Cuchulain Comforted
A MAN that had six mortal wounds, a man
Violent and famous, strode among the dead;
Eyes stared out of the branches and were gone.
Then certain Shrouds that muttered head to head
Came and were gone. He leant upon a tree
As though to meditate on wounds and blood.
A Shroud that seemed to have authority
Among those bird-like things came, and let fall
A bundle of linen. Shrouds by two and thrce
Came creeping up because the man was still.
And thereupon that linen-carrier said:
'Your life can grow much sweeter if you will
'Obey our ancient rule and make a shroud;
Mainly because of what we only know
The rattle of those arms makes us afraid.
'We thread the needles' eyes, and all we do
All must together do.' That done, the man
Took up the nearest and began to sew.
'Now must we sing and sing the best we can,
But first you must be told our character:
Convicted cowards all, by kindred slain
'Or driven from home and left to dic in fear.'
They sang, but had nor human tunes nor words,
Though all was done in common as before;
They had changed their thtoats and had the throats of birds.
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Related quotes
Sing Your Life
Sing your life
Any fool can think of words that rhyme
Many others do
Why dont you ?
Do you want to ?
Oh...
Sing your life
Walk right up to the microphone
And name
All the things you love
All the things that you loathe
Oh, sing your life
The things that you love
And the things you loathe
Oh, sing your life
Oh, sing your life
La, la-la, la-la, sing your life
La, la-la, la-la, sing your life
Others sang your life
But now is a chance to shine
And have the pleasure of
Saying what you mean
Have the pleasure of
Meaning what you sing
Oh, make no mistake my friend
All of this will end
So sing it now (sing your life)
All the things you love (sing your life)
All the things you loathe
Oh, sing your life
The things that you love
And the things you loathe (sing your life)
Oh, sing oh...
Oh, sing oh...
La, la-la, la-la, sing your life
La, la-la, la-la, sing your life
Dont leave it all unsaid
Somewhere in the wasteland of your head, oh
Head, oh, head, oh, head, oh
And make no mistake, my friend
Your pointless life will end
But before you go
Can you look at the truth ?
You have a lovely singing voice
A lovely singing voice
And all of those
Who sing on-key
They stole the notion
From you and me
So, sing your life (sing your life)
Sing your life (sing your life)
Oh, sing your oh...
Oh, sing your
Sing your life
Sing your life
Sing your life
Oh, sing your oh...
(sing your life)
(sing your life)
Sing your life
(sing your life)
song performed by by Morrissey
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Birds Who Sing The Same Song
Once upon the hunter's lifetime
He entered the forest with his hound
As he waited for animal senses,
He heard the same sound
The sound came from above
It was the sound of birds
Though they were very different,
They had similar words
The birds were of two colors
They were either brown or green
They sang on top of their voices
The song of a queen
First, the hunter watched them sing
He did not understand the words
He set a trap on the tree
And caught some green birds
He brought them home
Thinking he has caught something good
After preparing the meal,
He realizes their meat is not right for food
Again, he watched them sing
He did not understand the words
He set a trap on the tree
And caught brown birds
He brought them home
Thinking the browns would not taste the same
After preparing the meal,
He realizes the meat was worse in the bowl of shame
He now understood the words
And watches them as they sing
The same song, one meaning
A song to get trapped in a ring
The birds sing the same song
A song of the soul
They sing in a competition
They compete for a common goal
They look attractive on the tree
They sing the same song
Understanding their words is the key
They sing the same song
They sound very kind
They sing the same song
They have a motive in mind
They sing the same song
They sing and fly from the leaves to the stem
But the hunter desires none of them
The hunter would now find other creatures
With the best of all features
Because the birds sing the same song
poem by Mark Nyamekye Boadi
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Irish Hill
Bury me at Irish Hill
a shroud of linen on my face
do not embalm my mortal flesh.
or box me in expensive wood
Find me a place beneath a tree
once I am senseless like a stone
return me to my mother's breast
return me to my quondam home
From dust to dust the preacher says
It's right and just what he intones
return me to my rightful place
beneath the rich and fertile loam
And when the sun shall shine again
I will make a flower grow
A flower with a fragrance rare
its petals joined in silent prayer.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Tell Me Why
Even now I can see that day
The fear in your eyes
Tell me why
Were you so afraid
Somethings they turn out this way
Fire the bullet and find
That you dont know what you left behind
When we laid you to rest
Tell me why were you so afraid
Tell me why were you so afraid
You walk this line
You walk this line of hate
Where to people are so blind
Blind to the evil it creates
Never say too much
Never think out loud
Tell me why were you so afraid
Tell me why were you so afraid
I know one day youll find a way
To heal the wounds
I know one day youll find a way
To heal the wounds
Tell me why were you so afraid
Even now I can see that day
The fear in your eyes
You gave all you lived for
Whilst you kept your pride
Tell me why were you so afraid
Tell me why were you so afraid
song performed by by Texas
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Bloody Clothes of War
I wear the bloody clothes of war
The wounds that I show
Coming from traumas
Concussions that rattle your heart
And never leave your head.
The blood that I oppose
Stemming from the life I missed
The hope I skipped past
The love I never felt.
The wounds that killed me fall deep
Hitting my bones
Some even shattering
Leaving me motionless on the floor.
The tears and blood I cry
Fill up the casket and spill out
Until everyone in the room drowns in them
But I somehow find a way to prevent myself
From showing the crowd that I am dying, not dead.
I wear the bloody clothes of war
War with everything
War with everyone
But also the worst kind of war
War with myself.
Little Bird
Little bird up in a tree
Looked down and sang a song to me
Of how it began
Na na na na na na
Na na na na na na
Na na na na na na
The trout in the shiny brook
Gave the worm another look
And told me not to worry
About my life
Na na na na na na
Na na na na na na
Na na na na na na
Tree in my own backyard
Stands all alone
Bears fruit for me
And it tastes so good
Wheres my pretty bird
He must have flown away
If I keep singing
Hell come back someday
Dawn, birds still gone
Guess Ill go mow the lawn
What a day, what a day
Oooo, what a beautiful day this is
Ooooooooo
Little bird up in a tree
Looked down a sang a song to me
The trout in a shiny brook
Gave the worm another look
And told me not to worry about my life
Little bird looked down
And sang a song to me
Little bird looked down
And sang a songto me
Little bird looked down
And sang a song to me
song performed by by Beach Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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(V – 1990) War & Peace
War has stabbed the heart of peace
And peace lies bleeding now –
A peace which was healing slow
The wounds it had suffered hard,
A peace which was recovering
From the mind blowing blows
Of the decades past!
Now the precious blood of that peace is draining
And each dropp of dripping blood
Is singing the songs of savagery
To the frightened ears of civilizations!
Man mastered bombs but now bombs master man!
Man busy growing the world outside
How poor he forgot to grow his inside!
And now when he stands a helpless child
Before the giant of things he grew
Reason comes again and asks
Was this the progress you built through the years
And man has no answer
He just drops into wounds
Wounds inflicted by bullets of arrogance
Of selfishness, hatred, fear and greed!
Oh, these bombs that preach ‘might is right’
Oh, these merciless bloodthirsty bullets –
What answers are they? What justice makes they?
What battle is real than a battle for peace?
What victory, true, when won at the cost of peace? !
Peace was long destroyed on the minds of men
So no peace now remains outside!
Rising from narrow rooms of thought
Man armed with the mortal arms of passion
Smashes the skulls of his brethren
And when upon the fractured bones
And the boiled flesh, cries of anguish fall
And when the hands and limbs of innocents
Lie eaten and bitten by vultures of violence
Their hearts cracking into a fury of pain
And when thick clouds of smoke
Of the smoke of life, rises from the graveyards of war
A tear comes into the eyes of man and time asks:
Hasn’t History taught you anything still?
And man stands dumb!
With all his will and wisdom paralyzed
He searches for peace, for the solace of peace
But peace lies writhing there!
He knows he wants it dearly
The company of peace,
Wounded though he be!
But peace is dying there;
But peace is not dead!
His life lies in our hands
The wounds are many
But many more can be spared!
The wounds are sore
But they can be medicined still!
War is death
But war can be killed!
Shrouded In Mystery
The morning sun, clothed in clouds, is one of God’s striking shrouds,
Just as God’s shrouded in light, impenetrable by the darkest of night,
Unapproachable as He may be, He’s God of the present and Eternity,
Being a God, that we cannot see, He shrouds life, at times in mystery.
At times God moves in our days, for His purpose in mysterious ways,
For God’s shrouded in mystery, while working in lives, of you and me,
As the secret tings belong to God, Who reigns above this earthly sod,
In ways, we could not comprehend, for above us, His ways transcend.
But all things done for me and you, the Good Lord will see us through,
Through every trial that we will face, God will shroud us with His Grace,
And blessings The Lord will bestow, upon us in ways we’d never know,
As The Lord works in mysterious ways, unto our Lord, we lift all praise.
For we are shrouded in the Blood, of God’s Son, sent for us with love.
Sent to The Cross of Mount Calvary, to be a sacrifice, for you and me,
And today that blood, spilt by Him, covers not some, but all of our sin,
For The Savior alone paid the price, so we could be His living sacrifice.
Christ came to earth, to die for us, now we live our life for Christ Jesus,
To serve our Lord in this present time, for a purpose that is truly divine,
And Christ shall remove many shrouds, when we see Him in the clouds,
When Christ returns for you and me, we’ll serve our Lord, for all eternity.
(Copyright ©06/2011)
Castro Alves From Brazil
Castro Alves from Brazil, for whom did you sing?
Did you sing for the flower? For the water
whose beauty whispered words to the stones?
Did you sing to the eyes, to the torn profile
of the woman you once loved? For the spring?
Yes, but those petals were not dewed,
those black waters had no words,
those eyes were those who saw death,
still burning the tortures behind love,
Spring was splashed with blood.
I sang for the slaves, aboard the ships
as a dark branch of wrath.
They travelled, and bled from the ships
leaving us the weight of a stolen blood.
I sang in those days against the inferno,
against the sharp languages of greed,
against the gold drenched in the torment,
against the hand that rose the whip,
against the maestros of darkness.
Each rose had one dead man in their roots.
The light, the night, the sky were covered in tears,
the eyes separated from wounded hands
and it was my voice the only one to fill the silence.
I wanted that from the man we could be rescued,
I believed that the route passed through the man,
and from there destiny would be made.
I sang for those who had no voice.
My voice hit doors that until then were closed
so that, fighting, Freedom could be let in.
Castro Alves from Brazil, now that your pure book
is reborn to a free land,
let me, poet of our America,
to crown your head with the laurels of the people.
Your voice joined the eternal and loud voice of the men.
You sang well. You sang how it must be sung.
poem by Pablo Neruda
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Paradise: In A Symbol
Golden-winged, silver-winged,
Winged with flashing flame,
Such a flight of birds I saw,
Birds without a name:
Singing songs in their own tongue
(Song of songs) they came.
One to another calling,
Each answering each,
One to another calling
In their proper speech:
High above my head they wheeled,
Far out of reach.
On wings of flame they went and came
With a cadenced clang,
Their silver wings tinkled,
Their golden wings rang,
The wind it whistled through their wings
Where in Heaven they sang.
They flashed and they darted
Awhile before mine eyes,
Mounting, mounting, mounting still
In haste to scale the skies—
Birds without a nest on earth,
Birds of Paradise.
Where the moon riseth not,
Nor sun seeks the west,
There to sing their glory
Which they sing at rest,
There to sing their love-song
When they sing their best:
Not in any garden
That mortal foot hath trod,
Not in any flowering tree
That springs from earthly sod,
But in the garden where they dwell,
The Paradise of God.
poem by Christina Georgina Rossetti
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While The Birds Sing At The Top Of The Tree
Rivers flow lonely to the sea,
When the sunset is coming down,
While the birds sing at the top of the tree.
The garden is flourishing in the spring,
Little pieces of the rain fall on the edge of the street,
While the birds sing at the top of the tree.
The cold in the hills,
The forest still sleeps in silence
While the birds sing at the top of the tree.
Love always falls and rises,
Leaving happiness, broken hearts and tears,
While the birds sing at the top of the tree.
poem by Lindemberg Pereira da Silva
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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She's Gone
Finally she's gone,
Like an unbilical cord
When a child is born.
Scornfully she looked
at me;
Her eyes running down
from head to my feet,
Words she had wanted
to say
Seemed to die in her
own rage.
Finally I found words
and said:
Is your love really dead?
Yes, she turned and said:
And you should get out
of my head!
Ok, I've heard, very well,
I said;
And left without a fret,
To a pub nearby to
buy a beer.
One, two, three bottles
of beer
Would make me drunk,
In that liquor I had
myself sunk.
Then for home I left with
a song in my mouth.
As I sang, I staggered
and sang:
That I knew her love
had been a sham;
Lord please bring me a love
that will bring me no hurt.
For the love You give I
know is best of all.
poem by Efe Benjamin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Meet My Maker
This is where I'll meet my maker tonight
So this is it
This is my life
This is my time
It's ending tonight
I made my mistakes
I tried to live right
Stepped out of the darkness into the light
And when I'm gone
Will they remember
Will they mourn
Will they move on
When my sad songs for lonely son
His time has come his life is done
And tonight
We'll celebrate the end
Of this life
And we'll sing
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Whhooaa aaooohh
It's alright
this is a night like we've began
With open arms
This is the way
The way I'll meet my maker tonight
And on my grave
What will it say?
Here lies another soul that was saved
So please don't cry
Just sleep at night
And I will wait on the other side
And tonight
we'll celebrate the end
Of this life
And we'll sing
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Whooaahh ooohhh
It's alright
This is a night like we've began
With open arms
This is the way
The way I'll meet my maker tonight
And tonight
We'll celebrate the end
Of this life
And we'll sing
Yeah, yeah, yeah, yeah
Whooaaa ooohh
It's alright
This is a night like we've began
With open arms
This is the way
The way I'll meet my maker tonight
Whhoooaaa oohhh [x12]
Lost and broken, hopeless and lonely. Smilin on the outside. But hurt beneath my skin. My eyes are fadin. My soul is bleedin. Ill try to make it seem ok, but my faith is wearin' thin.
So help me heal these wounds. Leave it open for way too long. Help me fill this hole, even though this is not your fault. That Im open, and I'm bleedin, all over your brand new rug. And I need someone to help me sew them up.
I only wanted a magazine. I only wanted a movie screen. I only wanted the life I read about and dreamed. And now my mind is an open book. And now my heart is an open wound. And now my life is an open soul for all to see.
But help me heal these wounds. Leave it open for way too long. Help me fill this hole, even though this is not your fault. That I'm open, and I'm bleedin, all over your brand new rug. And I need someone to help me.
So you come along. I push you away. Then kick and scream for you to stay. Cuz I need someone to help me, oh I need someone to help me, to help me heal these wounds, leave it open for way too long, help me fill this hole.
Even though this is not your fault, that I'm open, and I'm bleedin, all over your brand new rug, and I need someone to help me sew them, I need someone to help me fill them, I need someone to help me close them up.
song performed by by Good Charlotte
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Brokedown Palace
Fare you well, my honey, fare you well my only true one.
All the birds that were singing are flown, except you alone.
Going to leave this brokedown palace,
On my hand and knees, I will roll, roll, roll.
Make myself a bed in the waterside,
In my time, I will roll, roll roll.
In a bed, in a bed, by the waterside I will lay my head.
Listen to the river sing sweet songs, to rock my soul.
River going to take me, sing sweet and sleepy,
Sing me sweet and sleepy all the way back home.
Its a far gone lullaby, sung many years ago.
Mama, mama many worlds Ive come since I first left home.
Goin home, goin home, by the riverside I will rest my bones,
Listen to the river sing sweet songs, to rock my soul.
Going to plant a weeping willow,
On the banks green edge it will grow, grow, grow.
Sing a lullaby beside the water,
Lovers come and go, the river roll, roll, roll.
Fare you well, fare you well, I love you more than words can tell,
Listen to the river sing sweet songs, to rock my soul.
song performed by by Grateful Dead
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Rune-Master
ARCH-SCHOLAR they'll call you,
Kuno Mayer,
Who know the word
Behind the word
The men of learning . . .
But who will tell them
Of the blackbird
That your heart held?
On an old thorn-tree
By an ancient rath
You heard him sing,
And with runes you charmed him
Till he stayed with you,
Giving clear song.
He sang o'er all
That Maravaun
Told King Guire;
And he told you how
Bran heard the singing
Of a lovely woman
And sailed for Faerie;
And of how slain princes
Kept tryst with women
Loved beyond
The pain of death,
In days when still
The boat of Mananaun
Bore towards Eirinn!
Arch-scholar they'll call you
Nay, Rune-master!
You read in texts
Not words only,
But runes of old time;
And when you spoke them
A curlew cried
Over grass-waste Tara,
And a cuckoo called
From the height of Cashel,
And an eagle flew
From Emain Macha!
Ochone, ochone!
That we'll see no more
In the Eastern or
The Western World
Your great head over
The lectern bending,
Nor hear your lore
By a pleasant fireside.
But the runes you've read
Have given us more
Than the sword might win us:
May kind saints of Eirinn
Be beside you
Where birds on the Living
Tree sing the Hours!
poem by Padraic Colum
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Ballad of God-Makers
A bird flew out at the break of day
From the nest where it had curled,
And ere the eve the bird had set
Fear on the kings of the world.
The first tree it lit upon
Was green with leaves unshed;
The second tree it lit upon
Was red with apples red;
The third tree it lit upon
Was barren and was brown,
Save for a dead man nailed thereon
On a hill above a town.
That right the kings of the earth were gay
And filled the cup and can;
Last night the kings of the earth were chill
For dread of a naked man.
'If he speak two more words,' they said,
'The slave is more than the free;
If he speak three more words,' they said,
'The stars are under the sea.'
Said the King of the East to the King of the West,
I wot his frown was set,
'Lo; let us slay him and make him as dung,
It is well that the world forget.'
Said the King of the West to the King of the East,
I wot his smile was dread,
'Nay, let us slay him and make him a god,
It is well that our god be dead.'
They set the young man on a hill,
They nailed him to a rod;
And there in darkness and in blood
They made themselves a god.
And the mightiest word was left unsaid,
And the world had never a mark,
And the strongest man of the sons of men
Went dumb into the dark.
Then hymns and harps of praise they brought,
Incense and gold and myrrh,
And they thronged above the seraphim,
The poor dead carpenter.
'Thou art the prince of all,' they sang,
'Ocean and earth and air.'
Then the bird flew on to the cruel cross,
And hid in the dead man's hair.
'Thou art the sun of the world,' they cried,
'Speak if our prayers be heard.'
And the brown bird stirred in the dead man's hair,
And it seemed that the dead man stirred.
Then a shriek went up like the world's last cry
From all nations under heaven,
And a master fell before a slave
And begged to be forgiven.
They cowered, for dread in his wakened eyes
The ancient wrath to see;
And the bird flew out of the dead Christ's hair,
And lit on a lemon-tree.
poem by G.K. Chesterton from The Wild Knight and Other Poems (1900)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Ballad of God-Makers
A bird flew out at the break of day
From the nest where it had curled,
And ere the eve the bird had set
Fear on the kings of the world.
The first tree it lit upon
Was green with leaves unshed;
The second tree it lit upon
Was red with apples red;
The third tree it lit upon
Was barren and was brown,
Save for a dead man nailed thereon
On a hill above a town.
That night the kings of the earth were gay
And filled the cup and can;
Last night the kings of the earth were chill
For dread of a naked man.
‘If he speak two more words,' they said,
‘The slave is more than the free;
If he speak three more words,' they said,
‘The stars are under the sea.'
Said the King of the East to the King of the West,
I wot his frown was set,
‘Lo, let us slay him and make him as dung,
It is well that the world forget.'
Said the King of the West to the King of the East,
I wot his smile was dread,
‘Nay, let us slay him and make him a god,
It is well that our god be dead.'
They set the young man on a hill,
They nailed him to a rod;
And there in darkness and in blood
They made themselves a god.
And the mightiest word was left unsaid,
And the world had never a mark,
And the strongest man of the sons of men
Went dumb into the dark.
Then hymns and harps of praise they brought,
Incense and gold and myrrh,
And they thronged above the seraphim,
The poor dead carpenter.
‘Thou art the prince of all,' they sang,
‘Ocean and earth and air.'
Then the bird flew on to the cruel cross,
And hid in the dead man's hair.
‘Thou art the son of the world.' they cried, `
‘Speak if our prayers be heard.'
And the brown bird stirred in the dead man's hair
And it seemed that the dead man stirred.
Then a shriek went up like the world's last cry
From all nations under heaven,
And a master fell before a slave
And begged to be forgiven.
They cowered, for dread in his wakened eyes
The ancient wrath to see;
And a bird flew out of the dead Christ's hair,
And lit on a lemon tree.
poem by Gilbert Keith Chesterton
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The Mystic And The Realist
in his poem 'To the Cuckoo' Wordsworth described the bird as a mysterious thing
As if a bird's voice without a bird out of nowhere did sing
As he told he searched for the bird on bush and sky and tree
And yet that voice to him remained as a great mystery.
John Clare the poet from Helpston where he lived when he was young
Once got so close to the cuckoo that he even see her tongue
A leading student of Nature's ways Nature he did not mystify
He never told of searching for a mysterious bird in bush and tree and sky.
Poor John Clare had a mental illness by life he was given a raw deal
But he did see Nature for what she is he see Nature as real
The birds and animals that lived around him he intimately knew
And to the reality of Nature till death he remained true.
The Mystic and the Realist they see things differently
What was a real bird to one to the other was a mystery
What makes us all interesting is that we are more different even than we realize
And we see the World around us through very different eyes.
poem by Francis Duggan
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Suck
There is no God up in the sky tonight
No sign of heaven anywhere in sight
All that was true is left behind
Once I could see now I am blind
Dont want your dreams you try to sell
This disease I give to myself
How does it feel?
How does it feel?
She makes it sweeter than the sun
I get too tight I come undone
I bow my head to confess
The temple walls are made of flesh
Runs up my arms til Im on track
Itches my skin right off of my back
Ill heal your wounds
Ill set you free
Im jesus christ on ecstacy
How does it feel?
How does it feel?
I am so dirty on the inside
I am so dirty on the inside
I am so dirty on the inside
I am so dirty on the inside
How does it feel?
How does it feel?
Suck
Suck
Suck
Suck
A thousand lips a thousand tongues
A thousand throats a thousand lungs
A thousand ways to make it true
I want to do terrible things to you
Everything by:trent reznor
song performed by by Nine Inch Nails
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Hide Me In Your Wounds
Hide Me In Your Wounds
By your wounds, I am healed
Healed in running away from internal strife
In giving up when there is still something to give
Your precious wounds gave me the love
When I wanted to give love
And the beauty and receiving grace instead of misfortune
By your wounds, I am healed
I am a survivor, a winner
I sing a new song in my heart
I witness the breaking of a new dawn each day
By your wounds I am healed
I believe that any storms in my life shall pass
And live my life one day at a time
By your wounds, I am yours
To teach, to guide, to revive and to forgive
I have forgiven myself, as I have forgiven others who caused me pain
Thank you Jesus..for those wounds
And hide me forever…
poem by Meggie Gultiano
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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