Related quotes: Lingo of birds was easier...

Thoreau in Italy

Lingo of birds was easier than lingo of peasants-
they were elusive, though, the birds, for excellent reasons.
He thought of Virgil, Virgil who wasn't there to chat with.

History he never forgave for letting Latin
lapse into Italian, a renegade jabbering
musical enough but not enough to call music

So he conversed with stones, imperial and papal.
Even the preposterous popes he could condone
a moment for the clean arrogance of their inscriptions.

He asked the Italians only to leave him in the past
alone, but this was what they emphatically never did.
Being the present, they never ceased to celebrate it.

Something was always brushing him on the street, satyr
or saint-impossible to say which the more foreign.
At home he was called touchy; here he knew he was.

Impossible to say. The dazzling nude with sex
lovingly displayed like carven fruit, the black
robe sweeping a holy and unholy dust.

Always the flesh whether to lacerate of kiss-
Conspiracy of fauns and clerics smiling back
and forth at each other acquiescently through leaves.

Caught between wan monastic mountains wearing the tonsure
and the all-siren, ever-dimpling sea, he saw
(how could he fail?) at heart geography to blame.

So home to Concord where (as he might have known he would)
he found the Italy he wanted to remember.
Why had he sailed if not for the savour of returning?

An Italy distilled of all extreme, conflict,
Collusion-an Italy without the Italians-
in whose green context he could con again his Virgil.

In cedar he read cypress, in the wild apple, olive.
His hills would stand up favorably to the hills of Rome.
His arrowheads could hold their own with are Etruscan.

And Walden clearly was his Mediterranean
whose infinite colors were his picture gallery.
How far his little boat transported him-how far.

He coughed discreetly and we likewise coughed;
we waited and we heard him clear his throat.

How to be perfect prisoners of the past
this was the thing but now he too is past.

Shall we go sit beside the Mississippi
and watch the riffraft driftwood floating by?

poem by Robert Francis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Related quotes

Streets Of Little Italy

(robbie seidman)
Producer for bonnie: desmond child
The narrow and the winding ways
The streets of old new york
The families, the street life, the spark
The rooftop where we watched
San gennaros festival
Masquerades in the dark...
On the streets down in little italy
Where the past goes on and on forever
And I feel it ever present
In every step I take alone
On the streets down in little italy
The oceans and the years
That separate our lives
From these streets we once called our home
Those distances of space and time
How strong they are
And how weak they are...
On the streets down in little italy
Where the past goes on and on forever
And I feel it ever present
In every step I take alone
On the streets down in little italy
Does the morning sunlight
Still hit the bed where we used to lie
Do the sidewalk stands and markets still overflow
Where I lingered till I was empty
Where I stayed till I had to go
Though in the night
Sometimes I see you disappear
Down cobblestones...
On the streets down in little italy
Where the past goes on and on forever
And I feel it ever present
In every step I take alone
Like your presence in my bones
On the streets down in little italy

song performed by by Bonnie Tyler
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Caesar Redivivus

In the olive groves of Italy
Men minds are all aflame;
For the war-lust spreads thro' Italy,
Where war-lords call the game.
And they dream of Roman legions
And the glory that was Rome's;
Yet reck not of the misery
That stalks Italian homes.

By the vine-clad hills of Italy
Men talk and dream of war;
Of the triumphs that were Caesar's,
And the glories known of yore.
But a mockery of triumph,
And an end to dreaming vain
Comes to victor, as to vanquichsed,
With a counting of the slain.

Oh, the women-folk of Italy,
They give their sons to Mars;
For they would be Spartan mothers,
Dams of splendid avitars.
But the fever shall be ending
In numb grief and shuddering fears,
When the spurious pearls of victory
Dissolve in women's tears.

In the pleasant land of Italy
The fever runs apace,
And the man who would be Caesar
From war's lesson turns his face.
With dreams of olden Empire
Would he set men's minds aflame,
Nor count the cost to Italy
In agony and shame.

poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Me And Virgil

Ma would never say what happened
And we knew better than push too hard
We knew we had all the chores to tend to
Like fixing fences and helping her
Washing dishes and making coffee
Me and Virgil would chop some wood
But we'd stop our swinging
Just to listen to her crying
It didn't sound too good
I can remember too well
But we never thought to pay much heed
We learned to live life the best we could
But then one day pa up and left us
High and dry without a word
Seemed a pity
My ma was pretty
But I soon learned life ain't that way
And I can remember hearing her weeping
While we were sleeping next to her
I can remember
I'll never forgive and I'll never forget
'Cos pa you broke her heart
Oh pa you broke her heart
You broke her heart
Oh pa you broke her heart
Well the years rolled by
And 'fore we knew it
Our sister got married and moved out west
I stayed with ma 'cos I couldn't desert her
I knew it would hurt her to be alone
So we pulled tighter
Said we'd try to make things easy
And raise a smile
But as the night came
We'd hear her crying
Praying for pa to come back again
I can remember
I'll never forgive him and I'll never forget
'Cos pa you broke her heart
Oh pa you broke her heart
And then the winter came
I'd never known it colder
Oh it seemed the worst in years
And the night she died I swear I saw her smiling
Saying I was a big boy now no tears
So I packed up all we had and Virgil got the horses
And we paid our last respects and gave the whip a crack
Oh it seemed a big bad world we were riding into
Me and Virgil both agreed
We best head off and don't look back
Nothing but desert all around
Oh it made me wonder
Lord it's hard to carry on
When you're sick with hunger
Weeks and months of sleeping rough
Keeping clear of danger
Seems million miles from anywhere
I prayed to my God to change it
You'd best keep your head but don't look back
Well me and Virgil we beat the desert
Riding fast and riding hard
We hit the city the past behind us
And we raised some hell we had some fun
But real soon I met a lady oh so pretty
And oh so fine
And 'fore too long I found myself married
With a home of my own and a blue eyed son
And 'til this day I can hear ma saying to me
You're a big boy now
-------------------------------------------------------------------

song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Me & Virgil

Ma would never say what happened
And we knew better than push too hard
We knew we had all the chores to tend to
Like fixing fences and helping her
Washing dishes and making coffee
Me and virgild chop some wood
But wed stop our swinging
Just to listen to her crying
It didnt sound too good
I can remember, too well
But we never thought to pay much heed
We learned to live life the best we could
But then one day pa upped and left us
High and dry without a word
Seemed a pity
My ma was pretty
But I soon learned life aint that way
And I can remember hearing her weeping
While we were sleeping next to her
I can remember
Ill never forgive and Ill never forget
Cos pa you broke her heart
Ooh pa you broke her heart
You broke her heart
Ooh pa you broke her heart
Well the years rolled by
And fore we knew it
Our sister got married and moved out west
I stayed with ma, cos I couldnt desert her
I knew it would hurt her to be alone
So we pulled tighter
We said wed try to make things easy
And raise a smile
But as the night came
Wed hear her crying
Praying for pa to come back again
I can remember
Ill never forgive him and Ill never forget
Cos pa you broke her heart
Oh pa you broke her heart
And then the winter came
Id never known it colder
Ooh it seemed the worst for years
And the night she died I swear I saw her smiling
Saying I was a big boy now, no tears
So I packed up all we had, and virgil got the horses
And we paid our last respects and gave the whip a crack
Ooh, seemed a big bad world, we were riding into
Me and virgil both agreed, we best head off
And dont look back
Nothing but desert all around
Oh it made me wonder
Lord its hard to carry on
When youre sick with hunger
Weeks and months of sleeping rough
Keeping clear of danger
Seems we were miles from anywhere
And too far gone to change it
Wed best keep going, dont look back
Well me and virgil we beat the desert
Riding fast and riding hard
We hit the city, the past behind us
So we raised some hell, we had some fun
But real soon I met a lady oh so pretty, and oh so fine
fore too long I found myself married
With a home of my own and a blue eyed son
And til this day I can hear ma saying to me -
Youre a big boy now

song performed by by Genesis
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Lands Far Away

One eye is made for gathering juice from a peach,
This peach called England, and not Italy.
They roll these eyes, as if goers of lands far away
Result in boredom for themselves, like Italy and Spain.
They roll their arms and strut on their legs,
Both of them caught inside tough weight of fruit and flesh.
One other eye has contacted the Brain, as far as the lane,
And what can inspire us into dreams
As much as sleep?
The English weather has a rainy day, an answer to question,
Then given over a Sunday lunch.
They go to Italy or Spain if tired, yet resent the art of going.
Go all to the beaches of Spain, or all go away.

poem by Naveed Akram
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Tacloban At The Santo Nino Shrine

what i saw was the luxury of the past
ivory birds, octupus chandeliers,
chekoslovakian furnitures
russian dolls and persian carpets
these are all found here
icons of Christ and the Holy Virgin Mary
in marble chips from Italy
the paintings of Malakas and Maganda
the banig walls that took two years of polish and paste
it is totally a different world
thirty-seaters or twenty seaters
of chosen dignataries for dining
and dancing the wide halls
of this palace

the tourist guide guides us to different rooms
of this country of fools
each with an austrian mirror
polished black and white floors
the chosen hard wood and the glossy varnishes
these
all these
the people have suffered
in poverty and too much confusion of the times

what have we got now?
we have this trauma, of
never again

everything is dust.
everyone is dust

i am going back to the past
perhaps i shall bleed again,

cry...

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Reflections On A Recurring Dream

Floating downstream ...
... or upstream?
Light flashing through gapes in the over-hanging tree branches
... or from Pulsars whirling in some distant galaxy?
Colors blazing
Nature displaying the abundance of its’ pallet
... or mind’s eye imagining colors never seen?
Textures untouched yet felt
Sounds unheard yet sensed
Faces
With features morphing
Strangers... for the moment
Morphing
Faces
Known and loved
Friend and enemy
Faces from the past
... or from the future?

Shadows
Silhouettes
Marionette-like movements

Movement
I move
Things move past me
Floating downstream or upstream?

Running
In slow motion
My feet are stones
I claw at objects trying to propel myself through molasses atmosphere

Flying!
I work so hard to fly
Someone sees me up here above the trees and points
I flap harder intuitively aware that I must not be caught doing the impossible

Floating
Brushing rustling leaves
Gliding barely above trees
... Just High enough to feel safe.

poem by Mary Havran
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Before Our Weakness Gets To Strong

What are we doing in this place alone is our desire to relive our past this strong
True love we knew in the past is gone but our weakness lingers on
Let's go home before our weakness gets too strong
Long ago we let the flame of love burn out of control
Now we have no reason to reach for love that has grown cold
If we live our past in the present our future will be gone
Let's go home before our weakness gets too strong
[ fiddle ]
Line with temptation we raced into the past
On a road too small to let the past and the present pass
Are we going too fast to turn back and leave the past alone
Let's go home before our weakness gets too strong
Long ago we let the flame...
Let's go home before our weakness gets too strong

song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

Five Years On

When Beyoncé sung her song from the past
Would we had thought that one dance would last
Or was it the day after the night before
May be the radiator, or the kiss at the door

But all I could thing as the time went on
Was to give you a kiss, like, the last one

I just wanted to hold you and look in your eyes
But you opened your top to my surprise
To see lulu and daisy out on their own
Means its impossible now to leave you a lone

We started to talk as are time went on
And i use to say hm please, com on

You would say but I can't do this,
Not on the phone
But all I could hear was a beautiful moan

Five years on and still as strong
And all that it tuck was that one song
I'm sure you'll know which one is ment
It's the one with the red noise on the video I sent

As the next five years comes along
Please don't forget the meaning of are song
Because as I sit here and thing of are past
I want tomorrow, the next day to be like the last

So I'll make this vow
To no one but you
To pledge my love and always be true
And nothing else will ever compare
Because you are perfect
And so is the love that we share

poem by George Albot
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

…… Distant Shores

Twilight song of a cuckoo
taps the window softly.
Gothic tree and drooping sky
humble my thoughts.
Past was me.
I will know then
why your hills turned away my clouds
by shifting sands.

Was it a colossal guilt of tomorrow?
Which never wanted to become present
and enter my house.
But my memory was sharp
and days were numbered.

I wanted to invite the death discreetly
while praising the life and listening to birds
without dropping the history
from my crooked fingers.

Between yourself and myself
a sea was surreptitiously raging.
The waves were dividing the shores.

poem by Satish Verma
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Olive At Midnight

An olive at midnight

Green

shiny

globe

of
black

The size of a dirty workman's thumb

They (the olives) tumble towards me

Down hills and in still slick lakes of olive oil

I meet my dark shining olive

By suprise

It's midnight in the olive grove

My ciabatta catches him

spinning on the tastebuds together

My olive and I

Two star crossed lovers

One black

On green

Obscene nights of perpetual fulfillment

What a scene! my olive and me

My olive my heart

Oh my darling lovely one

Olive at midnight

At last

you have come to me

And together we will may a delightful

pair

my lips quake at the thought of you

quivering as you slither in a plate of oil

towards them

Olive at midnight

You have possessed me

I am yours

But too many press in

Only one is chosen

It is dark I cannot see you

Oh olive

Are you green?

Or black?

Does it matter I am not prejudice

My dear dear one

At midnight you thunder towards me

My heart is an earthquake

My brain a melting pot offondant cheese

I slice my ciabatta

A tiny onion a tomato pressed between

And you oh olive my love

I am done

Please leave

I am not hungry

It is past midnight

I must sleep

poem by Yvette Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Accordian In The Metro

In 2002 I was in Paris for a couple of days. My wife & daughter let me loose. They wanted to look at shops & so I left early at dawn to walk around a have a look at that great city.

I got lost & found a few times & had to try out the few French words I could remember from the 3rd form. On the way home at the end of an exhilarating day & I went into the Metro to catch a ride back to the Arch DT which was near our hotel in Victor Hugo ‘street.'

I was walking thru the tunnel & heard an excellent accordion player. He finished playing some French tunes as I was approaching. Then he switched to Bach's Toccata & Fugue in D minor. I stood close to the wall & listen as people hurried past.

A year or so later I saw an SBS documentary on TV called ‘DOWN UNDER PARIS' about Australians in living Paris who were working as buskers or selling their paintings on the street.

I was sitting there engrossed when I heard the accordian player. That sounds familiar I thought, ‘yes that's him. I watched him play, he was excellent, ' & there I was standing close to the wall listening wearing the black jacket I'd bought in Switzerland.

I asked google for the film maker's email & I wrote a note to Richard Snashall asking if I could buy his dvd. I told him that it was me in the background in his movie. I recalled vaguely that there had been someone crouched down with a video camera while I was listening.

When Richard sent me the dvd he said that he thought I was a Parisian on his way home when he filmed me standing there. When I got the dvd it had a note,

‘Hi Lindsay, Here's some bonus raw footage I dug out in addition to Down Under Paris. regards, Richard.

poem by Lindsay Smith
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Step Back

How can you say were not together?
How can you say its all the same in someone elses eyes?
How can you say it gives you pleasure?
That someones pulling you aside
But now I want to find out
How youre living outside yourself
And how you feel like the one thats held it all in place
How you dont feel the shame
Youll never know, youll never know now
How to let go the hate or how to hold on
Youll never know, never know now now
Where it all can lead to
Leave it all in the past and move on
You might find your way home
Leave it all in the past and roll on
You might find your way home
How can you stray from your direction?
How can you wait outside the door thats opened up for you?
How can you only see rejection,
When Ive offered all I have to you?
Are you ever gonna find out
Youll never know, never know now now
Where it can all lead to
Leave it all in the past and move on
You might find your way home
Leave it all in the past and roll on
You might find your way home
Step back
Take a closer look
Step back
Find out where it leads you to
Step back step back step back
Leave it all in the past and move on
You might find your way home
Leave it all in the past and roll on
You might find your way home
Leave it all in the past and move on
You might find your way home
Leave it all in the past and roll on
You might find your way home

song performed by by Candlebox
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!

She of the Heavenly Happiness

No-one knew what subsequently became of her
after he went so dramatically, and after all those goings-on.
He got all the headlines.
The police didn't even bother
to take her in for questioning.
There was talk of riots,
they needed every spare man.

But the story never quite went away.
You know how it is with journalists -
we file it away for a rainy day,
then it sticks in our mind
for when we retire and write a best-seller, I wish...

I doubt we'll ever know the truth of it;
but every now and then
some nutter with a convincing sighting
makes a free gift to journalists
with no personal responsibility for us either.

France, Spain, Italy, gipsy communities -
you name it, they know her
except she was never there that day.

The story among her friends is
that she went on a long Mediterranean cruise
with two other ladies.
Yet there's no account of their returning
and there are stories that they all separated
and took up new careers in foreign places
where they acquired new names, locally
so the trail's gone cold.

But stories like his, and hers,
and whether they - well, you know -
never quite go away
and the part she played
though brief, sure was dramatic, so
it's made her a role model for those women -
and there have been many over the years -
whose lives have taken a turn for the worse
(no man can know what it's like
for a woman to hav e to sell herself)
and who see in her story
a hope of life's big U-turn
and all that we really hope for.
God knows we all need one.
Could be a Lloyd-Webber musical,
come to think of it.
After all, she was there
at one of the world's big events
- that most of the media
strangely missed...

Maddalena - it's a beautiful name
in Italian.
And then there's that delicate cake
that Proust dipped in his tea.
There's a place in Italy
where they take her story very seriously,
because some local writer
turned it into a classic of hope for the socially rejected;
a rather 19th century theme.
The critics panned it; but does it matter
whether it's truth or fiction,
if it goes so deep, that it's true in a different sort of way?

It's called 'Maddalena of the Heavenly Happiness';
it sounds better in Italian.
no, it never got translated into English -
it's rather
Catholic
if you know what I mean.
Though it actually took place
in the Near East
or whatever it was called then.

poem by Michael Shepherd
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

I Will Come Back For You

I'm sure I recognised her face
and I felt as if she knew mine too
I wanted to ask her where we'd met
but it didn't seem the right thing to do.
She then asked me how have I been?
as it had been such a very long while
now for some reason that made me feel uneasy
so I coughed nervously and tried to smile.
She went on to tell me so many things
that nearly knocked me off my feet
she even knew where I was living
and told me the name of the street.
She continued to talk all about my life
but I still never asked her how or why
and when I asked her where she had come from?
she smiled gently and pointed up to the sky.
'Are you my Guardian Angel then,
come down here to take me away
you seem to know all about me
even when I was a little boy at play? '
She never answered to this question
but before she left she kissed me on my head
then she just floated away from my view
the next thing I knew I awoke in my bed.
But I know that I wasn't just dreaming
as it felt so real and alive and true
and I know that she'll return again one day
because she whispered I'll come back for you.

poem by Kevin Halls
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Lend the Tears

lying in bed
imagining the sleepiness night
thinking of you; a reason
why the flower
ready to touch and detach,
patiently gone and letting each
leaves to weather
under the sun, the reason
why watching
the whole day gives the birds and butterfly
to fly

slash wit my solemn tears
of the past,
enjoyed the water lucidly, clear the way
to the river full,
a great moment of satisfaction lent for
a whole moment of the past

peril the wings
as you go and wonder the green of
meadow’s plain, now shred
the cup that leads my
stoked all have just move
in the valley of joy,
where you want to carry, until laughter fail
in my hand

understand
my iniquities and scoffed
my imagination …..

poem by Antonio Liao
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Made in Italy

The power of time is made in italy
Gucci and Versace are names of history
The present is here, it is literally
The power of time is made in Italy.

So did Ben, so did I
So did all, so did everyone
We buy names, we buy fame
In our hands we touch the dream and pain.

You see in town, it’s all around
The power of time, the power of history
You wear signed jacks, t-shirts and blues
This make you feel brand new and cruised

So did Ben, so did I
So did all, so did everyone
We buy Versace and taste Trussardi
We know the Prada, the same Armani and too Cavalli
The style is rule, the style is right of everyone, the sense of people
The sense of life is made in Italy.

poem by Alexander Galbur
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

When my lover put the sea between us

When my lover put the sea between us
And went wandering in Italy
My poor silly heart miscalled his journey—
'Leaving me'.
Towns of Spain and Italy he stayed in,
Each and all of them to me unknown;
How could he find pleasure being a lover,
Being alone!
Truly I was not as fair as Venice,
Noble as Siena, strange as Rome.
Certainly he loved Milan and Florence
More than home.
I believed his absence had estranged us
And across the heart-dividing sea
Sent him word that I no longer loved him.
Foolish me!
Came his answer after months of waiting
Echoing my letter, lie for lie.
Truth or lies I know not. Which unfaithful,
He or I.

poem by Lesbia Harford
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!

Swinging....

I did not will them
dreams of crystals
a stupid calendar of flight
from insomnic past.

Do not want to return to future,
hub of my clouds.
History had been writhing and screaming.
Present cannot redeem my woes.

I ask my bleak, frosted branches
where the birds have gone?
The songs, green hills, divine particles?
When they will enter in frozen affairs?

Anti-matter is now colliding with black energy
I am faltering a rhythm.
helplessly watch a xenomorphic face
disappearing in the blue sky.