To A Poet, Who Would Have Me Praise Certain Bad Poets, Imitators Of His And Mine
YOU say, as I have often given tongue
In praise of what another's said or sung,
'Twere politic to do the like by these;
But was there ever dog that praised his fleas?
poem by William Butler Yeats
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Who Is God, That God Needs To Be Praised?
WHO IS GOD THAT GOD NEEDS TO BE PRAISED?
Who is God that God needs to be praised?
Who are we that we are worthy of praising God?
Isn’t this Praise a form of flattery?
And how can God possibly want or need it?
We may need to praise-
Out of Gratitude
We may need to thank God
For all our blessings,
But does God want us to be flatterers
Who think to be rewarded for our praise?
I need to thank God
In that need is the Praise
But Praise alone
Makes both God and me
Seem unworthy.
I thank God
For having given me
This Poem.
If it is a poem.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Psalm 117
Praise to God from all nations.
O all ye nations, praise the Lord,
Each with a diff'rent tongue;
In every language learn his word,
And let his name be sung.
His mercy reigns through every land;
Proclaim his grace abroad;
For ever firm his truth shall stand
Praise ye the faithful God.
poem by Isaac Watts
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Big fleas have little fleas upon their backs to bite them, and little fleas have lesser fleas, and so ad infinitum.
But was there ever dog that praised his fleas?
quote by William Butler Yeats
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Could Not Praise Myself
I COULD NOT PRAISE MYSELF
I could not praise myself
For all I had
Or had not done-
And when a few praised me
I felt unworthy-
Yet Praise I wanted
And Love more than Praise
And even more
For God to Care for
those I love.
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Sonnet: Praise
Oh, praise me not in a limitless way;
O’er-praise puts mind in enshackled a sway,
Distorting its performance thereafter;
An o’er-enthused mind can’t function better.
The hard-earned, older virtues won o’er years,
In moments of flimsy praises by dears,
Feels weaken’d from its adverse/ill-effects;
Praises any human mind sure infects!
Praise me deservingly and nothing more;
Never praises in excessive measures pour;
It could inebriate my feeble mind,
Unless measured and properly refined.
’Tis better not to be praised if worthy,
Than be o’er-praised, ecstatic and guilty.
poem by John Celes
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Her Praise
SHE is foremost of those that I would hear praised.
I have gone about the house, gone up and down
As a man does who has published a new book,
Or a young girl dressed out in her new gown,
And though I have turned the talk by hook or crook
Until her praise should be the uppermost theme,
A woman spoke of some new tale she had read,
A man confusedly in a half dream
As though some other name ran in his head.
She is foremost of those that I would hear praised.
I will talk no more of books or the long war
But walk by the dry thorn until I have found
Some beggar sheltering from the wind, and there
Manage the talk until her name come round.
If there be rags enough he will know her name
And be well pleased remembering it, for in the old days,
Though she had young men's praise and old men's blame,
Among the poor both old and young gave her praise.
poem by William Butler Yeats
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I have been both praised and criticized. The criticism stung, but the praise sometimes bothered me even more. To have received such praise and honors has always been puzzling to me.
quote by Billy Joel
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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A Song Thats Sung..
A song that's sung
tells more than a story
a song that's sung
is sung from the heart
a song that's sung
is a story from the soul
a song that's sung
is the greatest love
a song that's sung
is a give from above
a song that's sung
is an emotion in a melody
a song that's sung
can be whatever you want it to be
a song that's sung
can have a million meanings
a song that's sung
is a diary of emotions...
poem by Emily Summers
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Beauty And The Bird
SHE fluted with her mouth as when one sips,
And gently waved her golden head, inclin'd
Outside his cage close to the window-blind;
Till her fond bird, with little turns and dips,
Piped low to her of sweet companionships.
And when he made an end, some seed took she
And fed him from her tongue, which rosily
Peeped as a piercing bud between her lips.
And like the child in Chaucer, on whose tongue
The Blessed Mary laid, when he was dead,
A grain,—who straightway praised her name in song:
Even so, when she, a little lightly red,
Now turned on me and laughed, I heard the throng
Of inner voices praise her golden head.
poem by Dante Gabriel Rossetti
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The mute singer
She cut out her tongue
So she could sing
Those unheard songs
sung
She cut out her tongue
So silently
She could unspeak herself
Free, from prison words
She cut out her tongue
So that her soul could catch the light
And let it run
Through her body transparent
Prism shining out
She cut out her tongue
To free her self
From her self
Completion
Knitted under the skin of silence
Flying unseen
Into unexplored horizons
Without
Mother
Country
Point of
Trace
She cut out her tongue
To see the eyes
Behind the face
yvette m smith sept 08
poem by Yvette Smith
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The praisers
You might not spot them in a crowd –
but for that certain stillness of the self-contained:
in conversation, not until some detail
of an action, person, or a deed
sparks their mind; then from their heart -
not, pours – but rather, in a fine, fine stream
of exquisite precision, flows - their praise:
as if their whole self gives itself to you
in some new form of thought, in which
there is no longer, they and you –
you are united in exalted praise;
and their eye shines – inviting you to join
a world above: perhaps they sum the virtue
of a person, action, deed; and yet,
while they are speaking, praise is seated there
above the virtues; they are prophets, seers,
visionaries of that which in our praise, we are..
and perhaps, you try to join them in your speech –
how awkwardly praise sits upon your tongue!
you, who prided so yourself, a balanced judge
of all your fellow humans…find yourself
now at some sad and puny tongue-tied loss..
so, practise, in ourselves, a year or two –
(there’s silent praise – the eye gives that away…)
and praise the praiseful in their mighty work:
another world awaits: where we become
the prophets of ourselves in timeless life.
poem by Michael Shepherd
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In Praise of Praise
Good dog…! ’…
Your faithful hound closes his eyelids
for a fraction longer - could this be bliss
so pure that humans rarely know it? –
rests his head for a few moments
on your knee; twitches tail, just once,
to indicate the words received:
the one phrase which, it's said,
(quietly; almost, to yourself)
completely understood and shared
by man and dog: fulfilment
of the karma of companionship..
*
Yesterday, I was praised.. or rather,
there was praise for something
that was enacted through me..
Such a moment is too valuable,
too full of self-knowledge, to be dismissed
with embarrassed modesty: live it:
for a moment, one is in the presence
of oneself: here’s a giant; here’s a hero;
who is oneself, and yet, is to be worshipped
as the fulfilment of all one’s wished
oneself to be: being and worthship
come together in a purity..
so, praise the praisers! – who are all too few;
cast aside that English fear
that praising may involve some personal
commitment that one later may regret…
to be praised, is but self-dedication
in which praiser, praised, are alike; at one;
and from that moment on,
live together in that unity
and grow from it in ways
that must be lived and known, to be believed..
come now – tell me that you don’t
remember clearly, the very words your teacher said
the day they praised you from the heart
so unexpectedly, you even thought them human..
or what your mother’s friend (your mother,
who could never find it in her to so praise you in the words –
despite her sweetness for some reason –
with which, your mother’s friend later told you
she boasted of you, out of your own earshot…)
praise the praisers! join their ranks
and find that magic wand:
spoken directly, face to face;
or if you must, discreetly passed,
its implications hanging golden in the air…
that magic wand, which grows the soul
of giver and receiver joined as one in One..
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Law and order are the medicine of the body politic and when the body politic gets sick, medicine must be administered.
quote by B.R. Ambedkar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Usually we praise only to be praised.
quote by Francois de La Rochefoucauld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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To The Countess Of Blessington
You have ask'd for a verse:--the request
In a rhymer 'twere strange to deny;
But my Hippocrene was but my breast,
And my feelings (its fountain) are dry.
Were I now as I was, I had sung
What Lawrence has painted so well;
But the strain would expire on my tongue,
And the theme is too soft for my shell.
I am ashes where once I was fire,
And the bard in my bosom is dead;
What I loved I now merely admire,
And my heart is as grey as my head.
My life is not dated by years--
There are moments which act as plough;
And there is not a furrow appears
But is deep in my soul as my brow.
Let the young and the brilliant aspire
To sing what I gaze on in vain;
For sorrow has torn from my lyre
The string which was worthy the strain.
In The Mornin
In the mornin'
When my feet hit the floor,
I will praise Him.
Yes I,
Praise Him.
In the mornin'
When I walk out my door,
I praise Him.
Yes I,
Praise Him.
When I praise Him I keep motivated.
And my heart is elevated!
Shaking trouble makers away.
When I praise Him I know He's my Savior,
Saving me from bad behavior.
And those who bait that hate,
Wont spoil my flavor.
In the mornin'
When I'm yawning at dawn,
I praise Him.
Yes I,
Praise Him.
In the mornin'
I've got faith so strong.
'Cause I'm blessed to know that God is with me,
All day long!
In the mornin'
When my feet hit the floor,
I will praise Him.
Yes I,
Praise Him.
In the mornin'
When I walk out my door,
I praise Him.
Yes I,
Praise Him.
Oh yes I,
Praise Him.
Yes I,
Praise Him.
Oh yes I...
Praise Him.
Yes I,
Praise Him!
Oh yes I...
Praise Him.
In the mornin'
When I walk out my door,
I praise Him.
Yes I,
Praise Him.
And dedicated
'To my 'Roots'.
I keep re-booted! '
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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A refusal of praise is a desire to be praised twice.
quote by Francois de La Rochefoucauld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is a disgrace to be praised by those who deserve no praise.
We do not praise others, ordinarily, but in order to be praised ourselves.
quote by Francois de La Rochefoucauld
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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