The Role Of Resistance
the bow must be strong
and so must the string be
but with more flexibility
and the arrow must be
sharp and smooth and
to the air it must know
its ways like the river
to its own winding tunnel......
the hand pulls the tail
the resistance works
the arrow against the bow
and then you shall see
something is gone in
such a sudden way
far, far, farther away.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
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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Opposition
strong bow
opposed by a string
the arrow shoots
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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Stronger Than All
Always standing proud, we know our time has come
Marching off to war, the crusade has just begun
Fighting for the right to live under the sun
We wont stop til they´ve lost and weve won
Come and fly with us, together as one we belong
This magic of metal unites us, its making us strong
Like an arrow we strike c stronger than all
Heavy metal troops on the rise
Like an arrow of might c stronger than all
Well walk through fire, were true to ourselves and our lives
History commits the oath to deal in steel
Warriors of the faith, to no living soul we kneel
Born into the fold, the templars are for real
No one will ever bring us to heel
Come and fly with us, together as one we belong
This magic of metal unites us, its making us strong
Like an arrow we strike - stronger than all
Shooting through the air at full speed
Like an arrow of might - stronger than all
In the name of metal, defending our hopes and beliefs
The past and the present unites in us all,
We stand up for our beliefs
The way of the templars is here once again,
Forever they will be free
Like an arrow we strike - stronger than all
Heavy metal troops on the rise
Like an arrow of might - stronger than all
Well walk through fire, were true to ourselves
Like an arrow we strike - stronger than all
Shooting through the air at full speed
Like an arrow of might - stronger than all
In the name of metal, defending our hopes and beliefs
song performed by by Hammerfall
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The hunter
With a bow in his hand
the hunter sneaks
above the wind,
following the tracts
of the wild antelope.
His brown skin
melts into the field
and the bushes,
and like a wild cat
he sneaks
from cover to cover.
The sun is hot
where it hangs in the half-Kalahari sky
and he drinks a tiny bit of water
out of the ostrich egg flask,
before a brown hand
with caked sand
wipes sweat out of his dark brown eyes.
Again he takes the trail
and follows it at a jog
until the oryxes are closer
and again he sneaks nearer
and stalks still closer.
When he is in striking distance
an arrow is taken from the quiver
and the small bow’s string
made out of roped intestines draws
and for a moment,
it sounds like the buzz of a bee
while the arrow
rushes away from the bow.
The arrow hits the antelope
and when the startled oryx
rushes away
the hunter follows
faithful on the spoor,
till he finds it
where in time
it lies stretched out
on the red brown Africa sand.
poem by Gert Strydom
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Testimony is like an arrow shot from a long-bow; its force depends on the strength of the hand that draws it. But argument is like an arrow from a cross-bow, which has equal force if drawn by a child or a man.
quote by Charles Boyle
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Cupid
How could I have been so stupid?
I should have known you were Cupid
when your arrow pierced my heart.
How could I have been so unaware?
I should have felt that you were there.
But love is strange and plays its part
in most unusual ways you know.
I should have captured that special glow
and grabbed hold from the start.
It took me some time to understand.
I should have held out my hand
and never let us be apart.
The emptiness that hit me hard
made me know to be on guard,
to never be stupid, just be smart.
Send one more arrow my way.
Pierce my heart on some other day.
Please dear Cupid, play your part.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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The Snake
Like sable coils of twisted cord that glisten in the light,
Scales round with tiger stripes are scored, death spoiling for a fight.
Draped on a stump - a tree long dead, bone dry in heat of day;
A flickering fork from poisoned head that smells the air for prey.
Mulberry bow; Black fletched with crow: an arrow, notched, half drawn.
The boy, the hunter, stealing slow, makes not a sound to warn.
The serpent looks with steely eyes, that see no danger yet.
Though close below its burrow lies, the hunter's trap is set.
A powerful arc, a full drawn bow; The snake in mortal fear,
It dashes for its den below, an arrow thudding near.
A blur of sleek uncoiling rings, swift down the hole it glides;
The bow string twangs, the arrow sings, through flesh and bone it slides.
The threshing tail flies side to side, a writhing lashing whip;
Escape from certain death denied, held in the arrow's grip.
The hunter draws it from its lair, lays on the ground his prize;
The vanquished of a contest fair, like bloodied rope it lies.
And so plays out the ancient duel ‘twixt snake and son of man;
Lays slain the fleeing serpent cruel, as in the Maker's plan.
poem by Dennis N. O'Brien
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Study for a Soul
the colors have begun to form
silvergray with cramoisy and gold
into an arrow carved by storm
beyond the fear of new and old
and where the arrow fits the bow
the untroubled darkness of her eyes
watches the red-gold target grow
strong is the sun that purifies
but I have sought in vain to find
the riddle of the bow and archer
there were no shadows left behind
after the heart's departure.
poem by Harry Crosby
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Mindless Of Who And What I Am
there is a flow of the river
like a stream of
my consciousness
that does not mind
driftwood
it minds its own sound
of flowing
on and on
there is no complaint
what burden is carried
what winding ways
to ease
that which is held with
least resistance
there is no rock so high
and hard
there is no obstruction
this river
that goes on with its song
on and on and on,
mindless of everything
the stones and birds staring.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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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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The arrow that missed the head of its target will never hit the tail.
Cupid's Arrow
Shoot an arrow in the air
and where it falls, you know not where.
But shoot that arrow through the heart
and when it strikes love may start,
or twist and turn and soon depart.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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First Poem From The
Pyotr Pavlovich (entering the room):
Zdagger Upper Ooster Ooster
I am carrying someone's elbow
Zdagger Upper Ooster Ooster
Where's Professor De Dispenchin?
Zdagger Upper Ooster Ooster
Where on Earth are office hours?
If this little clockie dangling
Its two weights a-reaching down
Oldish clockie while still pending
Flew an arc without a frown
Zdagger Upper Ooster Ooster
I broke down the rhythm of time
Carabeester on a booster
Works instead of Zdagger Upper
Hand is stretched ever farther
Yielding something arrow-handed
From one minute to another
Rushing blindly as if branded
Right from milk-white clockface down
Pancake's winding Ooster Ooster
Tightly wrapped in dressing-gown
Proudly sits the Carabeester
He is during office seconds
Looking into metered engine
So the time will not be wayward
Like Professor De Dispenchin
Like Andrey Semyonych Zdagger
Single-handed Zdagger Upper
Cares for Zdagger Upper Ooster
His lost hand adjusting aptly
Fixing fingers with a hammer
Zdagger Upper he is nailing
Zdagger Upper Ooster them.
poem by Daniil Ivanovich Kharms
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The Magic Is
Every bow must have a string
to let its arrow fly.
Everyone must have a heart,
if love is to flow.
They say for every somebody,
there is a someone.
The magic is to find,
that special someone just for you.
poem by David Harris
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Tales Of A Wayside Inn : Part 1. The Musician's Tale; The Saga of King Olaf XX. -- Einar Tamberskelver
It was Einar Tamberskelver
Stood beside the mast;
From his yew-bow, tipped with silver,
Flew the arrows fast;
Aimed at Eric unavailing,
As he sat concealed,
Half behind the quarter-railing,
Half behind his shield.
First an arrow struck the tiller,
Just above his head;
'Sing, O Eyvind Skaldaspiller,'
Then Earl Eric said.
'Sing the song of Hakon dying,
Sing his funeral wail!'
And another arrow flying
Grazed his coat of mail.
Turning to a Lapland yeoman,
As the arrow passed,
Said Earl Eric, 'Shoot that bowman
Standing by the mast.'
Sooner than the word was spoken
Flew the yeoman's shaft;
Einar's bow in twain was broken,
Einar only laughed.
'What was that?' said Olaf, standing
On the quarter-deck.
'Something heard I like the stranding
Of a shattered wreck.'
Einar then, the arrow taking
From the loosened string,
Answered, 'That was Norway breaking
From thy hand, O King!'
'Thou art but a poor diviner,'
Straightway Olaf said;
'Take my bow, and swifter, Einar,
Let thy shafts be sped.'
Of his bows the fairest choosing,
Reached he from above;
Einar saw the blood-drops oozing
Through his iron glove.
But the bow was thin and narrow;
At the first assay,
O'er its head he drew the arrow,
Flung the bow away;
Said, with hot and angry temper
Flushing in his cheek,
'Olaf! for so great a Kämper
Are thy bows too weak!'
Then, with smile of joy defiant
On his beardless lip,
Scaled he, light and self-reliant,
Eric's dragon-ship.
Loose his golden locks were flowing,
Bright his armor gleamed;
Like Saint Michael overthrowing
Lucifer he seemed.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Iraq
The Garden of Eden is in Iraq,
But today we've destroyed that land with bombs!
And life is like an arrow which follows the narrow path.
Go to Iraq and look for the four Riverheads,
Of Pishon, Gihon, Tigris and Euphrates;
There you will gain wisdom to enhance your status.
A River went out of the Garden of Eden,
And it parted and became Four Riverheads;
But the fruit of Eden was pleasant to the eye-sight and,
Desirable for food like what the serpent gave to Eve.
A deep sleep fell unto man and,
Out of him came woman;
So go to Iraq today to see things for yourselves.
She lived luxuriously and had no sorrow,
But the morrow came and she has to borrow;
Like the works of man and the things we do learn from,
With an arrow to follow our footpaths always.
Go to Iraq today and learn from what you see,
It was the same land where the Garden of Eden was positioned;
The Creator made it very beautiful for us but,
We've destroyed the land!
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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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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