaps am somewhat kin to thee,
Since in thine arms, if learn'd fame truth hath spread,
Thou bear'st the arrow, I the arrowhead.
poem by Philip Sidney
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An Arrow Goes To War
An arrow goes to war
Right to the start of it
Right through the heart of it
“Ow” cries out from a wounded beastly roar
When an arrow goes to war
Good dies out
On a battlefield
Evil considers it chattel killed
Shouts come from the home front too loud to ignore
This is the outcome
Of an arrow gone to war
Weary mothers, fathers, lovers, friends, daughters & sons
Appealing for slaughter to end what has begun
Recognizing the sin but then to win…
…Love is a fight worth fighting for
But how can the broken mend again
When an arrow goes to war?
poem by Tony Haynes
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Cupid Smiles
Swift is the arrow
from Cupid’s bow,
where it will fly,
nobody knows.
Will it land in you,
or will it land in me?
No one will see it,
until it is there.
The world will then notice,
the love in their eyes,
and Cupid will smile
as he watches from high
at our antics below.
Then he will take another
arrow from his quiver
and again it will fly
as he sits there
smiling from on high.
poem by David Harris
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Hexagram
Paint the streets in white!
Death is the standard
Breach for a complex prize!
I think it's sweet of you
And your parents are proud...
But I would expect it from anyone
Now to protect life's indigenous sound!
Worship! Play, Play x 3
Worship! Play! Worship! Play
Worship! Worship!
Worship! Play, Play x 3
Worship! Play! Worship! Worship!
How the streets they swell!
While the animals make their way through the crowds!
If you keep listening you can hear it for miles...
God, I trust everyone quicker with every faint smile!
Worship! Play, Play x 4
Worship! Worship!
Worship! Play, Play
Worship! Worship!
Worship! Play, Play x 4
Worship! Worship!
Worship! Play, Play
Worship! Worship! Worship!
And the crowd goes wild!
And the camera makes you seasick!
God it's so sweet of you and I know you're proud
And the car bomb hits quick click, faint smile!
It's the same sound... it's the same, same... sound....
And the crowd goes wild!
And the camera makes you seasick!
God it's so sweet of you and you know I'm proud
And the car bomb tick ticks with the same sound!
Its the same sound! With the same sound...
Hexagram...
song performed by by Deftones
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Arrow For You To Shoot
Shall I give you an arrow to shoot? .
The arrow is ready to shoot forth
Its tip is sharp and shining
And it is sure to pierce through any flesh and bone.
The arrow is made of age old metals hard
Its frame is lean and long
A shaft that knows no bounds...
And it is sure to strike at the object hard.
The arrow is loved by sages and saints
Its value is unquoted in scriptures ever
And it is sure to remain desired by all.
But where is the bow to shoot it from?
You decide... you alone
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
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An Arrow
An arrow of laziness spread through the circle;
And carried in the air, like sold material,
And fetched by evil spirits who do not live among us.
I sow the seeds of sky and tundra,
Why do they offer so many advantages to me?
Fear him?
No hunter caused the stars and the planets to move
Without guidance. And my bow and arrows are braver
To the realm of God.
Is the world an ostrich’s egg? Or do you know of a world
So huge that it revolves like an arrow through space.
It is laid by the big bird, it is left alone by the dragons,
And the arrow is dead now.
poem by Naveed Akram
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Sound of war
...
Bum! Bum! Bum!
Sound of war
it's like the roaring of a lion
I the jungle.
Sound of war
It's like flash of the lightening
Sound of war
It make people lose their strength
Sound of war
It make people to run to and fro
Sound of war
Um...
Sound of war
make people hopeless
when there is hope
Sound of war is cruel
Because it make people shudder
It make people suffer, shudder shiver, cringe
And due before they die
Sound of war
Oops!
Ouch!
Phew!
poem by Ejalonibu Abraham
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Like The Weather
[ natalie merchant ]
The color of the sky as far as I can see is coal grey.
Lift my head from the pillow and then fall again.
With a shiver in my bones just thinking about the weather.
A quiver in my lips as if I might cry.
Well by the force of will my lungs are filled and so I breathe.
Lately it seems this big bed is where I never leave.
Shiver in my bones just thinking about the weather.
Quiver in my voice as I cry,
What a cold and rainy day. where on earth is the sun hid away.
I hear the sound of a noon bell chime.
Now Im far behind.
Youve put in bout half a day
While here I lie
With a shiver in my bones just thinking about the weather.
A quiver in my lip as if I might cry,
What a cold and rainy day. where on earth is the sun hid away?
Do I need someone here to scold me
Or do I need someone wholl grab and pull me out of this four poster dull torpor pulling downward.
For it is such a long time since my better days.
I say my prayers nightly this will pass away.
The color of the sky is grey as I can see through the blinds.
Lift my head from the pillow and then fall again
With a shiver in my bones just thinking about the weather.
A quiver in my voice as I cry,
What a cold and rainy day. where on earth is the sun hid away?
I shiver, quiver, and try to wake.
song performed by by 10000 Maniacs
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I taught him archery everyday, and when he got good at it he throw an arrow at me.
Sounds that should not be missed
Sound of blossom of a flower,
I desire to hear,
the sound of nature.
Sound of rain's glassy water drop,
over a roof's top,
the sound of joy.
Sound of beat of our heart,
through our ears caught,
the sound of wonder.
Sound of delicious supper in boil,
after a great day's toil,
the sound of hunger.
Sound of a mother's loving ballad,
hearing the cry of her toddler,
the sound of love! ! !
poem by Shyam Balaji
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Cupid Abroad Was Lated
CUPID abroad was lated in the night,
His wings were wet with ranging in the rain;
Harbor he sought, to me he took his flight
To dry his plumes. I heard the boy complain:
I oped the door and granted his desire,
I rose myself, and made the wag a fire.
Looking more narrow by the fire's flame,
I spied his quiver hanging by his back.
Doubting the boy might my misfortune frame,
I would have gone, for fear of further wrack;
But what I drad did me, poor wretch, betide,
For forth he drew an arrow from his side.
He pierced the quick, and I began to start,
A pleasing wound but that it was too high;
His shaft procured a sharp yet sugared smart.
Away he flew, for why is wings were dry;
But left the arrow sticking in my breast,
That sore I grieved I welcomed such a guest.
poem by Robert Greene
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A Cupid's Arrow
The scab where Cupid's arrow had entered
had barely healed, leaving just a wisp of a scar
evident there; but the inner pain remained.
The sounds of its shaft, its purple burning shaft
is still present
to my muffled memory
which flinches from its approaching sound
its whoosh, its dull thud
piercing a heart valve,
denying blood to my feverished brain
which sounded the alarm that love
seen by many as Cupids blessing
but for me it was an arrow emptying out
my life's blood
outside and down, plunging
drawn by gravity
falling onto the maroon carpeting
invisible almost
while all around me urged that I celebrate
but I knew too
that heart valves burst too in love's first
volley
and that Cupid
is too, a mixed blessing.
But how to remove an embedded shaft
without causing the wound to shed one's very life blood,
or is it best to leave it in place, count the bliss
and ignore the tremendous event
many saw as unvarnished and good?
Why must Cupid's arrow steal from me my identify
in favor of a new merging one?
Why must Cupid's arrow involve blood?
And who is to explain the scab and pain
the wound brings
when love leaves
that hollow,
now bleeding vacuum,
which grows a scab
sometimes leaves a scar
plastered over with
urgings of 'you must move on.'
It is not that love is bad. It is not.
It is that it is transforming and the transforming
sometimes leaves me without a me I had known all my life
and the new me is merged with another
if they leave
I wonder what then what will I be left with?
Who has not pondered this?
Life then is the road traveled
strewn with Cupid's discarded arrows
and pained souls marching.
Yet, If I hear yet again
the shaft's approach
that whooshing sound
that Cupid's arrow makes
I know, I once again
will bare my chest
and take its plunge full on
because that is how Love is Made.
I remind myself of all of this as I prepare for the date.
poem by Lonnie Hicks
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Cupid’s Arrow
To those that know love’s sting:
Powerful bow, strung and drawn
Steady aim, Cupid's eyes narrow
With finesse, no need for brawn
Thru lover’s heart casts an arrow
ROTMS
poem by Ray Lucero
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Esther, A Sonnet Sequence: IX
I stopped, I listened, and I entered in,
With half--a--dozen more, that sight to see.
``The Booth of Beauty,'' 'twas a name of sin
Which seemed to promise a new mystery.
There was a crowd already in the place,
And 'twixt me and the stage, now darkly hid,
The gathering evening had come down apace,
And all was dim within and overspread.
I know not by what instinct or mute proof
Of Providence it was, but this is true,
Even as I stepped 'neath that ignoble roof,
A prescience warned me there of portents new,
And a voice spoke with no uncertain sound
Warning me back as from ungodly ground.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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Real Real Gone
I'm real real gone
I got hit by a bow and arrow
You got me down to the very marrow
You're a friend of mine
And i'm real real gone
On the radio
Music coming and i hear
Sam cooke's voice
Well i know i don't have any choice
That's the way it is
And i'm real, real real gone, man
I can't stand up by myself
Don't you know, baby, i need your help
You're a friend of mine
And i'm real real gone, alright
Well, i'm dancing
Dancing till my, till my body's soaking wet
Till i'm completely wet with sweat
Once i've started i'm just real real gone, man
I got hit by a bow and arrow
Got me down to the very marrow
You're a friend of mine, and i'm
Real gone, man
Well the music's playing
On the radio
And the night is filled with space
When my fingertips touch your face
You're a friend of mine
And i'm, i'm real real gone
Help me stand up
Help me stand up
All by myself
You're a friend of mine
And i'm real, i'm real real gone
Real gone
I got hit by a bow and arrow
(fade to end)
song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Off The Ground
There must have been a lot of heartache
For you to sink so low.
You must have had a ton of pressure.
Only answer if the answers no.
I need loving, you need loving too.
Doesnt take a lot to get off the ground.
There must have been a lot of magic
When the world was born.
Let me be the one you wish for,
One you call for, when youre all alone.
I need loving, you need loving too.
Wouldnt take a lot to get off the ground.
Off the ground, off the ground.
Fly around, fly around.
Hear the sound, hear the sound.
Off the ground, off the ground.
Though it takes a lot of power
To make a bog tree grow.
It doesnt need a pot of knowledge.
For a seed knows what a seed must know.
You need loving, I need loving too.
Doesnt take a lot to get off the ground.
Off the ground, off the ground.
Fly around, fly around.
Hear the sounnd, hear the sound.
Off the ground, off the ground.
Hear the sound, hear the sound.
Off the groound, off the ground.
Yeah yeah, off the ground.
song performed by by Paul McCartney
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Very Early Spring
The fields are snowbound no longer;
There are little blue lakes and flags of tenderest green.
The snow has been caught up into the sky--
So many white clouds--and the blue of the sky is cold.
Now the sun walks in the forest,
He touches the bows and stems with his golden fingers;
They shiver, and wake from slumber.
Over the barren branches he shakes his yellow curls.
Yet is the forest full of the sound of tears....
A wind dances over the fields.
Shrill and clear the sound of her waking laughter,
Yet the little blue lakes tremble
And the flags of tenderest green bend and quiver.
poem by Katherine Mansfield
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For a jest one should not take the arrow out of the quiver.
A Thousand Desires
Thousands of desires, each worth dying for...
Many of them I have realized...yet I yearn for more...
Why should my killer (lover) be afraid? No one will hold her responsible
For the blood which will continuously flow through my eyes all my life
We have heard about the dismissal of Adam from Heaven,
With a more humiliation, I am leaving the street on which you live...
Oh tyrant, your true personality will be known to all
If the curls of my hair slip through my turban!
But if someone wants to write her a letter, they can ask me,
Every morning I leave my house with my pen on my ear.
In that age, I turned to drinking (alcohol)
And then the time came when my entire world was occupied by alcohol
From whom I expected justice/praise for my weakness
Turned out to be more injured with the same cruel sword
When in love, there is little difference between life and death
We live by looking at the infidel who we are willing to die for
Put some pressure on your heart to remove that cruel arrow,
For if the arrow comes out, so will your heart...and your life.
For god's sake, don't lift the cover off any secrets you tyrant
The infidel might turn out to be my lover!
The preacher and the bar's entrance are way apart
Yet I saw him entering the bar as I was leaving!
Thousands of desires, each worth dying for...
>Many of them I have realized...yet I yearn for more
poem by Mirza Ghalib
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A Toxophilite
The target ranged at 100 yards,
The bow, strung ready to yield,
The power entrusted in its pull,
Sends the arrows down the field.
Each one with red coloured feathers,
Each alloy shaft balanced for speed,
The string is drawn, then with tension held,
It shall surely the 'bulls eye' feed.
Like a bullet sprung from a barrel,
The arrow flies out of sight,
And then a 'thud' as it hits the butt,
It's a game that can't help but excite.
A steady stance, and strong muscled arms,
Are needed to perfect the aim,
With a quiver and bow sight, you can become,
Archer, Toxophilite, Bowman, the same.
A very ancient skill, this was, way back,
Battles fought, by brave stalwart men,
The bow and the arrows, were weapons of war,
One would not have liked, living then.
But these days it's a great sport to tackle,
Achievement is always one's claim,
And a score in the 'Centre' is well worth the wait,
Archery is a wonderful game.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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