S6
Essex
in Essex the black ravens are hovering
on a tree without leaves
it is cold here
snow on the roof and on the ground
frozen mailboxes
of long time ago
when the emails come forth
saying
Essex Essex
the world has changed
and you have remained there
constantly wondering
waiting.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Related quotes
On the Earl of Essex
Essex twice made unhappy by a Wife,
Yet Marry'd worse unto the Peoples strife:
He who by two Divorces did untie
His Bond of Wedlock and of Loyalty:
Who was by Easiness of Nature bred,
To lead that Tumult which first Him misled;
Yet had some glimm'ring Sparks of Virtue lent
To see (though late) his Errour, and Repent:
Essex lies here, like an inverted Flame,
Hid in the Ruins of his House and Name;
And as He, frailties sad Example, lies,
Warns the Survivours in his Exequies.
He shews what wretched bubbles Great Men are,
Through their Ambition grown too Popular:
For they Built up, from weak Opinion, stand
On Bases false as Water, loose as Sand;
Essex in differing Successes try'd
The fury and the falshood of each Side;
Now with applauses Deify'd, and then
Thrown down with spightfull infamy agen:
Tells them, what Arts soever them support,
Their Life is meerly Time and Fortunes sport,
And that no Bladders blown by Common breath,
Shall bear them up amidst the Waves of Death:
Tells them no Monstrous Birth, with Pow'r endu'd
By that more Monstrous Beast the Multitude;
No State-Coloss (though Tall as that bestrid
The Rhodian Harbour where their Navy rid)
Can hold that ill-porportion'd Greatness still,
Beyond his Greater, most Resistless will,
Whose dreadfull Sentence written on the Wall
Did sign the Temple Robbing Tyrants fall;
But Spight of their vast Priviledge, which strives
T'exceed the Size of ten Prerogatives;
Spight of their Endless Parliament, or Grants,
(In Order to those Votes and Covenants,
When, without Sense of their black Perjury
They Swear with Essex they would Live and Dye)
With their Dead General ere long they must
Contracted be into a Span of Dust.
poem by Henry King
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Somebody ought to tell him his ambition is showing.
quote by Harry Essex
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Well, it seems to me a scientist has need for both vision and confidence.
quote by Harry Essex
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I wasn't ever a massive David Essex fan, but I liked a few of his tracks, and Stardust was one of them.
quote by Martin Gore
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Genius is entitled to respect only when it promotes the peace and improves the happiness of mankind.
quote by Lord Essex
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Essex and Hollywood
With pert nose and buttocks to match.
You were a ginger long-haired,
Tight jeaned 'Guinness ad' man's dream.
For the time it took
(On a drunken Sunday night.)
For you to light up and yawn.
The difference between an
Essex girl
And a Hollywood siren.
poem by Peter Vealey
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You Should Have Left
Kevin Bacon, Amanda Seyfried, Avery Tiiu Essex, Colin Blumenau, Lowri Ann Richards, Joshua C Jackson, Eli Powers
by David Koepp from You Should Have Left (2020)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Frogs
Maids pass Lilly pad
Native Essex frog winks while
long tongue licks warm beer.
Darting tongue thrusts out
old frog dies on lily pad
maidens weeps green tears.
poem by Ruth Walters
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Stranger
Walking on the
Streets of
Leigh-on-Sea,
I think about my
Identity back at
Home, that gives me
Some solace and
Security…
For here, I’m
A stranger,
Just as every
Person is a
Stranger
To me.
(Leigh-on-Sea is a place in Essex, UK)
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Waiting For the Snow
Waiting for the Snow
When the leaves turn golden
And the geese fly south
Where will I be?
When the wind turns cold
And the bear is in hiding
Where will I be?
When the streams are frozen
And the rabbits’ color turning
Where will I be?
When the leaves begin to fall
And the northern cardinals stay
Where will I be?
When the nuts fall down
And squirrels store walnuts
Where will I be?
When the corn is harvested
And the deer seek shelter
Where will I be?
When the grass is brown
And the pheasants are flying
Where will I be?
I will be riding before the wind
And winging t’ward the sun
Flying from the snow
I will be waiting for spring
And sleeping till then
Hiding from the snow
I will be hiding till I’m white
And searching the ground for food
Waiting for the snow
I will be looking for berries
And singing merrily
Waiting for the snow
I will be saving acorns
And jumping form tree to tree
Waiting for the snow
I will be searching fields for corn
And hiding in thickets
Waiting for the snow
I will be hiding under grass
And calling out loud
Waiting for the snow
Riches
Friend, you have wealth and power,
Men go and come at your call,
Yours are the whims of the hour—
What have you done with it all?
I am only a poet
Fighting a bitter fight,
Fate will not even grant me
Leisure in which to write.
You said as your thin lips curled:
“Money is better than bays.”
Battered and bruised by the world!
I still have my golden days.
You have lost the power to enjoy,
You tire of each plaything new,
Mine is the heart of a boy;
Friend, I am richer than you!
poem by George Essex Evans
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River Of Bass
To touch. to taste.
She flows like a river of bass vibration.
To touch. to taste.
She flows like a river of bass vibration.
Sweet water. sweet water.
To touch. to taste.
You flow like a river of bass vibration.
Sunshine surrounds me.
Showering above their greed.
Sunshine surrounds me.
Showering above the greed.
To touch. to taste.
You flow like river of bass vibration.
To touch. to taste.
You flow like a river of bass vibration.
Take me down.
To your river of sweet release.
Take me down.
To your river of sweet relief.
Everyone is sleeping.
This needle is release.
Sitting on a mountain.
Companies could see.
Listening to a whisper.
To touch. to taste.
You flow like a river of bass vibration.
What is in the thornbush.
A thornbush in my head.
Im a snowstorm. Im a shaker.
Sometimes I regret the things I say.
To touch. to taste.
She flows like a river of bass vibration.
Take me down.
To your river of sweet release.
Take me down.
To your river of sweet relief.
From chelsea to essex. every room.
In every sweet cocoon.
Chelsea to essex. in every room.
In every sweet cocoon.
Sometimes I feel her coming
From the other side of the world.
Sometimes I feel her coming
From the other side of the world.
To touch. to taste.
She flows like a river of bass vibration.
song performed by by Underworld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Shakespeare replies to Cuthbert Bundy
King James demands a Scottish play
and believes in witches three
Look close and see they are the fates
that set our destiny
I can't write about his mother
or the murder of her clerk
One whisper about Darnley
and we'll all be out of work.
After that unhappy business
about Essex and the Queen.
I won't risk another incident
no abdication scene.
Keep the text, in time to come
it will prove rare like gold
I kept it shorter than King Lear
your attention span to hold.
W.S.
.
poem by John F. McCullagh
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William Francis Bartlett
Oh, well may Essex sit forlorn
Beside her sea-blown shore;
Her well beloved, her noblest born,
Is hers in life no more!
No lapse of years can render less
Her memory's sacred claim;
No fountain of forgetfulness
Can wet the lips of Fame.
A grief alike to wound and heal,
A thought to soothe and pain,
The sad, sweet pride that mothers feel
To her must still remain.
Good men and true she has not lacked,
And brave men yet shall be;
The perfect flower, the crowning fact,
Of all her years was he!
As Galahad pure, as Merlin sage,
What worthier knight was found
To grace in Arthur's golden age
The fabled Table Round?
A voice, the battle's trumpet-note,
To welcome and restore;
A hand, that all unwilling smote,
To heal and build once more;
A soul of fire, a tender heart
Too warm for hate, he knew
The generous victor's graceful part
To sheathe the sword he drew.
When Earth, as if on evil dreams,
Looks back upon her wars,
And the white light of Christ outstreams
From the red disk of Mars,
His fame who led the stormy van
Of battle well may cease,
But never that which crowns the man
Whose victory was Peace.
Mourn, Essex, on thy sea-blown shore
Thy beautiful and brave,
Whose failing hand the olive bore,
Whose dying lips forgave!
Let age lament the youthful chief,
And tender eyes be dim;
The tears are more of joy than grief
That fall for one like him!
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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In A Garden
Girl, with the soft grey eyes,
You to the flowers belong:
From the perfume of a rose
My heart shall weave you a song.
I will colour its words with light,
Like the sun on that straying tress.
The wind will lend me its harp
To set it in loveliness.
It shall fold you soft as the mist,
Yet stir your heart like the sea,
Till lips that never were kissed
Shall yeld their homage to me.
poem by George Essex Evans
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Idea LI: Calling to mind since first my love begun
Calling to mind since first my love begun,
Th' incertain times oft varying in their course,
How things still unexpectedly have run,
As t' please the fates by their resistless force:
Lastly, mine eyes amazedly have seen
Essex' great fall, Tyrone his peace to gain,
The quiet end of that long-living Queen,
This King's fair entrance, and our peace with Spain,
We and the Dutch at length ourselves to sever:
Thus the world doth and evermore shall reel.
Yet to my goddess am I constant ever,
Howe'er blind fortune turn her giddy wheel:
Though heaven and earth prove both to me untrue,
Yet am I still inviolate to you.
poem by Michael Drayton
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Sonnet LI: Calling to Mind
Calling to mind, since first my love begun,
Th'uncertain times oft varying in their course,
How things still unexpectedly have run,
As it please the Fates, by their resistless force.
Lastly mine eyes amazedly have seen
Essex' great fall, Tyrone his peace to gain;
The quiet end of that long-living Queen;
This King's fair entrance; and our peace with Spain,
We and the Dutch at length ourselves to sever.
Thus the world doth and evermore shall reel;
Yet to my Goddess am I constant ever,
Howe'er blind Fortune turn her giddy wheel.
Though Heav'n and Earth prove both to me untrue,
Yet am I still inviolate to you.
poem by Michael Drayton
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To The Unknown God
O wilt Thou on the day when all is sifted,
All heights of Heaven, all depths of Hell laid bare,
When from the vexed world’s heart thy veil is lifted,
And men shall see the dayspring hidden there,
O wilt Thou give to each whose course has drifted,
The thread, the clue by which his feet may fare,
To tread at last with sight supremely gifted
The path he missed in darkness and despair!
This is the hidden secret of the strife—
To find your life and live it—This is Life.
poem by George Essex Evans
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Inscription
On a Stone, in the Church-Yard at Boreham, in
Essex; raised by the Honourable Elizabeth Olmius,
to the memory of Ann Gardner, who died at New
Hall, after a faithful Service of Forty Years.
WHATE'ER of praise, and of regret attend
The grateful servant, and the humble friend,
Where strict integrity and worth unite
To raise the lowly in their Maker's sight,
Are her's; whose faithful service, long approved,
Wept by the mistress whom through life she loved.
Here ends her earthly task; in joyful trust
To share the eternal triumph of the just.
poem by Charlotte Smith
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To A Bigot
Here am I sent a wanderer like to thee,
And here a moment ere the night I stand.
The twin eternities—Has Been, Shall Be—
Gird me on either hand.
My joy or grief—the flicker of a wing
Of some brief insect in the blinding glow!
One moment down the wind my voice shall ring.
This, and no more, I know.
My soul went out amid the ways of men,
By land and sea, and to the stars o’erhead.
I deemed it lost when it came back again.
“Is there a God?” I said.
“Thou fool,” it answered, “all are truly kin.
God is the Soul of all—no power apart.
God is the spark Divine that glows within
The Temple of the Heart.”
poem by George Essex Evans
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