The Indian Gipsy
In tattered robes that hoard a glittering trace
Of bygone colours, broidered to the knee,
Behold her, daughter of a wandering race,
Tameless, with the bold falcon's agile grace,
And the lithe tiger's sinuous majesty.
With frugal skill her simple wants she tends,
She folds her tawny heifers and her sheep
On lonely meadows when the daylight ends,
Ere the quick night upon her flock descends
Like a black panther from the caves of sleep.
Time's river winds in foaming centuries
Its changing, swift, irrevocable course
To far off and incalculable seas;
She is twin-born with primal mysteries,
And drinks of life at Time's forgotten source
poem by Sarojini Naidu
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Related quotes
Sheep
Sometimes I get so angry with the simple life they lead
The shepherds smile seems to confirm my fears
Theyve never questioned anything, theyve never disagreed
Sometimes I think they must have wool in their ears
And when you see a can I see a crook
And when you see a crowd I see a flock
Its sheep were up against
Sheep were up against
When I was young they used to get me counting sheep
But the counting I did was all in vain
No when Im tired and Im trying to get to sleep
I count humans jumping onto trains
And when you see a can I see a crook
And when you see a crowd I see a flock
Its sheep were up against
Sheep were up against
[influential guitar break]
And when you see a can I see a crook
And when you see a crowd I see a flock
Its sheep were up against
Sheep were up against
song performed by by Housemartins
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Mishmash! Wish-wash! A LONELY FISH Washes Away in Troubled life Seas!
Among twinkling stars – blue, red, yellow, I am blue with lonely flu!
Among the glossy stars, I am a dark space, a black hole, a black dwarf;
My life sucks for lonely bucks, everything sucks by lonely heat blue,
Squashed inside, packed outside by lonely gravity sucks – it kicks me off!
Mishmash! Wish-wash! A lonely fish washes away in troubled life seas.
Cock-a-hoop! Cock a snook! Oh my god! Lonely fish weeps in sleep!
Night has started, brain is heated – a lonely man repeated word ‘awful’;
I read lonely book full, It can be harmful, and it can be dreadful;
My heart is filled with empty space, my mind killed in the rat race!
Life dies inside me; hope dies outside as no one is beside my face;
Mishmash! Wish-wash! A lonely fish washes away in troubled life seas.
Cock-a-hoop! Cock a snook! Oh my god! Lonely fish weeps in sleep!
Alone I am in blowing wind as I stood in dark ravine of lonely ground!
Alone I am, I heard a baying sound – a tiny translucent gray cloud;
Alone I am, it is the loudest noise in the silence – a howling cry!
Alone I am, it echoes everywhere – I can’t explain any more – I’m dry;
Mishmash! Wish-wash! A lonely fish washes away in troubled life seas.
Cock-a-hoop! Cock a snook! Oh my god! Lonely fish weeps in sleep!
Alone I am wherever I go; alone I am whatever I do, I’m a lonely flower;
Alone I am in depression, alone I am in frustration – oh lonely sparrow!
Alone I am in today, alone I am tomorrow – all the time in sorrow....
Alone I am – lift me up, alone I am – help me out of the lonely river.
Mishmash! Wish-wash! A lonely fish washes away in troubled life seas.
Cock-a-hoop! Cock a snook! Oh my god! Lonely fish weeps in sleep!
poem by Harindhar Reddy
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The Black Sheep
'Black sheep, black sheep, have you any wool?'
'Yes, sir-yes, sir: three bags full.'
'I don't want any New Thought,' said he,
'Or any Theosophy, for, you see,
The faith I learned at my mother's knee
Is good enough for me.
Of course, I'm a wee bit broader than she,
Hearing one sermon where she heard three,
And I read my paper on Sunday, instead
Of the Bible only. My mother said
I was a black sheep, when she saw
I strayed a trifle away from the law,
And didn't think everyone left in the lurch
Who happened to go to a different church;
But, still, in the main, her creed is mine,
And I don't want anything more divine.'
Yet his mother's mother was more austere;
She taught her children a creed of fear,
And she called them 'black sheep' when, with a shock,
She saw them straying away from the flock,
Just far enough
To get around places they thought too rough,
Like infant damnation and endless hell.
But his mother's mother's mother would tell
How her mother thought it was God's sweet will
To punish and torture a heretic till
They drove out the devil that made him dare
Think for himself in the matter of prayer
And faith and salvation. So we see how it is
If we look back over the centuries-
The creeds men learned at their mother's knee
When Salem witches were hanged to a tree,
And the pious dames flocked thither to see,
Are not deemed Christian or holy to-day;
And the bold black sheep who went straying away
From rut-worn paths in their search for God,
And leaped over the fence into pastures broad,
Are the great trail-makers for mortal souls,
Leading the race up to higher goals
And a larger religion; where man must find
God dwelling ever within his mind,
Christ in his conduct, and heaven in his thought,
And hell but the places where love is not.
A mighty religion that makes this earth
But the cradle that fits us for death's new birth
And the life beyond it, that is so near
Its echoes may reach to the listening ear.
'Black sheep, black sheep, have you any wool?'
'Yes, sir-yes, sir: a whole world full.'
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Portrait Of A Prince
Behold the tiger's face up close,
With all its deep-etched lines.
Like charcoal ridges by his nose,
How clearly each defines.
Behold the tiger's ears erect,
Aware of all that breathes,
With mental filters that select
The rustling of the leaves.
Behold the tiger's eyes that stare,
As if right through your soul,
To challenge you, be wise, beware,
Take care who's in control...
Behold the tiger's nose below,
It tells him distant facts,
Though out of sight, he's in the know,
So watch out if he acts...
Behold the tiger's tight-lipped mouth,
He hides his daggers well...
His top set north, his dropped set south,
What tales those teeth could tell.
Behold the tiger's neck so still
And poised with regal grace,
Portraying here the prince's will,
Despite the human race...
Behold the tiger's sovereign style,
His sense of who he is...
His wicked ways, his covering guile,
His final parting kiss...
Behold the tiger's treachery!
Flee from his handsome grin!
For in a race, I think you'll see,
That tigers always win!
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Portrait Of A Prince'.
poem by Denis Martindale
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War For Water
They fought each other
Not to catch a cattle
Not to grab land
Not to annex land
To carve out an empire
Not to become a king
But for the water!
The herdsman fought
To browse the herds
As the meadows vanish
As the deforestation
Of their forefathers
Left the bold-headed
Ghost of mountains!
They took bows and arrows
The other took the rifles
The third gang took the guns
And moved to the Nile
The Euphrates, Tigris,
The river of Jordan
To turn the Serene surface
Of pure rivers turn red
With the hot-blood
Of warriors for water!
The battles fought-over
Centuries to centuries
Were to enslave men
And to run a mighty reign
Of the crowned!
As the oceans joins
And swallow continents
The battle will sink
To the depth of the sea
And the warriors gulp
The dirty salt water
And expel the breath out!
The battle for water
Ends in the enormity
Of the blue water
That engulf the globe
Yet with the sea life
That reminds the timid
Trace of life
At the time of creation!
poem by Vadakkumpurath Ramesan
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Electric Eel Song
Ay! me one child Ay-eeee!
Ay! me one daughter
Take out you’ foot
From the black river water
Haul out you’ hand
Out the slow river water
Stay ‘pon the bank
Of the cold river water
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
Electric eel
Is the eel in the river
Shadow ‘pon the bottom
Is the eel in the river
Something like you’ hand
Is the eel in the river
Swimming like you’ foot
Is the eel in the river
Ay! me one child Ay-eeee!
Ay! me one daughter
Foot after foot
Though the black river water
She can’t touch the bottom
Out the slow river water
Shirt like umbrella
In the cold river water
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
Electric eel
Is the eel in the river
Cutlass shape
Is the eel in the river
Black blade or brown
Is the eel in the river
Dozing so quiet
Is the eel in the river
Ay! me one child Ay-eeee!
Ay! me one daughter
Slap of a tail
Through the black river water
Shiver like ague
Out the slow river water
As if she take cramp
Of the cold river water
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
Electric eel
Is the eel in the river
No blood, just a thrill
Is the eel in the river
Lightning bold
Is the eel in the river
And she Drown now, she chilly
Is the eel in the river
Ay! me one daughter
Ay! me one child! Ay-eeee!
poem by Slade Hopkinson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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From The Time I Was Born
All of my life,
From the time I was born...
I was told,
From the time I was born...
Don't have initiative too bold.
And all of my life,
From the time I was born...
I found that wrong.
From the time I was born...
I had to be,
From the time I was born...
More than stong,
Bold all day long.
All of my life,
From the time I was born...
I was told,
From the time I was born...
Don't have initiative too bold.
And all of my life,
From the time I was born...
I found that wrong.
From the time I was born...
I had to be,
From the time I was born...
More than stong,
All day long...
And bold,
All of my life.
I was taught so early,
To feel real blessed.
And...
To watch the eyes on my back.
With no rest from taking a nap.
I was taught so early,
To feel real blessed.
And...
Not to ask for slack.
Or be slapped for lacking facts.
If I lived my life like that.
All of my life,
From the time I was born...
I was told,
From the time I was born...
Don't have initiative too bold.
And all of my life,
From the time I was born...
I found that wrong.
From the time I was born...
I had to be,
From the time I was born...
More than stong,
All day long...
And bold,
All of my life.
I had to be,
More than stong...
All of my life,
From the time I was born...
I had to be,
More than stong,
All of my life.
From the time I was born,
I had to be,
More than stong.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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In a distant land many years ago, there lived a black sheep. It was executed by firing squad. A century later, the grieving flock erected an equestrian statue in honor of the slain sheep that looked very nice in the park. In the years that followed, every time a black sheep appeared, it was executed so that ordinary sheep could practice sculpture.
Augusto Monterroso in The Black Sheep and Other Fables (1969)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Friend Of The Devil
I lit out from reno, I was trailed by twenty hounds
Didnt get to sleep last night till the morning came around.
Set out runnin but I take my time
A friend of the devil is a friend of mine
If I get home before daylight, I just might get some sleep tonight.
Ran into the devil, babe, he loaned me twenty bills
I spent the night in utah in a cave up in the hills.
Set out runnin but I take my time, a friend of the devil is a friend of mine,
If I get home before daylight, I just might get some sleep tonight.
I ran down to the levee but the devil caught me there
He took my twenty dollar bill and vanished in the air.
Set out runnin but I take my time
A friend of the devil is a friend of mine
If I get home before daylight, I just might get some sleep tonight.
Got two reasons why I cry away each lonely night,
The first ones named sweet anne marie, and shes my hearts delight.
The second one is prison, babe, the sheriffs on my trail,
And if he catches up with me, Ill spend my life in jail.
Got a wife in chino, babe, and one in cherokee
The first one says shes got my child, but it dont look like me.
Set out runnin but I take my time,
A friend of the devil is a friend of mine,
If I get home before daylight, I just might get some sleep tonight.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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1914 IV: The Dead
These hearts were woven of human joys and cares,
Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth.
The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs,
And sunset, and the colours of the earth.
These had seen movement, and heard music; known
Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended;
Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat alone;
Touched flowers and furs and cheeks. All this is ended.
There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter
And lit by the rich skies, all day. And after,
Frost, with a gesture, stays the waves that dance
And wandering loveliness. He leaves a white
Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance,
A width, a shining peace, under the night.
poem by Rupert Brooke
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The Dead: IV
These hearts were woven of human joys and cares,
Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth.
The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs,
And sunset, and the colours of the earth.
These had seen movement, and heard music; known
Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended;
Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat alone;
Touched flowers and furs and cheeks. All this is ended.
There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter
And lit by the rich skies, all day. And after,
Frost, with a gesture, stays the waves that dance
And wandering loveliness. He leaves a white
Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance,
A width, a shining peace, under the night.
poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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IV. The Dead
These hearts were woven of human joys and cares,
Washed marvellously with sorrow, swift to mirth.
The years had given them kindness. Dawn was theirs,
And sunset, and the colours of the earth.
These had seen movement, and heard music; known
Slumber and waking; loved; gone proudly friended;
Felt the quick stir of wonder; sat alone;
Touched flowers and furs and cheeks. All this is ended.
There are waters blown by changing winds to laughter
And lit by the rich skies, all day. And after,
Frost, with a gesture, stays the waves that dance
And wandering loveliness. He leaves a white
Unbroken glory, a gathered radiance,
A width, a shining peace, under the night.
poem by Rupert Brooke
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Two centuries
Two centuries' winter storms have lashed the changing sands of Falmouth's shore,
Deep-voiced, the winds, swift winged, wild, have echoed there the ocean's roar.
But though the north-east gale unleashed, rage-blind with power, relentless beat,
The sturdy light-house sheds its beam on waves churned white beneath the sleet.
And still when cold and fear are past, and fields are sweet with spring-time showers,
Mystic, the gray age-silent hills breathe out their souls in fair mayflowers.
And where the tawny saltmarsh lies beyond the sand dunes' farthest reach,
The undulous grass grown russet green, skirts the white crescent of the beach.
Above the tall elms' green-plumed tops, etched against low-hung, gray-hued skies,
Straight as the heaven-kissing pine, the home-bound mariner descries
The goodly spire of the old first church, reverend, serene, with old-time grace,
Symbol and sign of an inner life deep-sealed by time's slow carven trace.
Out of that church in days long gone went a stalwart, true-eyed sturdy band,
Sons of the mist and the flying foam, the blood and brawn of the Pilgrim land;
Down to the sea where the tall masts rose, where the green-mossed black hulls rose and fell,
And the cables strained at the call of the tide, for they knew and heeded its summons well.
poem by Katharine Lee Bates
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Her Eyes Twin Pools
Her eyes, twin pools of mystic light,
The blend of star-sheen and black night;
O'er which, to sound their glamouring haze,
A man might bend, and vainly gaze.
Her eyes, twin pools so dark and deep,
In which life's ancient mysteries sleep;
Wherein, to seek the quested goal,
A man might plunge, and lose his soul.
poem by James Weldon Johnson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Is It You?
What more do you want?
What more could you ask?
What else could ever last but the present
In a world ever changing with the moment?
We are alive within the one, the all
We are Adam, We are Eve before the fall
Still seeking a bite of the wisdom forbidden to us
By a god who would see us as sheep
Hiding naked from a god who would see us dreamless in our sleep.
I have been reduced to a maddened fool
Wandering alone the rooftops of the world
Dying for the chance to sigh at Beauty in her grace
Seeking with a faith in hope and a hope in love to find a better place
And here I am defenceless
A faceless clown in a sideshow of carnival debasement
A lion trapped in a cage of undue loyalty
But to who?
To the Ringmaster?
To the Puppet master?
To you?
Is it you who would have me alone within my world?
Is it you who would see me roasted upon flames rather than
Sat by the fireplace curled, unravelling the mysteries in the moment ever changing?
poem by David Lacey
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Paradox
Spectacles on nose, pouch under eye,
age is sucked remorselessly to night
all too aware there is no hope in_sight
for resurrection story books supply.
What does our time [s]t[r]apped sojourn signify?
What sense is gleaned once cased in coffin tight
or scattered to the winds? What wrong or right
remains to trace each in[t]ner face? And why
would most defer the final strangled sigh,
would most prolong the agony despite
the finite frontiers of Man’s falcon f[l]ight?
Who can ‘self’ free, mortality defy?
Who could decode life’s mysteries might find
a paradox with ‘self-destruct’ designed...
poem by Jonathan Robin
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A Newer Day Will Surely Dawn!
For sake of peace, I keep mouth shut;
I cannot be unethical;
I live 'midst vixen, foxes but,
Happen will new miracle!
Four years sped off, leading this flock;
Black sheep exist 'mongst them I know;
For better grazing grounds, I knock;
But time eludes my search somehow!
Sometimes I feel so miserable
For leading such a flock of sheep;
To make ends meet, I'm unable;
Perilous vales surround me, deep!
But God has chosen me to lead,
In destined ways for some more time;
I know, my heart must sometimes bleed,
In inclement weather and clime!
But things must end, however bad!
And better days, I will catch on;
That God's beside, I am so glad;
A newer day will surely dawn!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 31-8-12
poem by John Celes
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Sane seems insane
Societal challenge: momentum gathers pace.
Another thirty years? our span of grace
Now seems in meltdown clinging to a space
Extremely tenuous, fragile as race
Speeds to untimely end for human race.
Early or late trend tends towards disgrace,
Early or late Fate leaves behind no trace -
May in December ends in any case.
Sane and in[s]ane identically chase
Ideals predestined to black hole bleak. Brace
Now before bleak winds of change unlace
Storms Richter scarce suspected and uncase
Apocalypse which ‘progress’ will replace.
Necks thrust through Time's noose, loose ends, harsh Past
End of Days Present, Future b[l]ind - die cast.
1 December 1991 revised 31 October 2008
poem by Jonathan Robin
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A Tiger
Life as a tiger would be prowling around
Hunting swiftly without making a sound
Black and orange stripes falls across his skin
Little do you know about the roar it has within
The tiger quickly moves upon to his feet
Searching the jungle looking for something to eat
The lion might be king of the jungle
But the tiger kills and they still stay humble
The rare colours of orange and the black
If He sees pray he’s sure to attach
There eyes in night time can see twenty twenty
Black is the colour of death and it has killed plenty
People see tigers as quite violent creatures
But if you dig deep inside you’ll find some peaceful features’
The tiger tooth is white and pointed all around
The lion is called the king but the tiger should be crowned
So when you see a tiger
And you don’t feel very prepared
Just have a read of this poem
Then you wont feel that more scared
By Chizom Okpara and my freind Sami Amusan
poem by Chizom Okpara
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Nightsky
Red colours and orange mixed,
A hint of yellow,
The sunset begins,
Slowly it falls into the horizon,
The colours fading,
The moon is rising,
The stars are shining,
The clouds are blackening,
planets spinning and comets colliding.
A black sky, while the moon shines,
Hounds howl, while rabbits cry,
Owls fly while mice hide,
Toads leap in the night sky,
The nights ends as quick as we sleep,
The colours come back,
We awake from our dreams,
The sun rises high in the sky,
Lighting the way,
Until we once again say goodnight!
poem by Gary McPhail
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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