Mithridates
I cannot spare water or wine,
Tobacco-leaf, or poppy, or rose;
From the earth-poles to the Line,
All between that works or grows,
Every thing is kin of mine.
Give me agates for my meat,
Give me cantharids to eat,
From air and ocean bring me foods,
From all zones and altitudes.
From all natures, sharp and slimy,
Salt and basalt, wild and tame,
Tree, and lichen, ape, sea-lion,
Bird and reptile be my game.
Ivy for my fillet band,
Blinding dogwood in my hand,
Hemlock for my sherbet cull me,
And the prussic juice to lull me,
Swing me in the upas boughs,
Vampire-fanned, when I carouse.
Too long shut in strait and few,
Thinly dieted on dew,
I will use the world, and sift it,
To a thousand humors shift it,
As you spin a cherry.
O doleful ghosts, and goblins merry,
O all you virtues, methods, mights;
Means, appliances, delights;
Reputed wrongs, and braggart rights;
Smug routine, and things allowed;
Minorities, things under cloud!
Hither! take me, use me, fill me,
Vein and artery, though ye kill me;
God! I will not be an owl,
But sun me in the Capitol.
poem by Ralph Waldo Emerson
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Related quotes
A Rose Has Thorns As Well As Honey
A rose has thorns as well as honey,
I'll not have her for love or money;
An iris grows so straight and fine,
That she shall be no friend of mine;
Snowdrops like the snow would chill me;
Nightshade would caress and kill me;
Crocus like a spear would fright me;
Dragon's-mouth might bark or bite me;
Convolvulus but blooms to die;
A wind-flower suggests a sigh;
Love-lies-bleeding makes me sad;
And poppy-juice would drive me mad: -
But give me holly, bold and jolly,
Honest, prickly, shining holly;
Pluck me holly leaf and berry
For the day when I make merry.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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What Christmas Means To Me
Oh yeah...
Candles burning low,
Lot's of mistletoe.
Lot's of snow and ice,
Everywhere we go.
Choirs singing carols,
Right outside my door.
All these things and more, baby
(All these things and more)
That's what Christmas means to me, my love
(Christmas means to me, my love)
Oh yeah,
Yeah yeah yeah
I see your smiling face
Like I never seen before
Even though I love you madly
It seems I love you more
The little cards you give me
Will touch my heart for sure
All these things and more, baby
(All these things and more)
That's what Christmas means to me, my love
(Christmas means to me, my love)
Oh yeah
I feel like running wild (running wild)
As reaches and a little child
Greet you 'neath the mistletoe
I kiss you once and then some more
And wish you a Merry Christmas, baby
(Wish you a Merry Christmas, baby)
And happiness, happiness in the coming year
Oh yeah
Christmas means to me, my love
(Christmas means to me, my love)
(Christmas means to me, my love)
Let's deck the halls with holly
Sing a silent night
Fill a sheet with angel hair
And pretty, pretty lights
Go to sleep and wake up
Just before daylight
All these things and more, baby
(All these things and more)
That's what Christmas means to me, my love
(Christmas means to me, my love)
Hey yeah!
That's what Christmas means to me, my love
Yeah, yeah yeah, oh yeah
Merry Christmas
Merry Christmas
Oh yeah
Merry Christmas, yeah
Oh yes!
song performed by by Jessica Simpson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I'm Not Sorry
On returning
I can't believe this world is still turning
the pressure's on
because the pleasure hasn't gone
and I'm not sorry for
for the things I've done
and I'm not looking for
just anyone
On competing
when will this tired heart stop beating?
it's all agame
existence is only a game
and I'm not sorry for
for the the things I've done
and I'm not looking for
just anyone
I'm slipping below the water-line
I'm slipping below the water-line
reach for my hand and
the race is won
reject my hand and
the damange is done
I'm slipping below the water-line
I'm slipping below the water-line
the woman of my dreams she
never came along
the woman of my dreams well
there never was one
and I'm not sorry for
for the things I've said
there's a wild man
in my head
there's a wild man
in my head
song performed by by Morrissey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Water!--Oh! Water For Me
Oh! water for me-bright water for me!
And wine for the tremulous debauchee!
It cooleth the brow, it cooleth the brain,
It maketh the faint one strong again;
It comes o'er the sense like a breeze from the sea:
All freshness, like infant purity.
Oh water for me, bright water, for me!
Give wine, give wine to the debauchee!
Fill to the brim! fill, fill to the brim!
Let the flowing crystal kiss the rim:
For my hand is steady, my eye is true,
For I, like the flowers, drink nothing but dew.
Oh! water, bright water's a mine of wealth,
And the ores it yieldeth are vigour and health.
So water, pure water for me, for me!
And wine for the tremulous debauchee!
When over the hills, like a gladsome bride,
Morning walks forth in her beauty's pride,
And leading a band of laughing hours,
Brushes the dew from the nodding flowers,
Oh! cheerily then my voice is heard,
Mingling with that of the soaring bird,
Who flingeth abroad his matins loud,
As he freshens his wing in the cold grey cloud.
But when evening has quitted her sheltering yew,
Drowsily flying, and weaving anew,
Her dusky meshes o'er land and sea,
How gently, oh Sleep, fall thy poppies on me!
For water I drink, pure, cold and bright,
And my dreams are of heaven the live long night.
So, hurrah for thee, water, hurrah, hurrah!
Thou art silver and gold, thou art ribbon and star,
Hurrah for bright water! hurrah! hurrah!
poem by John Pierpont
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Give me love
Appreciate me for every diamond i'm worth
Never take me for granted or leave me in dirt
Cherish me as i love you
Give me the love love that i give you
Give me love please i beg of you
But not the love for a beggars soul
Give me love that is pure and true
Give me love of more worth than gold
I ask you for love that never grows old
I ask for love that never grows cold
That time cannot kill and words cannot low
I ask for love that can never be broken
That can withstand the world and any of its burdens
Please give me love that no eye has ever witnessed
Or love that no lips have ever spoken
Give me love that the world cannot tear
That can be ganged by darkness and never fear
Love that has more value than this earth
Love more valuable than any worth
For this is the love i give to you
So value me as i value you
Cause if i have no worth to you
Than what worth are you to me?
So please i beg of you my love
Give me the love that i give to you
I cannot love and never be loved
No...
I cannot be a diamond valued with rocks
When value more than this earth alone
But if you cannot return this love
And i have no more value than a rock
Than i shall value you too as so
And spare my heart the sorrow
Fore as i shall never know your love
Is as you shall never know mine.
poem by Hafeni Nghidinua
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Something Practical For Valentine
There sits, atop a cherry tree
a bird that badly needs to pee.
He's eaten cherries to his fill
and now is bloated, feeling ill.
Bird guts turn cherries into wine
for critics here, on Valentine.
And if the critics have the gout
the wine will drive the acid out.
I think that I shall never see
another fancy cherry tree.
Nor any bird, a cherry thief
who, bloated, aches for quick relief.
But the idea of cherry wine
gut-brewed just for my Valentine
is reminiscent of the gout
today is it, and I could shout!
I'm off now to the local shop
to get her present, a new mop.
poem by Herbert Nehrlich
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Make me like a child
Lord, outside it’s pouring
and every thing ugly
I want to wash from me,
to fall in pools
at my feet.
Again to stand like a child
in the rain,
without worry
about where everything is going.
To rollick in bright drops
that hit splashing
against me
and to know with innocence
that everything comes from Your hand
and around me
every leave, branch, tree and flower
pays their homage to You.
You control even thunderbolts
and You are the One
that stops savage winds,
give life to an earth
that yearns for water.
l’Envoi
Lord, teach me
to serve You better and to understand,
and like a child to go to You
and in trust
to look at Your works
and to know that in everything
Your mighty hand
still folds around me protecting
and that all things
are possible and practicable to You.
Lord, again give to me
the trust and innocence of a child
that with my hope centred on You
I attempt to build my things
and although
the world about me blinds me,
like a scared child
to take Your strong hand in mine
and teach me
to keep You in my heart again.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Glee -- The Ghosts
In life three ghostly friars were we,
And now three friarly ghosts we be.
Around our shadowy table placed,
The spectral bowl before us floats:
With wine that none but ghosts can taste,
We wash our unsubstantial throats.
Three merry ghosts--three merry ghosts--
three merry ghosts are we:
Let the ocean be Port, and we'll think it good sport
To be laid in that Red Sea.
With songs that jovial spectres chaunt,
Our old refectory still we haunt.
The traveller hears our midnight mirth:
"O list!" he cries, "the haunted choir!
"The merriest ghost that walks the earth, "
"Is sure the ghost of a ghostly friar."
Three merry ghosts--three merry ghosts--
three merry ghosts are we:
Let the ocean be Port, and we'll think it good sport
To be laid in that Red Sea.
poem by Thomas Love Peacock
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The Flower
Well this flower is my soul
But it's not half of what I owe
I should give you every rose that I ever grew
But take this one here for a start
And you can keep it in your heart
I have everything I need because of you
Well if my life was long enough
to pack up everything I love
I would do just that and give it all to you
But it's impossible to pay
All the things that you gave away
Si this flower I give will have to do
All the flowers growing wild
For ten thousand lonely miles
It's not near enough to give you what I should
So I will owe you for a while
Maybe longer than my life
I would give you all the world if I could
song performed by by Kasey Chambers from The Captain
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cherry-Time
Cherries of the night are riper
Than the cherries pluckt at noon
Gather to your fairy piper
When he pipes his magic tune:
Merry, merry,
Take a cherry;
Mine are sounder,
Mine are rounder,
Mine are sweeter
For the eater
Under the moon.
And you’ll be fairies soon.
In the cherry pluckt at night,
With the dew of summer swelling,
There’s a juice of pure delight,
Cool, dark, sweet, divinely smelling.
Merry, merry,
Take a cherry;
Mine are sounder,
Mine are rounder,
Mine are sweeter
For the eater
In the moonlight.
And you’ll be fairies quite.
When I sound the fairy call,
Gather here in silent meeting,
Chin to knee on the orchard wall,
Cooled with dew and cherries eating.
Merry, merry,
Take a cherry;
Mine are sounder,
Mine are rounder,
Mine are sweeter.
For the eater
When the dews fall.
And you’ll be fairies all.
poem by Robert Graves
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Cherry-Time
Cherries of the night are riper
Than the cherries pluckt at noon
Gather to your fairy piper
When he pipes his magic tune:
Merry, merry,
Take a cherry;
Mine are sounder,
Mine are rounder,
Mine are sweeter
For the eater
Under the moon.
And you’ll be fairies soon.
In the cherry pluckt at night,
With the dew of summer swelling,
There’s a juice of pure delight,
Cool, dark, sweet, divinely smelling.
Merry, merry,
Take a cherry;
Mine are sounder,
Mine are rounder,
Mine are sweeter
For the eater
In the moonlight.
And you’ll be fairies quite.
When I sound the fairy call,
Gather here in silent meeting,
Chin to knee on the orchard wall,
Cooled with dew and cherries eating.
Merry, merry,
Take a cherry;
Mine are sounder,
Mine are rounder,
Mine are sweeter.
For the eater
When the dews fall.
And you’ll be fairies all.
poem by Robert Graves
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The Legendary Upas Tree for friend Chandra
The legendary Upas Tree
As I drew near the Upas tree
I felt a sudden lethargy.
I was devoid of energy
The Upas tree had captured me.
To satisfy its appetite.
With promises of sheer delight
it undermined my will to fight.
I must resist with all my might.
I will succeed in breaking free
and then destroy the Upas tree.
Then I discover suddenly
I am inside the Upas tree.
This is no dream or fantasy.
Alas it’s grim reality.
My struggles were to no avail
The tree must win I had to fail.
If you should find a Upas tree
avoid it very carefully.
Few men caught by this strange tree
ever succeed in breaking free.
One man lived to tell his story
How he escaped eventually.
But no one believed that there could be.
A sentient man eating tree.
I was a fool and paid no heed
To tell the truth I saw no need
and that is how I came to feed.
The Upas tree’s unholy greed.
20/08/2009
http: // blog.myspace.com/poeticpiers
poem by Ivor Or Ivor.e Hogg
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The Sea-Swallows
THIS FELL when Christmas lights were done,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
But before the Easter lights begun;
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.
Two lovers sat where the rowan blows
And all the grass is heavy and fine,
By the gathering-place of the sea-swallows
When the wind brings them over Tyne.
Blossom of broom will never make bread,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
Between her brows she is grown red,
That was full white in the fields by Tyne.
“O what is this thing ye have on,
Show me now, sweet daughter of mine?”
“O father, this is my little son
That I found hid in the sides of Tyne.
“O what will ye give my son to eat,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Fen-water and adder’s meat,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye get my son to wear,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“A weed and a web of nettle’s hair,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye take to line his bed,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Two black stones at the kirkwall’s head,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye give my son for land,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Three girl’s paces of red sand,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“Or what will ye give me for my son,
Red rose leaves will never make wine?”
“Six times to kiss his young mouth on,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
“But what have ye done with the bearing-bread,
And what have ye made of the washing-wine?
Or where have ye made your bearing-bed,
To bear a son in the sides of Tyne?”
“The bearing-bread is soft and new,
There is no soil in the straining wine:
The bed was made between green and blue,
It stands full soft by the sides of Tyne.
“The fair grass was my bearing-bread,
The well-water my washing-wine;
The low leaves were my bearing-bed,
And that was best in the sides of Tyne.”
“O daughter, if ye have done this thing,
I wot the greater grief is mine;
This was a bitter child-bearing,
When ye were got by the sides of Tyne.
“About the time of sea-swallows
That fly full thick by six and nine,
Ye’ll have my body out of the house,
To bury me by the sides of Tyne.
“Set nine stones by the wall for twain,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
For the bed I take will measure ten,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.
“Tread twelve girl’s paces out for three,
Red rose leaves will never make wine;
For the pit I made has taken me,
The ways are sair fra’ the Till to the Tyne.”
poem by Algernon Charles Swinburne
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Little Things
Oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh, oh, oh
Oh, oh, oh
Been around the whole world, still aint seen
Nothin like my neighborhood
And of all the fancy satin and silk
My white cotton feels so good
Searched high and low for a place
Where I can lay my burdens down
Aint nothin in the whole wide world
Like the piece that I have found
(its the little things) its the little things
And the joy they bring
(the little things) its the little things
And joy they bring
As simple as a phone call just to make it known
That youre gonna be a little late
Pure as a kiss on a cheek in a word
That everything will be okay
Call in the mornin from my little sister
Singin to me, happy birthday
In the quest for fortune and fame
Dont forget about the simple things
(its the little things) its the little things
And the joy they bring, yeah
(the little things) its the little things
And joy
Give me some roomful, give me seclusion
Give me some peace of mind
Bring me some sunshine, bring me some blue sky
Runnin round in circles, lost my focus
Lost sight of my goal
I do this for the love of music
Not for the glitter and gold
Got everything that I pray for
Even a little more
When I ask to learn humility
This is what I was told
(its the little things) its the little things
And the joy they bring, its the little things
(the little things) its the little things
Oh...hee...
Give me my guitar, bring me a bright star
Give me new clothes, give me some cute shoes
Give me a ladder, give me some matter
Bring me my peace of mind
Give me some stevie, give me some donny
Give me my daddy, give me my mommy
Pour me some sweet tea, spoonful of honey
I dont need no hollywood
song performed by by India Arie
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Red, Red Rose Of Sanity
There is a red, red rose
that grows outside my pane.
A pane that's never opened and where I must remain.
I don't know how long I've been here
or how many years.
All I seem to remember is a red, red rose appears.
As I look outside the pane that's spaced by iron bars,
the only other thing I see at night time are the stars.
The rose that grows outside my pane
I wish that I could touch.
The feel of it I do not know, but the sight's a red, red blush.
They feed me and bathe me and then they bring me back.
And then they give me shots and a pill they call Prozac.
It's then I become so quiet and no one even knows
that the only thing I live for is to see my red, red rose.
Sometimes I hear them talking as I sit there by the pane.
Most words I do not understand except the word 'insane.'
I think it means that something in my head isn't right.
How'd this happen to me? Why is this my plight?
I close my ears to all they say and see my red, red rose.
I often wish the pane was up so I could use my nose
to smell the sweet, sweet perfume I know the rose must give.
It's the only thought I have that makes me want to live.
Sometimes when the snow appears, my rose is gone away.
It's then I do remember, remember how to pray.
I pray that God will send the sun, the warmth and not the snows,
so I can look out of my pane to see my red, red rose.
Dedicated to all who have been institutionalized
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Moorland Night
My face is against the grass - the moorland grass is wet -
My eyes are shut against the grass, against my lips there are the little blades,
Over my head the curlews call, And now there is the night wind in my hair;
My heart is against the grass and the sweet earth, - it has gone still, at last;
It does not want to beat any more,
And why should it beat?
This is the end of the journey.
The Thing is found.
This is the end of all the roads -
Over the grass there is the night-dew
And the wind that drives up from the sea along the moorland road,
I hear a curlew start out from the heath
And fly off calling through the dusk,
The wild, long, rippling call -:
The Thing is found and I am quiet with the earth;
Perhaps the earth will hold it or the wind, or that bird's cry,
But it is not for long in any life I know. This cannot stay,
Not now, not yet, not in a dying world, with me, for very long;
I leave it here:
And one day the wet grass may give it back -
One day the quiet earth may give it back -
The calling birds may give it back as they go by -
To someone walking on the moor who starves for love and will not know
Who gave it to all these to give away;
Or, if I come and ask for it again
Oh! then, to me.
poem by Charlotte Mary Mew
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Leaves (thread)
under the dogwood
leaves cover
a cat’s grave
early spring
one leaf still dangles
from the tree
palmistry
dew drops on a leaf
pick a vein
widow’s diary
pressed rose petal
the last leaf
with the rain drops
leaves flutter to the ground
fall showers
fallen leaves
circusing in the grass
merry-go-wind
October shower
leaves in the gutter
disembark
leaves changing colors
across the landscape
season's chameleons
morning rain
under maple leaves
tap my shoulder
leaves ripple
with melodies
cicadas song
These were published online by Sketchbook. See September/October “leaves” Haiku thread:
poem by Ben Gieske
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A Request To The Dead
I offer this water to you,
my father, grandfather and great grandfather,
and to you, soldiers and generals
who fought for us and who fought against us
and who were killed by this war.
I stand here, on this battlefield,
and give this water and this rice to you—
you must be hungry and thirsty.
Ask for nothing
other than water and rice,
don't add to the long list
of things I was not able to give;
be content with this water and this rice
and return
to wherever you came from.
Consider this: the years
I have spent with you were many;
and this: it will not be long
before I join you wherever you sojourn.
Had I possessed things
other than this water and this rice,
would I have denied them to you
and asked you to return ?
Whatever I have
other than this water and this rice
are surely not appropriate offerings
for departed souls.
True, I traverse everyday of my life
with this baggage of witheld things,
but whenever I look at them
I disintegrate and cry out
with a voice that rends
the heavens
and the underworld.
Tears fill my eyes
when I make this offering
of water and rice.
I know, when my turn comes,
I shall have neither.
Look, the sun has almost set.
Now, go back to wherever you came from
with the little water and the little rice I gave you.
Look, I myself do not have
either any water or any rice.
Look, I have nothing except the few things
I didn't give
and kept with myself.
[Translated by the poet]
poem by Ramakanta Rath
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Spin, Spin
So fine, so fine the web you spin,
I come too close and Im caught again!
In the web of wild design,
I do not know what fate is mine!
All the day sit and spin,
Spin your web and you draw me in.
Spin, spin, spin, spin!
And my daddy said when I was young,
Beware the web of love, my son,
To be in love is to be insane,
Make an old man groan, a young man pain!
All the day, sit and spin,
Spin your web and you draw me in.
Spin, spin, spin, spin!
Then I did go and the time did fly,
Many a true love passed me by.
And then you came like a blinding storm,
I landed in your web so warm,
Spin your web and you draw me in.
Spin, spin, spin, spin!
So fine, so fine the web you spin,
I come too close and Im caught again!
In the web of wild desire,
And I cannot control the fire!
All the day sit and spin,
You spin your web and you draw me in.
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spin, Spin (New York Remake Version)
So fine, so fine the web you spin,
I come too close and I'm caught again!
In the web of wild design,
I do not know what fate is mine!
All the day sit and spin,
Spin your web and you draw me in.
Spin, spin, spin, spin!
And my daddy said when I was young,
"Beware the web of love, my son,
To be in love is to be insane,
Make an old man groan, a young man pain!"
All the day, sit and spin,
Spin your web and you draw me in.
Spin, spin, spin, spin!
Then I did go and the time did fly,
Many a true love passed me by.
And then you came like a blinding storm,
I landed in your web so warm,
Spin your web and you draw me in.
Spin, spin, spin, spin!
So fine, so fine the web you spin,
I come too close and I'm caught again!
In the web of wild desire,
And I cannot control the fire!
All the day sit and spin,
You spin your web and you draw me in.
song performed by by Gordon Lightfoot
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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