His Dream
I swayed upon the gaudy stem
The butt-end of a steering-oar,
And saw wherever I could turn
A crowd upon a shore.
And though I would have hushed the crowd,
There was no mother's son but said,
"What is the figure in a shroud
Upon a gaudy bed?'
And after running at the brim
Cried out upon that thing beneath
- It had such dignity of limb -
By the sweet name of Death.
Though I'd my finger on my lip,
What could I but take up the song?
And running crowd and gaudy ship
Cried out the whole night long,
Crying amid the glittering sea,
Naming it with ecstatic breath,
Because it had such dignity,
By the sweet name of Death.
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Related quotes
Form the Green Helmet And Other Poems
HIS DREAM
I SWAYED upon the gaudy stem
The butt-end of a steering-oar,
And saw wherever I could turn
A crowd upon a shore.
And though I would have hushed the crowd,
There was no mother's son but said,
'What is the figure in a shroud
Upon a gaudy bed?'
And after running at the brim
Cried out upon that thing beneath
-- It had such dignity of limb --
By the sweet name of Death.
Though I'd my finger on my lip,
What could I but take up the song?
And running crowd and gaudy ship
Cried out the whole night long,
Crying amid the glittering sea,
Naming it with ecstatic breath,
Because it had such dignity,
By the sweet name of Death.
poem by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
There's No Way Out Nov 7th,2012
THERE'S NO WAY OUT NOV 7TH,2012
BY
JAMES BREDIN
The death-with-dignity crowd is trying to help you out,
Because you don't have much of a clue what death is all about,
But biased aristocrats don't want anything to change,
No need to think about this because they will arrange.
If, God-forbid, you come down with Lou Gehrig's disease,
Like Sue Rodriguez; whom the establishment did not please,
The death-with-dignity crowd suggestions might help you out,
Though this is still illegal in Canada; what this is all about.
Because, there's a chance that you might have a miserable death,
We are here now and it looks like we can't get out of this mess,
Because the Supreme Court is not likely to change their rules,
And we must be considered compliant obedient fools.
NOV 7TH,2012
poem by James Bredin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Song Of Long Ago
LONG ago, long ago,
When the hawthorn buds were pearly
And the birds sang, late and early,
All the songs that lovers know,
How we lingered in the lane,
Kissed and parted, kissed again,
Parted, laggard foot and slow!
What a pretty world we knew
Dressed in moonlight, dreams and dew,
Long ago, my first sweet sweetheart,
Long ago!
Long ago, long ago,
When the wind was on the river
Where the lights and shadows shiver,
And the streets were all aglow.
In the gaudy gas-lit street
We two parted, sweet, my sweet,
And the crowd went to and fro,
And your veil was wet with tears
For the inevitable years--
Long ago, my last sweet sweetheart,
Long ago!
poem by Edith Nesbit
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
An Old Donkey For Sale
'A donkey for sale' the old man cried
And the crowd went to see the donkey.
It was as old as he - the crowd felt.
'An old donkey for sale ' the old man still cried-
But no new crowd was there to see it.
An odd man came enquiring all the way
'Where can I get an old donkey for myself? '
Then he heard the old man cry 'An old donkey for sale'
And the odd man rushed to him and his donkey.
But he said to the old man, ' The donkey isn`t really old'.
The old man and his donkey are still treading the paths,
The crowds still find the donkey and the man old alike.
The odd man never stops his search for an old donkey.
But a world never emerges at all -
That one can understand the diametrical human minds.
poem by M.d Dinesh Nair
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
The Crowd Roared
The crowd roared, the lion roared, another christian faced death,
And one was as hungry as the other for another's final breath.
No tears were shed as he lay dead, no thought, no regret, no sob.
And the slaves and the lion keeper went back to do their job.
The stake was set, the fire burned, the witch screamed for her god
And the crowd of flickering faces cursed the path she trod.
But when night covered their sight they huddled round their hob
And were glad it hadn't been them who'd had to do the job.
The blade fell, the head rolled and madame murder committed,
And the crowd roared while another madame sat and knitted.
But the noise went dead when its terror bred a terror for the mob,
And none cheered too loud after that when madame did her job.
No lion roared, no fire burned, no blade flashed in the sun
But when the crowd breathed in the gas their death was as one.
Their flesh was mean when buried unseen 'neath a dark and rocky knob.
And at last a tear was shed when executioners did their job.
In court they sat their faces stone, their eyes had never known a sob
And one by one they stood and said: 'I was only doing my job.'
But the crowd saw through their law and hissed and spat and sputtered
When one person used those words another person suffered.
It's dawn again, that time again, the sun has made the day
And see again that fatal sight of wood and rope and clay.
The crowd sighed but never cried as the trapdoor life did rob
And the executioner went away well pleased with his job.
poem by Paul Anthony
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Illuminations
Smith is a loyalist good and true,
And a lad of the 'whole hog' class:
And yesterday, when he went to view
The Royal procession pass,
He'd flags in his buttonhole, flags in his hat,
Flags all gaudy and gay;
And he splintered the welkin from where he sat
With many a loud 'Hooray!'
Last night when the town was a blaze of light
Smith was still on his way;
And I saw him pass thro' the brilliant night,
Gaudy, vociferous, gay;
He was still in the fashion and going strong,
And I gather he'd been to sup
For he chortled a song as he went along,
Thoroughly well 'lit up.'
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
One Of The Crowd
(lowe/tennant)
--------------------
When I go fishing with my rod
I often get that urge
To fall asleep a sleep so deep that
No-one notices me
Dont want anyone to know my name
Dont want to get a fax
Dont want to meet the royal family
Just cause Ive paid my tax
Dont wanna be seen or heard
Dont want to shout out loud
I want to be part of the herd
One of the crowd
Dressing individually doesnt impress me
I think that its pathetic
Following fashion, I just like it
Dont i?
Dont wanna be seen or heard
Dont want to shout out loud
I want to be part of the herd
One of the crowd
(one of the crowd)
(one of the crowd)
Fishing
Fishing
I never fight, but every night
I think its gonna be alright
I think I might think in spite of
Every - thing
Dont wanna be seen or heard
Dont want to shout out loud
I want to be part of the herd
One of the crowd
One of the crowd
One of the crowd
One of the crowd
One of the crowd
One of the crowd
(one of the crowd)
Fishing
(one of the crowd)
Fishing
song performed by by Pet Shop Boys
Submitted by Lucian Velea
Vote! | Copy!
The crowd is the catalyst.
Whenever you are in the crowd
There I get you by sensual aid
As eyes are swords, more than words.
You are at ease in the crowd,
So private and so shrewd
In your approach to my side
That no one can suspect.
Enough. That only I expect.
A clear internet exists,
That binds us with no exits.
You are so sophisticated;
I am so intoxicated.
Whenever you are in the crowd
I never miss the very crowd.
You are the reason that I survive.
You are the cause my youth relives.
Whenever we are in the crowd
In us is lost the whole crowd.
We are fed when our eyes meet.
More than that, I want not.
Less than that, I stand not.
We are at ease in the crowd.
The whole time I shall incur.
I salute the crowd to recur.
30.04.2001, Pmdi
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
She Cried
seeing her child
part from her, the mother cried
she cried hard
for just one more glimpse
of her dear child
ruthless was the society
who didn't accept the mother's child
though the mother loved him loads
despite knowing his illness couldn't be cured
everyone rejected him
no one was ready to accept
though he was one of them
the mother cried and cried loud
yet no one came to help from the huge crowd
her child wasn't different
from the others in line
what made him unique
was just the way people looked at him....
poem by Areena Arora
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Night of Fireworks
Seeing you running into the crowd
it did not take me long to realise
that our time was almost up.
Suddenly it became cold and serene
with sounds from the clock tower
clicking bluntly through my rundown quarter.
As I found your remnants by the seaside
clinging to a laboured breath, dimming in dignity
I thought – ah, life and death, beautiful things
it was then that the sky was filled
with the fireworks;
and our existence turned into a panorama
epic but still hopeless.
Standing far away from the festive air
these blood-stained clothes
seemed more familiar to me
at the feet of unflinching destiny.
Behind those ash-covered traces
I looked around the exhausted town
and thought – there could be no better conclusion
to this memorable little excursion.
poem by Rifhan Rasuli
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
We Are All A Bunch Of Fools Oct 26th,2012
WE ARE ALL A BUNCH OF FOOLS Oct 26th,2012
BY
JAMES BREDIN
If I live to be a hundred and five in twenty forty two,
Maybe we'll have death with dignity then because I'll be due,
But in the meantime, we have to submit to their foolish rules,
Humanity hasn't changed much and we're all a bunch of fools.
Where our Ottawa politicians tend to disappear,
Soft Federal positions, far away with nothing to fear,
Except that death comes a step closer almost every day,
And still they say, "No death with dignity for you. No way! "
These aristocrats on the top of the political pile,
Want to stay there as long as they can in that great lifestyle,
With no referendums, death with dignity or set-date elections,
They don't have to worry because they make all the selections.
Oct 26th,2012
poem by James Bredin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
We Cry
The 10th of June, passing of our Son
We Cried
9mins holding him tight, words not spoken
We cried
Time of Death given,8pm
We Cried
Just 7 doors down from home, is all we keep saying
We Cried
6 Drunken teens, drove down our son that night
We Cried
The Fifth Commandment, thou shall not kill
We Cried
Four days later, our son lays beneath the earth
We Cried
The Driver receives 3yrs, is that my sons worth
We Cried
Two years good behavior, he walks the streets
We Cried
We only had One son his name was Micheal, our son
We Cry
It shouldn't have been his NUMBER calling
Still here we Cry
poem by Brad Phillips
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Farewell, Dick!
He bowed and he doffed his tricorn hat
As the wagon both lurched and swayed,
It rattled on over the cobblestones,
And the mud in the alleyways,
The crowd had cheered when he passed them by
As he stood, so debonair,
In a new frock coat and a pair of pumps
With a ribbon tied up in his hair.
They rumbled along the Tyburn road
From York, as the people stared,
Then came to a halt at Knavesmire
Approaching the 'Three Legged Mare',
He mounted the ladder boldly,
Stamped his foot to allay his fear,
Then spoke to the executioner
In a voice both calm and clear.
The rope was knotted around his neck,
He spoke to the crowd at last,
He bid farewell to his countrymen
And the darker deeds of his past,
Undaunted then, he stepped off the rung
And fell, to swing in the air,
While the crowd was hushed, and the wagon pushed
To receive his body there!
But up on the hill was a phantom horse,
As black as a lump of coal,
Its eyes were gleaming, its coat a-shine,
Its breath, pale mist in the cold,
She started, reared, as her master hung
Then galloped right through the press,
As his soul dropped out of his body there,
She was waiting for him, Black Bess!
He leapt unthinking astride her back,
Cast one swift glance behind,
His body hung from the rope, he saw,
But he somehow didn't mind!
He doffed his hat to the sightless crowd
Then wheeled away on his horse,
And galloped away to where phantoms play
When their lives have run their course!
But a tiny child in the press had seen,
Was blessed with second sight,
She watched him wave to the mourning crowd
And disappear in the night;
She laughed and waved in the mother's arms
Who had cried 'til she was sick,
But the child then wiped her tears away
And called out - 'Farewell, Dick! '
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
You Too Will Eventually Die Oct 28th,2012
Death without dignity is the fear of losing control,
To be totally dependent on others is not your goal,
Maybe for a long time before you eventually die,
You may be almost dead; you cannot talk or even ask why?
There is no suicide grey area - it's all black and white,
It's a crime in Canada and a long legal courtroom fight,
But not in Oregon or Washington or Switzerland,
You can die in dignity there and they all understand.
Because here; death-with-dignity is hidden under the rug,
Where priests and magistrates and religious bishops all shrug,
You will not forget as you get nearer death, what this is about,
And a forthcoming painful death could cause you to have no doubt.
poem by James Bredin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Euthanasia In Canada Sept 25th,2012
Sure, old folk can sometimes see the handwriting on the wall,
Death might be getting closer unless they can have it stalled,
They'd like an easy way out if they can get it legal and right,
Maybe binding referendums and death with dignity, day or night.
But our politicians are busy at the moment and what's your name?
And death with dignity is very illegal so that's not the same,
You'll have to call back again sometime or just send an e-mail,
And if you die in the meantime, we'll put it in the garbage pail.
Because in Canada, death with dignity is completely banned,
And if you are caught in this Canadian trap, you could be damned,
Because not only that; the church says DWD is a mortal sin,
So it's down to hell you'll go with the other sinners then.
poem by James Bredin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Amid a Christmas crowd
Amid a Christmas crowd
~
There is a rustle of voices
All complaining, telling jokes
Arguing or making plans
Its hard to pick individual ones apart
I swim slowly through crowds
Sometimes its like going upstream
With the force of the tide against me
I find little pleasantry or politeness
In the rush of the Christmas crowd
I feel a unease growing in my stomach
Thinking it’s a pickpockets holiday
Still the chatter of voices rings out
Amongst the beeping of tills
And soundtrack of phones
Its almost becoming a chore to think
Amid the noise of a Christmas crowd
I try to cut my time as best I can
Shop with a military style
Locate, grab, pay and escape
Its what I do, what serves me well
Amid a Christmas a crowd
poem by Matthew Holloway
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
POLITICIANS AND DEATH Mar 24th,2011
I’m concerned about my own eventual future death,
And the lack of political concern about my last breath,
They couldn’t care less, when or where or how we die,
This couldn’t happen to them because it doesn’t apply.
It’s all because Death With Dignity is illegal here,
Therefore our pompous politicians barely look and leer,
But I’ve got news for them; they too will eventually die,
It may even be slow, long and painful amid their loud cries.
Therefore our eventual Death With Dignity should be discussed,
And why do our politicians view this subject with disgust?
We’re having an election but parties wont talk about this,
Some states have it: Oregon, Washington and or course the Swiss.
Mar 24th,2011
poem by James Bredin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Recent Parole Board Decisions
We have to keep them in jail though the Parole Board lets them out,
Ghetto housing fatherless guys with guns who know what it's all about,
Canadians have become impressed by gang-gun events,
Because the Parole Board lets them out without arguments.
No death penalty imposed on anyone in that ghetto crowd,
No death with dignity or binding referendums for us, allowed,
Canadians are stuck in square one trying to figure this out,
Have we lost control and would like to turn around and come about?
Has anyone figured why the Parole Board lets these people out?
As though they had changed their ways and had turned into boy scouts,
Is there something we don't know going on behind out backs?
Criminals back on the streets and able to commit illegal acts.
poem by James Bredin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
Night
He cried out through the night:
"Where is the light?
Shall nevermore
Open Heaven's door?
Oh, I am left
Lonely, bereft!"
He cried out through the night:
It spread vaguely white,
With its ghost of a moon
Above the dark swoon
Of the earth lying chill,
Breathless, grave still.
He cried out through the night:
His voice in its might
Rang forth far and far,
And then like a star
Dwindled from sense
In the Immense.
He cried out through the night:
No answering light,
No syllabled sound;
Beneath and around
A long shuddering thrill
Then all again still.
poem by James Thomson
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!
When will you die? Nov 4th,2012
When will you Die? NOV 4TH,2012
BY
JAMES BREDIN
If we could get death with dignity; we could then relax,
And not be afraid to face end-of-life - some dreadful awful facts,
Death with dignity seems to me; would be a good way out,
Avoid the pain, avoid the stress, the agony and have no doubt.
Just get a pill or needle and die though you may need advice,
Because there are high religious types who don't think that this is nice,
Because if you live in Canada; suicide is not allowed,
And politicians, media moguls and judges are in that crowd.
It's mostly those who are old and dying that even give a shit,
And the rest of us are too docile and scared to admit,
You haven't got a clue about the date you will die; at least not yet,
And when you eventually find out, you might break out in a cold sweat.
NOV 4TH,2012
poem by James Bredin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
Vote! | Copy!