Avieni V. C. Ad Amicos
AVIENI V. C. AD AMICOS.
Rure morans, quid agam, respondi, pauca rogatus:
Mane, deum exoro famulos, post arvaque viso,
Partitusque meis justos indico labores;
Inde lego, Phoebumque cio, Musamque lacesso;
Tunc oleo corpus fingo, mollique palaestra
Stringo libens animo, gaudensque ac foenore liber
Prandeo, poto, cano, ludo, lavo, caeno, quiesco.
ENGLISHED.
Ask'd in the country what I did, I said:
I view my men and meads, first having pray'd;
Then each of mine hath his just task outlay'd;
I read, Apollo court, I rouse my Muse;
Then I anoynt me, and stript willing loose
My self on a soft plat, from us'ry blest;
I dine, drink, sing, play, bath, I sup, I rest.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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The New – To Come
I'll be the mask
Of inside free
To each coming task
That becomes me
Tincturing the shade
Of springtime come
The earthly made
Of rainbows from
The world is to seek
Conquer and outlay
Sky stroke and its streak
Of a coming day
Gone with the breeze
That was once new
Life is but its glees
And unlucky to view
I'll be new while
And difference to eyes
The concrete tile
To dreamy skies
Each beam to spring
That glowing on long
For I shall sing
My heart to earth song
poem by Peter S. Quinn
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To Be Or Not To Be
To be or not to be,
To learn or not to learn,
To obey or not to obey,
To teach or not to teach,
To work or not to work,
To cook or not to cook,
To write or not to write,
To play or not to play,
To move or not to move,
To pray or not to pray,
To ride or not to ride,
To build or not to build,
To plant or not to plant,
To draw or not to draw,
To eat or not to eat,
To drink or not to drink,
To paint or not to paint,
To sing or not to sing,
To preach or not to preach,
To think or not to think,
To create or not to create,
To dance or not to dance,
And like the muse of love in the land of peace;
But, it is a matter of, to be or not to be.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Villanelle
Apollo left the golden Muse
And shepherded a mortal's sheep,
Theocritus of Syracuse!
To mock the giant swain that woo's
The sea-nymph in the sunny deep,
Apollo left the golden Muse.
Afield he drove his lambs and ewes,
Where Milon and where Battus reap,
Theocritus of Syracuse!
To watch thy tunny-fishers cruise
Below the dim Sicilian steep
Apollo left the golden Muse.
Ye twain did loiter in the dews,
Ye slept the swain's unfever'd sleep,
Theocritus of Syracuse!
That Time might half with HIS confuse
Thy songs,--like his, that laugh and leap, -
Theocritus of Syracuse,
Apollo left the golden Muse!
poem by Andrew Lang
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A Lyric to Mirth
While the milder fates consent,
Let's enjoy our merriment :
Drink, and dance, and pipe, and play ;
Kiss our dollies night and day :
Crowned with clusters of the vine,
Let us sit, and quaff our wine.
Call on Bacchus, chant his praise ;
Shake the thyrse, and bite the bays :
Rouse Anacreon from the dead,
And return him drunk to bed :
Sing o'er Horace, for ere long
Death will come and mar the song :
Then shall Wilson and Gotiere
Never sing or play more here.
poem by Robert Herrick
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Portii Licinii
PORTII LICINII.
Si Phoebi soror es, mando tibi, Delia, causam,
Scilicet, ut fratri quae peto verba feras:
Marmore Sicanio struxi tibi, Delphice, templum,
Et levibus calamis candida verba dedi.
Nunc, si nos audis, atque es divinus Apollo,
Dic mihi, qui nummos non habet unde petat.
ENGLISHED.
If you are Phoebus sister, Delia, pray,
This my request unto the Sun convay:
O Delphick god, I built thy marble fane,
And sung thy praises with a gentle cane,
Now, if thou art divine Apollo, tell,
Where he, whose purse is empty, may go fill.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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Fitly Joined
Fitly joined together!
Of your love with mine,
Of your muse with mine,
Of your care with mine,
Wine, dine, mine, fine! !
But, wake up to the truth always.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Blue Magic
The blues of love with the blue magic,
And like a better sleep in the room of your lover;
But let the realities of love bath you all day long.
Mine, dine, line, nine, fine, tine, vine, cine, sine, pine, wine;
And like the bed of roses that you slept on last night!
But the ideal care of your muse is all that you need beside your lover.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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0019 An intrusive thought in the bathroom at Christmas
We control freaks like to feel
we have our thoughts in some sort
of order; though yes, we like to have
spontaneous feelings, it shows
that we are human (not just
control freaks, ha) - but we like to feel
we have those feelings, too, within
some sort of mental framework –
Saint Paul stricken, on the road to Tarsus,
with a blinding epiphany
is good to read about – it can happen
to others, great – but, as the song goes,
but not for me…
It happened, with a corny total appropriateness,
on Christmas morning (I almost feel
I have to apologise for that…) : I’d overslept;
hadn’t even put the radio on, to work myself
gently into Christmas cheer;
the bath was running; and then
I suddenly felt blest.
No. Knew myself blest.
You’d have to know
the nervous, melancholic, depressive me
to know the inconvenient inappropriateness
of that ‘state of grace’ as some would say;
my control freak brain couldn’t find a mental slot
where such thoughts belong; while registering
that many people would feel only
gratitude for that..
but that was it: it had happened;
now I had it in my memory
for the rest of my life; I had to deal with it; and worse,
I knew that what I recognised
so inconveniently, as the bath filled up,
was something that had a future and a past,
and if true in this brief moment
then had been, would be, true for ever…
* * *
There’s a beautiful tradition
that while those who give
are blest, that those who receive their gift
are not blest until (rather like
‘pass the parcel’ which we play
sometimes on Christmas Day)
they pass the gift along
to someone else..
But this control freak thinks,
try to tell someone else
and you can finish up
not believing it yourself..
I guess I’ll have to try
writing a poem about it sometime
but without
trying to find some sorta
mental framework for it
etc.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Upon My Lap My Sovereign Sits
Upon my lap my sovereign sits
And sucks upon my breast;
Meantime his love maintains my life
And gives my sense her rest.
Sing lullaby, my little boy,
Sing lullaby, mine only joy!
When thou hast taken thy repast,
Repose, my babe, on me;
So may thy mother and thy nurse
Thy cradle also be.
Sing lullaby, my little boy,
Sing lullaby, mine only joy!
I grieve that duty doth not work
All that my wishing would,
Because I would not be to thee
But in the best I should.
Sing lullaby, my little boy,
Sing lullaby, mine only joy!
Yet as I am, and as I may,
I must and will be thine,
Though all too little for thyself
Vouchsafing to be mine.
Sing lullaby, my little boy,
Sing lullaby, mine only joy!
poem by Martin Peerson
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Tired Old Country Song
Regi price/jl vanderford
Another day, another night
Another tired old country song
You know, I sing of love delight
But I know its all wrong
The life I live out on the road
Is one I swear no one could love
Yet I feel I must go on
And sing this tired
This tired old country song
I move around from place to place
But all the towns look just the same
I see the same old face
Losin still my claim to fame
Ill sing the guitar blues
Drink my drink and pay the dues
Then I guess Ill ramble on
And sing this tired
This tired old country song
Why did I have to compromise
To reach my piece of the fame?
Life could have been so different
In that eight to five game
So I guess Ill settle down
Get my feet back on the ground
Once a country star
Now Im just a country clown
Hang my guitar on the wall
I wont need it anymore
For I think the time has come
To end this tired
This tired old country song
To end this tired
This tired old country song
song performed by by Roy Orbison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Kyarek To Tu Malish Mane
Gujju POEM
Kyrek to tu malish mane.....
jivan na palav ma samavish mane...
moza to dariya ma udya mane tu kinare to pohchadish mane...
Kyrek to tu malish mane.....
rasta ni dhul samji kyarek to tu mathe chadvis ne...
kyrek to tu malish mane....
cheli savase tara uar ma to samavish mane.....
kyrek to tu malish mane....
poem by Sandeep Jahaal
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Loose Talk Costs Lives
(b gibb)
Loose talk costs lives
People like to play
Were basically the same
We never lie
Loose talk costs lives
Dont look at me as if you dont remember me at all
There was laughter, there was pain
But I wont make the same mistakes I made
You are too beautiful to me
I hide my tears inside the rain
Am I the soul you cast your spell upon
I had control and now its gone
Or are you someone who controls my heart and mind
And I will never say a word
And I will never say goodbye
Loose talk costs lives
People like to play
Were basically the same
We never lie
Loose talk costs lives
I can see that someone hung a sign around your heart
And it reads do not return
And there is so much trouble I could cause
Someone as beautiful as you
You can feel my candle burn
And I still recall some starry night
We had it all, we held on tight
I promised I would come to you and catch you if you fall
And they will never know about us
For just one moment you were mine
Loose talk costs lives
People like to play
Were basically the same
We never lie
Loose talk costs lives
For just one moment, just one moment, you were mine
Loose talk costs lives
(our moment held in time)
People like to play
Were basically the same
We never lie
Loose talk costs lives
Loose talk costs lives
People like to play
Were basically the same
We never lie
Loose talk costs lives
song performed by by Bee Gees
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Bathsheba
Oh Bathsheba!
Your name is like the beauty of a naked woman bathing;
And you are very beautiful my sweet one,
'Bath-oh-Sheba'! for your beautiful bath do attract many.
Of male and female servants,
He entered her and the sweet bed of roses started to sing;
Of a love song to crown the day.
'L'Chai Shalom! '
Come and eat the bread of my love,
Come and drink the water of my love,
Come and eat the meat of my love,
Come and drink the wine of my love,
For my love is the fortress around you.
You are very safe my sweet one,
Oh Bathsheba!
'Bath-oh-Sheba'! ! ! !
Just as you are named, so you are with your beauty.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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The Last Of May
By fate's benevolent award,
Should I survive the day,
I'll drink a bumper with my lord
Upon the last of May.
That I may reach that happy time
The kindly gods I pray,
For are not ducks and pease in prime
Upon the last of May?
At thirty boards, 'twixt now and then,
My knife and fork shall play;
But better wine and better men
I shall not meet in May.
And though, good friend, with whom I dine,
Your honest head is gray,
And, like this grizzled head of mine,
Has seen its last of May;
Yet, with a heart that's ever kind,
A gentle spirit gay,
You've spring perennial in your mind,
And round you make a May!
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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The Last Of May
By fate's benevolent award,
Should I survive the day,
I'll drink a bumper with my lord
Upon the last of May.
That I may reach that happy time
The kindly gods I pray,
For are not ducks and pease in prime
Upon the last of May?
At thirty boards, 'twixt now and then,
My knife and fork shall play;
But better wine and better men
I shall not meet in May.
And though, good friend, with whom I dine,
Your honest head is gray,
And, like this grizzled head of mine,
Has seen its last of May;
Yet, with a heart that's ever kind,
A gentle spirit gay,
You've spring perennial in your mind,
And round you make a May!
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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Servants of God, in Joyful Lays
Servants of God, in joyful lays,
Sing ye the Lord Jehovah’s praise;
His glorious Name let all adore,
From age to age, forevermore.
Blest be that Name, supremely blest,
From the sun’s rising to its rest;
Above the heav’ns His pow’r is known,
Through all the earth His goodness shown.
Who is like God? so great, so high,
He bows Himself to view the sky;
And yet, with condescending grace,
Looks down upon the human race.
He hears the uncomplaining moan
Of those who sit and weep alone;
He lifts the mourner from the dust;
In Him the poor may safely trust.
O then, aloud, in joyful lays,
Sing to the Lord Jehovah’s praise;
His saving Name let all adore,
From age to age, forevermore.
poem by James Montgomery
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Drink It In
How many days are left
And what to spend them on
Should I keep working
Or sit and marvel at the sky
I think about your skin
Your fragile skin
The heaven of life we're living in
Drink it in, drink it in deeper
I pray a life your soul to keep
Drink it in, drink it in
Pink clouds scatter
My heart beats clear
For all the hearts that I hold dear all
Drink it in, drink it in deeper
I pray a life your soul to keep
Drink it in, drink it in deeper
I pray a life your soul to keep
Drink it in, drink it in
Drink it in, drink it in
song performed by by Heather Nova
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Daddy Long-Legs and the Fly
Once Mr Daddy Long-Legs,
Dressed in brown and gray,
Walked about upon the sands
Upon a summer's day;
And there among the pebbles,
When the wind was rather cold,
He met with Mr Floppy Fly,
All dressed in blue and gold.
And as it was too soon to dine,
They drank some Periwinkle-wine,
And played an hour or two, or more,
At battlecock and shuttledore.
Said Mr Daddy Long-legs
To Mr Floppy Fly,
'Why do you never come to court?
I wish you'd tell me why.
All gold and shine, in dress so fine,
You'd quite delight the court.
Why do you never go at all?
I really think you ought!
And if you went, you'd see such sights!
Such rugs! and jugs! and candle-lights!
And more than all, the King and Queen,
One in red, and one in green!'
'O Mr Daddy Long-Legs,'
Said Mr Floppy Fly,
'It's true I never go to court,
And I will tell you why.
If I had six long legs like yours,
At once I'd go to court!
But Oh! I can't, because my legs
Are so extremely short.
And I'm afraid the King and Queen
(One in red and one in green)
Would say aloud, 'You are not fit,
You Fly, to come to court a bit.'
O Mr Daddy Long-Legs,'
Said Mr Floppy Fly,
'I wish you'd sing one little song!
One mumbian melody!
You used to sing so awful well
In former days gone by,
But now you never sing at all;
I wish you'd tell me why:
For if you would, the silvery sound
Would please the shrimps and cockles round,
And all the crabs would gladly come
To hear you sing, 'Ah, Hum di Hum!''
Said Mr Daddy Long-Legs,
'I can never sing again!
And if you wish, I'll tell you why,
Although it gives me pain.
For years I could not hum a bit,
Or sing the smallest song;
And this the dreadful reason is,
My legs are grown too long!
My six long legs, all here and there,
Oppress my bosom with despair;
And if I stand, or lie, or sit,
I cannot sing one single bit!'
So Mr Daddy Long-Legs
And Mr Floppy Fly
Sat down in silence by the sea,
And gazed upon the sky.
They said, 'This is a dreadful thing!
The world has all gone wrong,
Since one has legs too short by half,
The other much too long!
One never more can go to court,
Because his legs have grown too short;
The other cannot sing a song,
Because his legs have grown too long!'
Then Mr Daddy Long-Legs
And Mr Floppy Fly
Rushed downward to the foaming sea
With one sponge-taneous cry;
And there they found a little boat
Whose sails were pink and gray;
And off they sailed among the waves
Far, and far away.
They sailed across the silent main
And reached the great Gromboolian plain;
And there they play for evermore
At battlecock and shuttledore.
poem by Edward Lear
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Cupid's Promise - Paraphrased
Soft Cupid, wanton, amorous boy,
The other day, moved with my lyre,
In flattering accents spoke his joy,
And uttered thus his fond desire.
Oh! raise thy voice, one song I ask,
Touch then th' harmonious string;
To Thyrsis easy is the task,
Who can so sweetly play and sing.
Two kisses from my mother dear,
Thyrsis, thy due reward shall be;
None, none like Beauty's queen is fair;
Paris has vouch'd this truth for me.
I straight reply'd, thou know'st alone,
That brightest Cloe rules my breast,
I'll sing thee two instead of one
If thou'lt be kind and make me blest.
One kiss from Cloe's lips, no more
I crave. He promised me success;
I play'd with all my skill and power,
My glowing passion to express.
But, oh! my Cloe, beauteous maid,
Wilt thou the wish'd reward bestow?
Wilt thou make good what Love has said,
And by thy grant his power show?
poem by Matthew Prior
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And I My Poem/I Could Not Write
AND I MY POEM/ COULD NOT WRITE
And I my poem
Could not write
Because I heard
Another light.
And fear and far
So deep in me
Distanced my Eternity.
But suddenly my soul in strain
Heard its song once again
And for this little interval
I dare not let myself be still
Instead I’ll laugh and sing again
And play and pray
Until my end -
And nothing in this night or death
Will ever let my mind forget
That I need God
Whatever I do
God and me and also you.
Read read this little poem I pray
This is my blessing for this day.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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