Love #2.
The small, white, soft hand of a maid can shoot
A bolt will bar a giant's way; and, oh!
The dreamy Love is a unique magician,
That, tender as the maiden's lily hand,
Is yet as sinewy retentive as
The bolt that bars the giant's way.
poem by Robert Crawford
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Related quotes
Usain Bolt, like a thunder bolt
Dashed and darted to his final halt
With all the might combined
Pushing his opponents behind
Making the world wonder if Bolt, a man or a colt
quote by by Valsa George
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Giant of Africa
Blessed thy be
among the contries
so great and powerful
rich in culture
and natural endowment
truly, you are the giant of Africa
Hm! giant of Africa
you should be ashamed
for been called the giant of Africa
Isn't our flag green white green?
while green stand for food
and white for peace?
but now, green stand for famine
and white for war
Giant of Africa
heh heh heh
visa now becomes your lord
the land where
nigerian love to live
still, the tomtom of revolution
beats in our heart
for our ancestor to judge
both the good and the evil.
poem by Mimiko moruf oluwakayode
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Magician
He said
You will look right into my eyes
Repeat every word that I say
You want some magic in your life
My love is the only way
Magician
Magician
Ohh magician
Magician
His body moves behind my eyes
Obsession grows
Its a private show
Magic man with a sleight of hand
Disappearing right into my soul
Magician
Magician
Ohh magician
Magician
Whoaa whoaa ohh
Hes here again
That magic man
My eyes wont turn away
Just like magnets pull me in
I cant forget his face
Magician
Magician
Ohh magician
Magician
Whoaa whoaa ohh
Whoaa whoaa ohh
I walk right up and said
Take me take me take me
No pride no shame, enchanted
Call it a dream but dont wake me
Magician
Magician
Ohh magician
Magician
No matter how fast he goes
Feels like slow motion
Hypnotize me frame by frame
Caught in my own dream paradise frozen
Magician
Magician
Ohh magician
Magician
Whoaaa ohhh
song performed by by Jefferson Starship
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hand I Hold
The hand I hold
is the hand of love
when people see me anywhere.
The hand that steadies me
when storm clouds appear.
The hand that wipes away
the tears I want to hide.
The hand I hold
is the hand of love
tender soft and warm.
The hand that mends
and helps time heal
any wanton sore.
The hand that comforts
when tragedies come to pass.
The hand I hold
is the hand of love
and will be with me
until the day I die.
29 January 2011
poem by David Harris
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Usain Bolt
'I-ran' like Iran and i sing like Singapore!
My name is Usain Bolt and,
I do eat chili pepper like Chile!
But i am Usain Bolt from Jamaica and,
The world cannot meet me on both 100 metres and 200 metres.
My sincere thanks goes to the 2008 Olympic Games held in China,
For 2008 was my time to proof a point;
Like a turkey from Turkey.
The trace of my race is from the lion of Africa!
And i am Usain Bolt as a runner;
But after many years of training and hardships,
I have now fulfilled my dream with these Gold Medals from China!
But having the visions before hand was my mission.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Thunder Showers In Winter
Sometimes I wonder about the kind of chance
that in the winter here tonight
just before the daybreak
thunder bolt upon thunder bolt might dance
in their blind white glare
when rain suddenly begins to pour down
from a cloudless sky
while blue-white bolts of thunder do report.
poem by Gert Strydom
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The nut and the bolt
The bolt that is not fit with a nut
Is not to be construed as unfit
But to be viewed as one misfit.
The bolt must seek one fit to it
28.12.2004
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Love's Castle
Key and bar, key and bar,
Iron bolt and chain!
And what will you do when the King comes
To enter his domain?
Turn key and lift bar,
Loose, oh, bolt and chain!
Open the door and let him in,
And then lock up again.
But, oh, heart, and woe, heart,
Why do you ache so sore?
Never a moment's peace have you
Since Love hath passed the door.
Turn key and lift bar,
And loose bolt and chain;
But Love took in his esquire, Grief,
And there they both remain.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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Again Falling In Love
I don’t belong to me,
to you, to her, to him.
Who are you, I ask myself
again falling in love for a tender shoot,
uncoiling under the debris of unfaithful corners?
I was watching a small birdie
hopping against a mirror, cracking the beak
to kill a rival.
She was pulling at my arm
white death in red scarf.
This is for you my fellow-traveller,
a beautiful sector of my hidden garden,
where I have permitted you to come for a walk.
Hand in hand we will watch the peerless evening –
sitting on the wings of gulls.
Will you like to break a promise
before I implode on the moon?
You light the earthen lamp daily under a tree,
to possess me, trap me, digest me. Voicelessly
I melt into smoke, fly away in small huffs.
poem by Satish Verma
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A Song (#3)
MY heart to thy heart,
My hand to thine;
My lips to thy lips,
Kisses are wine
Brewed for the lover in sunshine and shade;
Let me drink deep, then, my African maid.
Lily to lily,
Rose unto rose;
My love to thy love
Tenderly grows.
Rend not the oak and the ivy in twain,
Nor the swart maid from her swarthier swain.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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A Song (#3)
MY heart to thy heart,
My hand to thine;
My lips to thy lips,
Kisses are wine
Brewed for the lover in sunshine and shade;
Let me drink deep, then, my African maid.
Lily to lily,
Rose unto rose;
My love to thy love
Tenderly grows.
Rend not the oak and the ivy in twain,
Nor the swart maid from her swarthier swain.
poem by Paul Laurence Dunbar
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As It Was
Ginny loved it
when the time came
For their annual trip
to the seaside
And her father rented
the house with the big garden
that lead onto the sea.
She and her brothers and sister
Looked forward to it
every year and it seemed the sun
shone almost constantly
And the house seemed
as it was the year before
nothing changed nothing new
just the same rooms
and outlook and young Lily the maid
who came each year too
to help their mother
around the house
and watch
the younger children.
Her mother
Was the organiser
the one who seemed most near
to the children who seemed
to know the children’s needs
and wants and tried to keep
her husband happy
and allow him
his space and quiet
which he valued most of all.
Ginny liked it
when the sea was out
and there was plenty of sand
to play on to make a sand castle
with a moat and drawbridge
made from small pieces of driftwood
found on the beach.
But once her mother died
the seaside house
seemed less welcoming
the sea seemed
hardly ever to go out
than it was back again
the sun was less warm
less friendly
and her father
would mope
around the house
moaning and groaning
In his grief and bellowing
at Lily the maid
to do this and do that
making her cry
and only at night
when all were asleep
and Ginny was snuggled
Down in bed did it seem
as it was when her mother
would enter the room
and sit on the bed
and smile and whisper
the words she used to
placing a ghostly hand
on Ginny’s brow
and kiss her cheek.
Ginny remembered the house
By the sea years later
with the yellowy sand
And walking with Lily
the maid
hand in hand.
poem by Terry Collett
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Heartbeat
Only mouths are we. Who sings the distant heart
which safely exists in the center of all things?
His giant heartbeat is diverted in us
into little pulses. And his giant grief
is, like his giant jubilation, far too
great for us. And so we tear ourselves away
from him time after time, remaining only
mouths. But unexepectedly and secretly
the giant heartbeat enters our being,
so that we scream ----,
and are transformed in being and in countenance.
Translated by Albert Ernest Flemming
poem by Rainer Maria Rilke
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The Giant and the Monster
Come to think about the time I was a young rant;
The universe: all seemed far away, big and wide,
That made me like a foot in the crowd on my side,
Holding the man's hand, my father was a giant.
Then an old man that I'd never met came for a visit;
Wore a wrinkled skin, as he trembled to hold his wicker;
At fifty-six then; I wished I would to die at fifty-six;
Once a toothless smile posed Grandpa was a monster.
My existence in to this world at the age of sixteen;
All seemed right; I'd never been wrong back then;
Than that little mind of mine who knew bit to scorn;
So as to the giant and to the monster, I grew a horn.
This one quote 'What comes around, it goes around'
Has come to haunt me as the giant or a monster bound;
In their likeness, I'm now the purest mirror of my sin,
And mystified no more than watching where I have been.
On the same road, long time ago, it gotten nearer;
I passed fifty-six and I wished to live much longer,
Than the monster, but God forbids, I wish to be sane;
Or equal to the giant, who went to sleep at eighty-seven.
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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The Miniature Woman
The Blue-Eyed Giant, the Miniature Woman
and the Honeysuckle
He was a blue-eyed giant,
He loved a miniature woman.
The woman's dream was of a miniature house
with a garden where honeysuckle grows
in a riot of colours
that sort of house.
The giant loved like a giant,
and his hands were used to such big things
that the giant could not
make the building,
could not knock on the door
of the garden where the honeysuckle grows
in a riot of colours
at that house.
He was a blue-eyed giant,
he loved a miniature woman,
a mini miniature woman.
The woman was hungry for comfort
and tired of the giant's long strides.
And bye bye off she went to the embraces of a rich dwarf with a garden where the honeysuckle grows
in a riot of colours
that sort of house.
Now the blue-eyed giant realizes,
a giant isn't even a graveyard for love:
in the garden where the honeysuckle grows
in a riot of colours
that sort of house...
poem by Nazim Hikmet
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Fairy Days
Beside the old hall-fire—upon my nurse's knee,
Of happy fairy days—what tales were told to me!
I thought the world was once—all peopled with princesses,
And my heart would beat to hear—their loves and their distresses:
And many a quiet night,—in slumber sweet and deep,
The pretty fairy people—would visit me in sleep.
I saw them in my dreams—come flying east and west,
With wondrous fairy gifts—the newborn babe they bless'd;
One has brought a jewel—and one a crown of gold,
And one has brought a curse—but she is wrinkled and old.
The gentle queen turns pale—to hear those words of sin,
But the king he only laughs—and bids the dance begin.
The babe has grown to be—the fairest of the land,
And rides the forest green—a hawk upon her hand,
An ambling palfrey white—a golden robe and crown:
I've seen her in my dreams—riding up and down:
And heard the ogre laugh—as she fell into his snare,
At the little tender creature—who wept and tore her hair!
But ever when it seemed—her need was at the sorest,
A prince in shining mail—comes prancing through the forest,
A waving ostrich-plume—a buckler burnished bright;
I've seen him in my dreams—good sooth! a gallant knight.
His lips are coral red—beneath a dark moustache;
See how he waves his hand—and how his blue eyes flash!
'Come forth, thou Paynim knight!'—he shouts in accents clear.
The giant and the maid—both tremble his voice to hear.
Saint Mary guard him well!—he draws his falchion keen,
The giant and the knight—are fighting on the green.
I see them in my dreams—his blade gives stroke on stroke,
The giant pants and reels—and tumbles like an oak!
With what a blushing grace—he falls upon his knee
And takes the lady's hand—and whispers, 'You are free!'
Ah! happy childish tales—of knight and faerie!
I waken from my dreams—but there's ne'er a knight for me;
I waken from my dreams—and wish that I could be
A child by the old hall-fire—upon my nurse's knee!
poem by William Makepeace Thackeray
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Livin In The City
Slam blam glam, squeaky jam.
Ram, blam, slam, about a gram, sketchy scam.Police ma'am.
Make a livin to be dyin in the city.
Hand to hand, Wham bam, Super Cam, Euber damned. sticky jam.
Make a livin to be dyin in this giant, cold hard, here's my card,
ain't nothin but a glass shard, city.
What a pity, not lookin all too pretty, down to the nitty gritty.
Ain't a livin to be dyin in the city.
You're flyin blind, two steps behind, you're in a bind, no peace of mind, done lost your mind, it's a pity. in this daily grind. Make your livin to be dyin in this giant
city.
Glam, slam, scam, Superman, Stan The Man, sleazy Sam, Flim flam sham.
Ain't a livin to be dyin in this giant, hot shot, what sup,
great Scott, burnt up, city.
poem by Buddy Bee Anthony
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The Girl and the Boy
Boy: The small is beautiful, see the Sparrow!
Girl: No, the Giant is, see the Banyan!
Boy: The tender is beautiful- yes- Flowers!
Girls: No, the hard is- yes - Statues!
Boy: Deer is dear; how timid it is!
Girl: Tiger is dear; how daring it is!
Boy: I like white, see Lilly!
Girl: I like black, see the Elephant!
Boy: I love the weaker sex – Cow, Hen!
Girl: I love the other way – Bull, Cock!
Boy: Then you hate me not!
Girl: No, go to hell!
01.02.97
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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America is embarrassed
Neither this nor that by race but mixed,
Neither this nor that by faith but mixed,
What else must the giant be to keep peace?
The giant’s been crowned; the giant’s been reined.
(The Nobel Prize for the world peace for year 2009 went to Mr. Obama, President of the U.S.A.; an Indian’s view)
15.10.2009
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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A Wraith In The Mist. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The Fifth)
On the green little isle of Inchkenneth,
Who is it that walks by the shore,
So gay with his Highland blue bonnet,
So brave with his targe and claymore?
His form is the form of a giant,
But his face wears an aspect of pain;
Can this be the Laird of Inchkenneth?
Can this be Sir Allan McLean?
Ah, no! It is only the Rambler,
The Idler, who lives in Bolt Court,
And who says, were he Laird of Inchkenneth,
He would wall himself round with a fort.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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