The Doom Of The Esquire Bedell
Adown the torturing mile of street
I mark him come and go,
Thread in and out with tireless feet
The crossings to and fro;
A soul that treads without retreat
A labyrinth of woe.
Palsied with awe of such despair,
All living things give room,
They flit before his sightless glare
As horrid shapes, that loom
And shriek the curse that bids him bear
The symbol of his doom.
The very stones are coals that bake
And scorch his fevered skin;
A fire no hissing hail may slake
Consumes his heart within.
Still must he hasten on to rake
The furnace of his sin.
Still forward! forward! For he feels
Fierce claws that pluck his breast,
And blindly beckon as he reels
Upon his awful quest:
For there is that behind his heels
Knows neither ruth nor rest.
The fiends in hell have flung the dice;
The destinies depend
On feet that run for fearful price,
And fangs that gape to rend;
And still the footsteps of his Vice
Pursue him to the end:—
The feet of his incarnate Vice
Shall dog him to the end.
poem by Sir Arthur Quiller-Couch
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Related quotes
Harlem Shadows
I hear the halting footsteps of a lass
In Negro Harlem when the night lets fall
Its veil. I see the shapes of girls who pass
To bend and barter at desire's call.
Ah, little dark girls who in slippered feet
Go prowling through the night from street to street!
Through the long night until the silver break
Of day the little gray feet know no rest;
Through the lone night until the last snow-flake
Has dropped from heaven upon the earth's white breast,
The dusky, half-clad girls of tired feet
Are trudging, thinly shod, from street to street.
Ah, stern harsh world, that in the wretched way
Of poverty, dishonor and disgrace,
Has pushed the timid little feet of clay,
The sacred brown feet of my fallen race!
Ah, heart of me, the weary, weary feet
In Harlem wandering from street to street.
poem by Claude McKay
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Sonnet- You Can't Have Opposites
When vice and virtues are but parallel lines,
The former moves backward, latter forward;
No one can take the mixture of such wines;
No one can be both fish and also bird.
There ain't a hybrid of vice and virtues;
There ain't a place where both of them can meet;
Just one and only one, a man must choose;
You can't have Heaven's joy and Hell's great heat.
The virtuous way is like climbing a hill;
The road to vice is like slipping from one;
While God rewards Heaven as former's bill,
The latter, yields hell's eternal fire-den!
One can't be both a good and bad a man;
You try to have Heaven and hell, how can?
poem by John Celes
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Hat And Feet
Hat And Feet
Fountains Of Wayne
I'm just a hat and feet
That's all that's left of me
A spot on the sidewalk
A mark on the street
I'm just a hat and feet
I'm just a hat and feet
You dropped a bomb on me
I didn't even see
Like a falling piano
From out of the window
Now I'm just a hat and feet
I'm just a hat and feet
I'm just a sitting duck
That ran out of luck
I'm the unhappy guy
That didn't look up high
I started running when I saw it coming
It got faster and louder til I took a powder
Now
I'm just a hat and feet
That's what 's become of me
Flat on the sidewalk
Stuck in the street
I'm just a hat and feet
I'm just a hat and feet
song performed by by Fountains Of Wayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hat & Feet
Im just a hat and feet
Thats all thats left of me
A spot on the sidewalk
A mark on the street
Im just a hat and feet
Im just a hat and feet
You dropped a bomb on me
I didnt even see
Like a falling piano
From out of a window
Now Im just a hat and feet
Im just a hat and feet
Im just a sitting duck
That ran out of luck
Im the unhappy guy
That didnt look up high
I started running when I saw it coming
It got faster and louder til I took a powder
Now
Im just a hat and feet
Thats what become of me
Flat on the sidewalk
Stuck to the street
Im just a hat and feet
Im just a hat and feet
song performed by by Fountains Of Wayne
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To America
How would you have us, as we are?
Or sinking 'neath the load we bear?
Our eyes fixed forward on a star?
Or gazing empty at despair?
Rising or falling? Men or things?
With dragging pace or footsteps fleet?
Strong, willing sinews in your wings?
Or tightening chains about your feet?
poem by James Weldon Johnson
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Pointy Toes
Pointy toes,
Elegance shows.
A dancer's feet,
Worn and Weary,
A ballerina's feat,
Makes it look easy.
We abuse our feet,
Scrapped till it bites,
We abuse our feet,
Tie knots too tight,
We abuse our feet,
Stand till sore,
We abuse our feet,
Curl like claw.
High heels, tall.
We abuse our feet,
Bound feet small.
Abuse our feet most than rest of body?
Take care, your feet, Everybody.
The Cross Africa Bears
The mysterious blackness scares;
It's the organic rhythm
Undecipherable by the Klan
Or souls from the bongo drums
That fracture bones of injustice
While stamping feet give us hope.
So we stamp,
We spin,
Raise our feet,
And dip in suns;
It's the cross of Africa we bear.
Hail! hail! hail!
Ancestors rise;
Hail! hail!
Tell us of blistered years,
How you overcame the shame,
How you survived the scorns;
Hail!
poem by Buxton Shippy
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Unrest
All day upon the garden bright
The suns shines strong,
But in my heart there is no light,
Or any song.
Voices of merry life go by,
Adown the street;
But I am weary of the cry
And drift of feet.
With all dear things that ought to please
The hours are blessed,
And yet my soul is ill at ease,
And cannot rest.
Strange spirit, leave me not too long,
Nor stint to give,
For if my soul have no sweet song,
It cannot live.
poem by Archibald Lampman
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Footsteps in the Street
Oh, will the footsteps never be done?
The insolent feet
Thronging the street,
Forsaken now of the only one.
The only one out of all the throng,
Whose footfall I knew,
And could tell it so true,
That I leapt to see as she passed along,
As she passed along with her beautiful face,
Which knew full well
Though it did not tell,
That I was there in the window-space.
Now my sense is never so clear.
It cheats my heart,
Making me start
A thousand times, when she is not near.
When she is not near, but so far away,
I could not come
To the place of her home,
Though I travelled and sought for a month and a day.
Do you wonder then if I wish the street
Were grown with grass,
And no foot might pass
Till she treads it again with her sacred feet?
poem by Robert Fuller Murray
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Under The Sheet
What a terrible night! Does the Night, I wonder-
The Night, with her black veil down to her feet
Like an ordained nun, know what lies under
That awful, motionless, snow-white sheet?
The winds seem crazed, and, wildly howling,
Over the sad earth blindly go.
Do they and the dark clouds over them scowling,
Do they dream or know?
Why, here in the room, not a week or over-
Tho' it must be a week, not more than one-
(I cannot reckon of late or discover
When one day is ended or one begun),
But here in this room we were laughing lightly,
And glad was the measure our two hearts beat;
And the royal face that was smiling so brightly
Lies under that sheet.
I know not why-it is strange and fearful,
But I am afraid of her, lying there;
She who was always so gay and cheerful,
Lying so still with that stony stare:
She who was so like some grand sultana,
Fond of color and glow and heat,
To lie there clothed in that awful manner
In a stark white sheet.
She who was made out of summer blisses,
Tropical, beautiful, gracious, fair,
To lie and stare at my fondest kisses-
God! no wonder it whitens my hair.
Shriek, oh, wind! for the world is lonely;
Trail cloud-veil to the nun Night's feet.
For all that I prized in life is only
A shape and a sheet.
poem by Ella Wheeler Wilcox
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Wolves Made Of Nightmares
Pitter patter go those sharp clawed feet
I hear them padding up the street
The lightning strikes against my door
The air is sharp my lungs are raw
They raise their heads, howl in unearthly chorus
Is the devil coming for us?
The wolves cast their shadows into my room
Those shadows will surely spell my doom
I hear their claws scratch at the wood
They shriek and howl and cry out for blood
I heave my bead against the door
They bare their fangs and cry for more
A paw crashes through close to my ear
All I feel now is numbing fear
I can taste their breath on the tip of my tongue
Why now? I am too young
I risk a fleeting glance behind
and what I see drives me out of my mind
Their eyes were fire that burned deep red
I knew that I would soon be dead
A blood stained muzzle breaks through near my arm
Now is surely the time for alarm
As one their lap against my door
My bed is sent spinning across the floor
The door is forced open, silluetted by the moon
I would meet my end in the silent gloom
poem by Steffi Webster
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The Curse Of The Wandering Foot
All hope of rest withdrawn me?--
What dread command hath put
This awful curse upon me--
The curse of the wandering foot!
Forward and backward and thither,
And hither and yon again--
Wandering ever! And whither?
Answer them, God! Amen.
The blue skies are far o'er me---
The bleak fields near below:
Where the mother that bore me?--
Where her grave in the snow?--
Glad in her trough of a coffin--
The sad eyes frozen shut
That wept so often, often,
The curse of the wandering foot!
Here in your marts I care not
Whatsoever ye think.
Good folk many who dare not
Give me to eat and drink:
Give me to sup of your pity--
Feast me on prayers!--O ye,
Met I your Christ in the city
He would fare forth with me--
Forward and onward and thither,
And hither again and yon,
With milk for our drink together
And honey to feed upon--
Nor hope of rest withdrawn us,
Since the one Father put
The blessed curse upon us--
The curse of the wandering foot.
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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Funny Feet
Feet are funny things I reckon
like why have we got toes?
we hide them away in our shoes
not on show like our ears or nose.
Some Feet are long and thin
others short stumpy and fat
with nails at the bottom
instead of claws like a Cat.
But if we didn't have Feet
we couldn't walk at all
so you couldn't ride a Bike
or run and kick a Football.
But they just look a bit odd
not really pretty or neat
then again they do a good job
so where would we be without Feet!
poem by Kevin Halls
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Considerations - On Part Of The 88th Psalm. A College Exercise
Heavy, O Lord, on my thy judgements lie;
Accursed I am while God rejects my cry.
O'erwhelm'd in darkness and despair I groan,
And every place is hell, for God is gone.
O Lord, arise, and let thy beams control
Those horrid clouds that press my frighted soul:
Save the poor wanderer from eternal night,
Thou that art the God of light.
Downward I hasten to my destined place;
There none obtain thy aid, or sing thy praise,
Soon shall I lie in death's deep ocean drown'd:
Is mercy there, or sweet forgiveness found?
O save me yet whilst on the brink I stand;
Rebuke the storm, and waft my soul to land,
O let her rest beneath thy wing secure,
Thou that art the God of power.
Behold the prodigal! to thee I come,
To hail my father, and to seek my home.
Nor refuge could I find, nor friend abroad,
Straying in vice, and destitute of God.
O let thy terrors and my anguish end!
Be thou my refuge, and be thou my friend:
Receive the son thou didst so long reprove,
Thou that art the God of love.
poem by Matthew Prior
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Stinky Feet
paytons feet reak
nobody can say a peep
about her stinky feet
nobody can breath
peaple like to tease
about her stinky feet
her feet ruined a rake
then they ruined a cake
all because of paytons stinky feet
all the bugs screamed
then they became cream
thanks to paytons stinky feet
all the hens died
then all the peaple cried
thanks to paytons stinky feet
poem by Kaitlin Teff
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Abdala
Dice, nice, vice, mice, rice, price;
Love is always like a flower freshened by water!
But i am the eyes to the blind and the feet to the lame,
For my steps are bathed with the cream of love.
Oh Abdala my love!
My lips are like the honeycomb;
So do not spend the night in the open square!
For my virgin daughter is home at last,
And like the chronicles of your mind before.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Don't Cry
when everyone leaves
for somewhere else
and for something for someone
other than you
give in,
don't look forward to something
illusive
root yourself to the weight of your feet
look down
the most important part of the soles of
your feet
hold the sands of your imperfections
watch them all slip away
and then just savor the emptiness
left behind
by the trails of mercies.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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A Pair Of Sneakers Bemoan Never Having A Day Off
When you were a baby a sleepin in your cot
Your feet were too small to fit us all
You could barely crawl in your wee teeny socks
And so I sat qute content in the loft
enjoying the freedom of endless days off!
But now you are grown to seventeen stone
You never give me a rest
Once your tootsies are in
I don't get a look in
As your feet rarely leave me alone
Once I was the guest
Now enslaved to your feet
All day I expand and I squeak!
For fourteen hours a day
I just can't get away
From the rot and the sweat of your feet
Why not wear sandals when the Sun shines so hot?
It's not a scandal to give me a rest
When you pick up the pace
I often grimace
As you 'stroll in your shorts and your vest
Once I had a say once I was the guest
Now this smelly affair is my lot
Don't you know it's a treat to walk in bare feet
And give me a well earned day off!
poem by Yvette Smith
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The Skylark's Message
SWEET little upturned faces,
Poor little hands and feet,
Little eyes that are careworn and anxious
From hunger and want in the street,
Hear ye that skylark singing
5
Like an angel far away?
'Tis bringing to you a message
From the Golden Gates of day.
Ah, little know ye of the meadows,
Poor little blistered feet,
10
Down in the smoke of the city,
Down in the noise of the street!
But it sings of a better country,
Where tired little hearts can rest;
Of a sun that shines for ever,
15
And the love of a Father's breast.
O poor little weary spirits,
I would that ye knew its song,
For the world is very heartless,
And your journey may be long;
20
And ye need such heavenly music
To cheer you in the night,
Little hearts that are now so noble,
Little souls that are now so white.
I would that ye heard it always,
25
That sweet bird's voice within,
When the heart is sad and lonely
In the long, long struggle with sin;
Till a rest comes out of the sunset
For the labouring hands and feet,
30
And a silence has fallen for ever
On the noise and the dust of the street.
poem by Frederick George Scott
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Hearts Made Of Feet!
and so we struggle,
turning in the womb,
choked by the cord.
conceived in darkness,
becoming light!
we are hearts made of feet,
feet that walk the path.
feet that slip and fall,
feet that take the wrong turn.
feet that keep on walking,
sore, tired, hurting.
feet of desire, and purpose,
feet of soulful intent!
all the great philosophies
come to this...
feet that only stop walking
to bandage other feet;
then walk together,
leaving one set of prints!
poem by Eric Cockrell
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