In Virgilium. Pentadii.
IN VIRGILIUM. PENTADII.
Pastor, arator, eques; pavi, colui, superavi;
Capras, rus, hostes; fronde, ligone, manu.
IN ENGLISH.
A swain, hind, knight: I fed, till'd, did command:
Goats, fields, my foes: with leaves, a spade, my hand.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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Field Of Joy
let's wander slowly through the fields
slowly slowly through the fields
i touch the leaves that touch the sky
just you and i through fields of joy
all trouble slowly fades away
slowly slowly fades away
i hold your hand inside my hand
across the land through fields of joy
the sound of music that we hear
the blend of colors throug the air
all cities, mountains disappear from view
all truth and beauty near to me and you
with you through the fields
with you through the fields
with you through the fields
the fields of joy
let's wander slowly through the fields
slowly slowly through the fields
i know our love will never die
just you and i
through fields of joy
through fields of joy
song performed by by Lenny Kravitz
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Spare Manu
Manu Sastre, the moral code, laid down By Manu, though outdated by time gone,
Still stands worthy of many codes drawn
And is not wise to be thrown out outrightly.
Each set of codes is set to govern a sect
Conditioned by life of the coder’s time,
With no right bequeathed to latter sects
To condemn the coder for the codes set.
The theory propounded by the scientists
Are being replaced by the successors
Without any attack on the former. Mind.
Spare Manu
27.06.2004
[Manu has written a moral code for Hindus more than thousand years back, some of which are controversially objected now}
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Paradoxical Alikes
Blazing red
Ascetic saffron
Appeal to me
In same tone
Radical cannons
Vedic canons
Sound to me
In same tune
Rishi Marx
Rebel Manu
Seem to me
Right addresses
Take my route
Learn the truth
(Manu was a great exponent of Vedas. He wrote Manu Smrithi
a codified Hindu law based on Vedic tenets)
BY sathya narayana
dt: 11-11-2008
poem by Sathya Narayana
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Fields Of Joy
Let's wander slowly through the fields
Slowly slowly through the fields
I touch the leaves that touch the sky
Just you and I through fields of joy
All trouble slowly fades away
Slowly slowly fades away
I hold your hand inside my hand
Across the land through fields of joy
The sound of music that we hear
The blend of colors in the air
All cities
song performed by by Lenny Kravitz from Mama Said
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Manu's Varna
The colour and creed - that
Manu gave
Set rules - put one above the other-
to bring in some order -
it will help people to live together
Manu said.
Varnas there were four
The thinker, The fighter, The seller and The toiler.
The head, The body, The abdomen and the foot.
The co-ordination between the four - did it
give the real colour to life.
Even great people like the 'Mahatma' and 'bharathiar' -
were 'FOR' the Varnas
The discrimination they accepted- any
inhuman aspect in it they rejected.
Bharathiar would say 'Living within the varna-
marrying within it- would emancipate man sooner'
Mahatma would say -
' A handed down profession is always better'.
Even in todays India- where the
broad four is no more relevent-
where everybody is stepping into any shoe available.
Even in todays India- after ages-
The colour instead of fading has darkened.
The money can come from anywhere-but-
The distinctness in their birth they would'nt spare.
Manu's varna was just a pattern-after all
Everybody has a head, body, abdomen and a foot.
Manu's varna was just a pattern - mind you-
It was'nt the 'Rainbow'
(manu was a saint who brought in classification of people into the indian soceity)
poem by Samanyan Lakshminarayanan
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Spade
In my heart, my love fades
To the small corners of dark color spades
I see it fester in its pointed edge
And to its death I solemnly pledge
"Kill my love, kill my heart"
then I smash the spade, till its love falls apart
Now all that's there, is sable ink
And into its fluid my hand does sink
I write with it all love's gain
And all we seek all in vain.
Love is not defined by anything
But a broken heart that cannot sing
In morbid ink, my soul I dress
And to love, my love I confess
My love of love, a dark spade
That kills my heart, the spade it made
I fade....
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Well, Say It As You See It
it is nice
yes, always the feeling is nice
when you call a spade a spade
lets your heart out
nothing tightens
or chokes
nothing to vomit
at the end
nothing hidden
well, they laid the principle
of candid honesty
say it as it pleases you
not as it pleases them
always, yes, always
call a spade a spade
that is rule # one
honesty, that lonely word
well, i learned it by heart
learning to say
what is in my mind
but what do i get?
nothing
everyone is displeased
with my honesty
that i am one tactless
form of shit
this monstrous mammal
this elephant with a tusk
this snake with a venom
this mischievous child
laughing at the
naked emperor
without clothes
well, yes, i still say what i see
calling a spade always a spade
and what do i get?
yes, this one,
nothing but this one
this poetry
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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For All Prisoners And Captives
OVER the English trees and the English meadows
Twilight is falling clear,
But my heart walks far in the homeless winds and the shadows
For those who are not here.
Youth and pleasure and peace and the strong flesh clothing
The freeman's soul, they gave;
Beauty they gave for a scar and honour for loathing
And life for a living grave.
But not of the least they gave was the English, mellow
Sunlight on beech leaves spread,
And the Squirrel flickering earthward to find his fellow
Where the chestnut husks lie dead.
And not of the least they lost was the calm star climbing
Over the elm tree's height,
And the heron high in the mists, and the hoar frost riming
The ivy leaves at night.
Night and the early moon, and the dead leaves burning,
And England secure and free
By the price of uncounted heartbreaks toward her turning
Across her kindred sea.
Night, and the smell of the earth, and the blue reek lifting
Straight as a prayer from the plain.
Loose them, O Sleep, to the sun and the beech leaves drifting
And the stubble fields again!
Night, and the robins still, and the long smoke folding,
The fallow on either hand,
And the spirits of those who sorrow afar, beholding
In dreams their native land.
poem by Marjorie Lowry Christie Pickthall
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The Spirit Medium
POETRY, music, I have loved, and yet
Because of those new dead
That come into my soul and escape
Confusion of the bed,
Or those begotten or unbegotten
Perning in a band,
I bend my body to the spade
Or grope with a dirty hand.
Or those begotten or unbegotten,
For I would not recall
Some that being unbegotten
Are not individual,
But copy some one action,
Moulding it of dust or sand,
I bend my body to the spade
Or grope with a dirty hand.
An old ghost's thoughts are lightning,
To follow is to die;
Poetry and music I have banished,
But the stupidity
Of root, shoot, blossom or clay
Makes no demand.
I bend my body to the spade
Or grope with a dirty hand.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Hyperboles and Such
A bubble floats,
Will pass on by,
The cows and goats
Begin to cry.
The balloon falls dead.
The whip cracks dawn.
The frog prince hopes.
The jungle kings yawn.
Until then, the till now plows.
And earth now weeps for goats and cows.
poem by Jesse Swedlund
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Spade
The beauty spot was borrowed
Now my sweet knife rusts tomorrow
I'm a confession that is waiting to be heard
Burn your empty rain down on me
Whisper your deathbeat so softly
We bend our knees at the alter of my ego
You drained my heart, and made a spade
There's still traces of me in your veins
You drained my heart, and made a spade
There's still traces of me in your veins
All my lilies' mouths are open, like they're begging for dope and hoping
their bitter petal chant, "we can kick, you wont be back"
Im a diamond that is tired, of all the faces i've aquired, we must secure the shadow ere the substance fades
You drained my heart, and made a spade
There's still traces of me in your veins
You drained my heart, and made a spade
There's still traces of me in your veins
And we said 'til we die
And we said 'til we die
You drained my heart, and made a spade
There's still traces of me in your veins
You drained my heart, and made a spade
There's still traces of me in your veins
You drained my heart, and made a spade
There's still traces of me in your veins
You drained my heart, and made a spade
There's still traces of me in your veins
And we said 'til we die
And we said 'til we die
song performed by by Marilyn Manson
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Better Way
There’s a better way of digging
Than that, Uncle said, taking the
Spade from your hands and showing
You with a craftsman’s touch how
It should be done. You watched in
Wonder how with ease and skill he’d
Made the trench begin to shape far
More quickly than your frail work
Produced. He handed you back the
Spade and you noticed the calluses
That years of using spades and other
Workman’s tools had made. He took
Hold of your hand and turned it over,
Gazed intently and smiled and shook
His head. Such lily-white hands were
Made for pen not spade or hoe or rake,
He said, finish what’s started, lad, then
Return to your studies and pen instead.
poem by Terry Collett
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Psalm 110 part 1
Christ exalted, and multitudes converted; or, The success of the gospel.
Thus the eternal Father spake
To Christ the Son: "Ascend and sit
At my right hand, till I shall make
Thy foes submissive at thy feet.
"From Zion shall thy word proceed;
Thy word, the sceptre in thy hand,
Shall make the hearts of rebels bleed,
And bow their wills to thy command.
"That day shall show thy power is great,
When saints shall flock with willing minds,
And sinners crowd thy temple gate,
Where holiness in beauty shines."
O blessed power! O glorious day!
What a large vict'ry shall ensue!
And converts, who thy grace obey,
Exceed the drops of morning dew.
poem by Isaac Watts
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The Metaphoric Garden...
all the while, literalism
is wished. Why bother with some
allusions? One can be direct
to the point and be
understood point-blank,
no holds bar, black is black
and white is white,
a spade is a spade is a spade,
the cause is that which the cause
is caused,
bluntly, candidly,
what the heck is this
going around the bush
and figuring out
what is hidden through
symbols and
concealed through some
metaphors....
but my dear, this
is the realm of what we want you to know
and on the other hand
we also want you not to know
so well....
and that is, precisely
this thrill, remember those imaginary
toads in the
real garden?
or those real toads in the
imaginary garden,
feel them, they are all here,
hear them, but my god, by god,
you cannot see them
here... not yet....
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Quest
Once upon a time a princess
was in distress
in a beautiful country
called Ireland
the handsome knight came
to impress
and to win the
princess hand
the knight set off
on the quest
to return the pot of gold at the
end of the rainbow
as the beautiful princess
had request
the brave knight was
eager to begin
everyone had faith in the knight
for he was the champion
this quest he was determined
to win
there were quite a few mean trolls
taking a stand
the whole kingdom was
in an uproar
they came from England to
take over the land
the knight set out on a
path of danger
flying overhead was a great dragon
keeping an eye on the unicorn
things couldn't get
much stranger
the knight met with the fairies
who came up with a plan
to buy the magic wand from the
leprechaun if he can
in an instant the rainbow
did appear
the brave knight returned the pot of
gold to his princess
and everyone in the kingdom
gave a great cheer
poem by Rachel Nichols
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The Goat Convention
The goats held a convention.
“We want liberation! ”
They bleated boldly.
“I want to hear concrete suggestions”,
Advised the chairman gently.
“And tabula rasa”, he added.
The result, however,
Was only a long and silent pause.
Eventually though one goat rose
To say something.
He cleared his throat
And valiantly addressed the assembly:
“Our liberation and the struggle
To achieve equal rights go hand in hand.
So, in view of the fact
That men can wear goatees,
I propose that we goats also start
To wear manly fashioned beards”.
poem by Paul Hartal
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Vedic Conversion
The Veda is sacred; its hymens are sacred.
The Veda is holy; its hymns are holy.
We were told to toe; we were led to toe.
The nomadic tribe has brought it with them.
Buddhism was banished; Jainism vanished.
Natives were driven; Dravidians subverted.
It is the Aryans who conquered the continent.
It is the Aryans who remodelled its culture.
Success in war, stealing of cattle,
Love making, illogical rituals,
No moral codes, no benevolent deeds-
These are all the Vada speaks out
Manu codified Varnasrama Dharma.
Manu glorified kings and their style.
Manu crucified women’s interests.
Manu stupefied Sudhras and Dalits.
The Ramayana, an epic, lofted Rama
To a God Incarnation, who killed
Ravana, a Shiva devoee, thus holding
The supremacy of Aryans and Rama.
The Mahabharata tells godliness of Krishna,
Whose crafts in strategy of war
Belies his Geetha’s teachings of doing
Duties with detachment for the end.
Aryan revivalism rears its head.
They are out to eradicate gods
Other than their Rama and Krishna.
They want to make flourish
The Brahmin’s superiority and nobility
Over all indigenous Gods and culture.
11.10.2000
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Pedro, Pablo and Little José
I have spent an hour
lying in the sun
on Joe Brickle's farm
waiting for Pedro and Pablo
to fetch Little José
with his sickle and scythe
to cut down the high grass
so Pedro and Pablo
can gun their mowers
over the cowlicks.
After Joe Brickle died
the grass on his farm
soared to the sky.
His goats ate it all
till his son flew home
and trucked all the goats
to the slaughterhouse.
At Sadie's Cafe in town
old friends of Joe declare
goats bring a good dollar.
I have not wasted my time
lying in the sun today.
I've been watching
two doves on the ground
walking in circles
waiting for a sparrow
to land and dance on
the rungs of the feeder
Joe Brickle hung
in his Dogwood.
The doves need the seed
the sparrow will scatter.
Joe Brickle named goats
after prophets in the Bible.
He might be happy to know
that I've named the doves
Pedro and Pablo
and the sparrow
now landing
is Little José.
poem by Donal Mahoney
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Return the Princess
Return the Princess
Sir Knight, I beg of you, fetch my sister.
A high born lady, stolen from our court.
Stricken from the scroll of the royal Lister.
As children, our time together was short.
She vanished the day the palace was stormed.
Swept from our presence and ripped from the fold.
‘twas torn from my life, yet my love had formed.
So fetch her for me, before she is sold.
I know where she is, she waiteth you see.
O find her my Knight, on your pure white steed.
She is lost in the land of poetry.
Bid me my sister and fulfill my need.
Rumor holds she is well beyond the sea.
So ride Sir Knight, bring my sister to me.
Author notes
English Sonnet
Sonnets are formal poems and consist of 14 lines (3 quatrains and a couplet) , traditionally written in iambic pentameter - that is, in lines ten syllables long, with accents falling on every second syllable. English sonnets rhyme in the following scheme ababcdcdefefgg
source: shadowpoetry.com
Lister - assessor who makes out the tax lists
poem by Amera Andersen
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