The Peacock
What's riches to him
That has made a great peacock
With the pride of his eye?
The wind-beaten, stone-grey,
And desolate Three Rock
Would nourish his whim.
Live he or die
Amid wet rocks and heather,
His ghost will be gay
Adding feather to feather
For the pride of his eye.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Me Peacock
WHAT'S riches to him
That has made a great peacock
With the pride of his eye?
The wind-beaten, stone-grey,
And desolate Three Rock
Would nourish his whim.
Live he or die
Amid wet rocks and heather,
His ghost will be gay
Adding feather to feather
For the pride of his eye.
WHAT'S riches to him
That has made a great peacock
With the pride of his eye?
The wind-beaten, stone-grey,
And desolate Three Rock
Would nourish his whim.
Live he or die
Amid wet rocks and heather,
His ghost will be gay
Adding feather to feather
For the pride of his eye.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Heather
A simple pulse, just one breathe
To my heart's delight, the name Heather
Solaces sorrow, on the precipice of death
Her name as fragile as a dove's feather
It possesses' a taste of heaven's solemnity sweet
When it's heard, an angel I hear; then an angel I meet.
Heather, Heather, Heather
On her feather I aspire to love's aesthetic
So heavenly thy sound, a voice prophetic
Says this is what Heaven's token can be;
A heavenly name Heather beautiful like she
So with her feather I brush
My tender melancholic cheek
A cherry burst I blush
And my soul weak..
Hearing thy name of the heaven's feather, solemnly sweet, the lovely Heather.
poem by Kevin Michael Murphy
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Feather in Universe!
Feathery, feather, feathery
Blowing wind, it twirls and dances
Drenching rain, oh, feather, feathery
Like the Stars, Planets, in their orbit
Mystic and steady they go, no pillar
A distance to cover, energized, re-energized
Hmnn, feather, feather, feathery,
No staking, own, and alone, traversing
A soul in the wind, in Universe, Oh, feather!
poem by Charles Jagongo Ogola
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What am I afraid of I'll tell you a feather. that's right, a feather. How could anyone be afraid of a feather, you say. That's an honest question, and I'll try to give it an honest answer. First of all, did I say it was a poison feather
Jack Handey in Deep Thoughts
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Raven's Feather
I stand by a tree,
the sky is grey,
and all I can see,
is a feather gone stray.
A feather as black as night,
floats gently through light,
through the fissures of life,
cutting through me like a scythe.
Looking down at me is a raven,
like the expanse of the heavens, no craven,
his eyes as deep as the abyss,
making me wonder if I even exist.
The feather drops like black water,
to the earth, turning it to fodder.
It haunts me, never leaving,
eternally eroding and deceiving.
poem by Soren Valentine
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The Falling Feather
A feather
floating on the air
as white as a cotton
in the space of nowhere
stubbornly
hovering
off the ground
while the lost feathered-child,
from its winged-parent's
untimely death
by the act of wind-wild
that took her breath
forcefully
sending
its feather
falls
onto the girl's palm
blown with her wish…….
chirping
tweeting
chirping
as the feather
now muddled in the sand.
poem by Efren Petalver Carranza
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Shake A Tail Feather
(o. hayes, v. rice, a. williams)
Producer: chris lor-aldge
Albums: whats love got to do wth it
B-side of the why must we wait until tonight? single
Well I heard about the girl
Youve been dancing with
All over the neighborhood
Tell me why didnt you ask me baby?
Or didnt you think I could?
Well I know that your partner will never step aside
Ive seen you do the jerk all night
Why didnt you ask me baby?
I would have shown you how to do it right
Do it right
Do it right
Do it right
Do it right
Do it right
Do it right
Do it right
Ahhhh!
Twist it
Shake it
Shake it
Shake it baby
Here we go loop de loop
Shake it up baby
Here we go loop de la
Bend over and let me see you shake a tail feather
Bend over and let me see you shake a tail feather
Bend over and let me see you shake a tail feather
Bend over and let me see you shake a tail feather
Well, you bend over and let me see you shake a tail feather
Well, you bend over and let me see you shake a tail feather
All right
Ahhhh!
Twist it
Shake it
Shake it
Shake it baby
Here we go loop de loop
And we shake it up baby
Here we go loop de la
All right now
Bend over and let me see you shake a tail feather
Bend over and let me see you shake a tail feather
So you bend over and let me see you shake a tail feather
You bend over and let me see you shake a tail feather
Well can I see you bend over and let me see you shake a tail feather?
Well bend over and let me see you shake a tail feather
Do it
Shake it
Shake it
Shake it baby do the twist
Come on baby oh come on
Ohhhh come on
Ahhh
Ahhh
Twist it
song performed by by Tina Turner
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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991. Give Me The Pride Of Being Your Child.
You bestow
Some people with pride of having best parents.
Some with pride of inheriting immense wealth.
Some with pride of being born in high caste.
Some with pride of possessing an extraordinary talent.
Some with pride of controlling a great mass.
.....
For me, You denied all these.
I too don’t regret.
In fact, I thank You
For not having added all these
To my already taxing ego.
But, don’t deny Your uplifting love.
Give me only one pride.
The pride of being Your child!
poem by Raman Savithiri
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Poem (‘It Doesn’t Look Like A Finger...’)
It doesn’t look like a finger it looks like a feather of broken glass
It doesn’t look like something to eat it looks like something eaten
It doesn’t look like an empty chair it looks like an old woman
searching in a heap of stones
It doesn’t look like a heap of stones it looks like an estuary where
the drifting filth is swept to and fro on the tide
It doesn’t look like a finger it looks like a feather with broken teeth
The spaces between the stones are made of stone
It doesn’t look like a revolver it looks like a convolvulus
It doesn’t look like a living convolvulus it looks like a dead one
KEEP YOUR FILTHY HANDS OFF MY FRIENDS USE THEM ON
YOUR BITCHES OR
YOURSELVES BUT KEEP THEM OFF MY FRIENDS
The faces between the stones are made of bone
It doesn’t look like an eye it looks like a bowl of rotten fruit
It doesn’t look like my mother in the garden it looks like my father
when he came up from the sea covered in shells and tangle
It doesn’t look like a feather it looks like a finger with broken wings
It doesn’t look like the old woman’s mouth it looks like a handful
of broken feathers or a revolver buried in cinders
The faces beneath the stones are made of stone
It doesn’t look like a broken cup it looks like a cut lip
It doesn’t look like yours it looks like mine
BUT IT IS YOURS NOW
SOON IT WILL LOOK LIKE YOURS
AND ANYTHING YOU SEE WILL BE USED AGAINST YOU
London Bulletin, No. 2 (May 1938), 7.
poem by Hugh Sykes Davies
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Some Rainbow—coming from the Fair!
64
Some Rainbow—coming from the Fair!
Some Vision of the World Cashmere—
I confidently see!
Or else a Peacock's purple Train
Feather by feather—on the plain
Fritters itself away!
The dreamy Butterflies bestir!
Lethargic pools resume the whir
Of last year's sundered tune!
From some old Fortress on the sun
Baronial Bees—march—one by one—
In murmuring platoon!
The Robins stand as thick today
As flakes of snow stood yesterday—
On fence—and Roof—and Twig!
The Orchis binds her feather on
For her old lover - Don the Sun!
Revisiting the Bog!
Without Commander! Countless! Still!
The Regiments of Wood and Hill
In bright detachment stand!
Behold! Whose Multitudes are these?
The children of whose turbaned seas—
Or what Circassian Land?
poem by Emily Dickinson
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Curiosity Killed The Bachelor
Curiosity killed the cat, but satisfaction brought it back.
the same is my approached to you, for now I’m like a kid on crack:
Twitching, and restless when you’re not with me, on a high when you are.
Like a caveman knocking on a stone, I knock on your door, now, I have fire.
Crimson and beautiful - love deeper than that which is raw.
Unadulterated and immense, exactly what my soul searched for.
Searched for days, months, years, but came up with lack,
Beaten and broken by relationships’ whips, now pride rests on my back.
Pride in love, pride in hope, pride in life; and it is with pride that I ask 'Will you be my wife'? Curiosity brought me this far, love would complete the task!
Copyright © 2009 Leslie Alexis
poem by Leslie Alexis
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All We Got Is Pride!
All we have is are pride,
the main thing that we will never hide.
we rasie are flag so high
u can see are pride in da sky.
pride is why we are alive
y mexicans stay to live.
we might nt have usa power
bt we have the pride of a huge tower
u can take our papers
bt u cant take our pride
cause yall bunch of fackers
that all ways hides
poem by Melissa Cortez
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Memorabilia
I
Ah, did you once see Shelley plain,
And did he stop and speak to you
And did you speak to him again?
How strange it seems and new!
II
But you were living before that,
And also you are living after;
And the memory I started at—
My starting moves your laughter.
III
I crossed a moor, with a name of its own
And a certain use in the world no doubt,
Yet a hand's-breadth of it shines alone
'Mid the blank miles round about:
IV
For there I picked up on the heather
And there I put inside my breast
A moulted feather, an eagle-feather!
Well, I forget the rest.
poem by Robert Browning from Men and Women (1855)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Mexican Pride Baby! ! !
It's mexican pride all day every day you live you eat you breath that mexican live.it's that mexican pride that keeps us alive. a mexican is a mexican with pride if your disgraced about your race then you must not see the wonders about being what you are you stand tall next to your kind and see your self as the one at the top. That mexican pride must run in your veins its life so live it all till your lying in your grave mexican pride is forever its a forever kind thing.
*MEXICAN PRIDE*
*UNIDOS PARA SIEMPRE*
poem by Bianca Garcia
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Grey Ocean
While walking on her beach
I met an Ocean
This event will stay with me forever
This is why
While looking very closely at the Ocean,
I noticed that it was Grey
This startled me
I had thought that all Oceans were blue
Not Grey
I looked at the Ocean and said
'Why on earth are you Grey? '
It let out a cry which stated
'Well, because I'm made of stones! '
I asked it why it was stone
It then told me long tale
About how children use to throw rocks at the Ocean
It said that the rocks slowly filled up the Ocean
This anger me greatly
So now
Everytime I see a child throwing rocks at oceans
I tell them the story of the Grey Ocean
They never believe me.
poem by David Corman
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Beginning of destruction
pride it’s all your fault
Pride it’s all your fault we in this mess
Pride it’s all your fault we are suffering
Pride it’s all your fault people are shedding blood
Pride it’s all your fault families are destroyed
Pride it’s all your fault people are so greedy and selfish
Pride it’s all your fault people have no love
Pride it’s all your fault are so jealous of each other
Pride it’s all your fault people are so lost
Pride it’s all your fault dying from this horrible diseases
Pride it’s all your fault we have so many orphans
Pride it’s all your fault people are betraying each other
Pride it’s all your fault are dying of hunger
Pride it’s all your fault fathers are sleeping with their children
Pride it’s all your fault people are so heartless
Pride it’s all your fault there is no peace, unity and harmony in this world
Pride it’s all your fault we have all this sorrow
Pride it’s all your fault God has rejected us
Pride it’s all your fault people are so evil
And they have decided to be in love with evil rather than good
You have ruined this world
You are to blame for all this misery
If lucifer did not have pride in his heart we wouldn’t be in this mess
Pride it all your fault! ! !
Vangile Mtyali
poem by Vangile Mtyali
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Pride Comes Before A Fall
The great one does not last a champion in his prime
He lost to a younger man with some help from father time
The years had left him slow time takes care of us all
He defended his pride but pride comes before a fall.
And even what a difference five or six years can make
To keep on keeping on for him a big mistake
He should have called it quits a couple of years ago
For the money he kept going though the years had left him slow.
Once feted and admired but that was in the past
And he too had his day and nothing ever last
He went down rather tame to one that he once would beat
And for one proud as he there is no pride in defeat.
The beaten one this time he has called it a day
Though perhaps six years ago he should have given his game away
But his pride kept him going wisdom never was his friend
And his glory day for him one might say at an end.
poem by Francis Duggan
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Lion's Pride
The Lion, He sits upon the mountain.
Watching over the pride, which is His joy.
Emotionless.
He shows no fear.
With Him, a calmness and peace.
He struts with confidence.
As he approaches the pride,
No one will challenge Him.
He is Alpha.
The true leader.
Both Trusting and trusted.
When confronted, it is not His pride He protects.
To protect His pride is foolish.
He knows He is Alpha
It is the pride,
The pride is for Him to sacrifice for.
The Lioness respects him
He is the head of the pride.
He loves Her and for the pride would lay down His life.
It is His cross to bear.
For it was the role, He was born to play.
As the Lion leads the pride,
A man should lead His pride & joy.
Whatever pride He protects,
Determines if He is Alpha.
poem by Ryan Lee Morris
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Fergus And The Druid
Fergus. This whole day have I followed in the rocks,
And you have changed and flowed from shape to shape,
First as a raven on whose ancient wings
Scarcely a feather lingered, then you seemed
A weasel moving on from stone to stone,
And now at last you wear a human shape,
A thin grey man half lost in gathering night.
Druid. What would you, king of the proud Red Branch kings?
Fergus. This would I Say, most wise of living souls:
Young subtle Conchubar sat close by me
When I gave judgment, and his words were wise,
And what to me was burden without end,
To him seemed easy, So I laid the crown
Upon his head to cast away my sorrow.
Druid. What would you, king of the proud Red Branch kings?
Fergus. A king and proud! and that is my despair.
I feast amid my people on the hill,
And pace the woods, and drive my chariot-wheels
In the white border of the murmuring sea;
And still I feel the crown upon my head
Druid. What would you, Fergus?
Fergus. Be no more a king
But learn the dreaming wisdom that is yours.
Druid. Look on my thin grey hair and hollow cheeks
And on these hands that may not lift the sword,
This body trembling like a wind-blown reed.
No woman's loved me, no man sought my help.
Fergus. A king is but a foolish labourer
Who wastes his blood to be another's dream.
Druid. Take, if you must, this little bag of dreams;
Unloose the cord, and they will wrap you round.
Fergus. I See my life go drifting like a river
From change to change; I have been many things --
A green drop in the surge, a gleam of light
Upon a sword, a fir-tree on a hill,
An old slave grinding at a heavy quern,
A king sitting upon a chair of gold --
And all these things were wonderful and great;
But now I have grown nothing, knowing all.
Ah! Druid, Druid, how great webs of sorrow
Lay hidden in the small slate-coloured thing!
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Malade
The sick grapes on the chair by the bed lie prone; at the window
The tassel of the blind swings gently, tapping the pane,
As a little wind comes in.
The room is the hollow rind of a fruit, a gourd
Scooped out and dry, where a spider,
Folded in its legs as in a bed,
Lies on the dust, watching where is nothing to see but twilight and walls.
And if the day outside were mine! What is the day
But a grey cave, with great grey spider-cloths hanging
Low from the roof, and the wet dust falling softly from them
Over the wet dark rocks, the houses, and over
The spiders with white faces, that scuttle on the floor of the cave!
I am choking with creeping, grey confinedness.
But somewhere birds, beside a lake of light, spread wings
Larger than the largest fans, and rise in a stream upwards
And upwards on the sunlight that rains invisible,
So that the birds are like one wafted feather,
Small and ecstatic suspended over a vast spread country.
poem by David Herbert Lawrence
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