Related quotes: Pay me my price, potters!...

An Epigram From Homer

Pay me my price, potters! and I will sing.
Attend, O Pallas! and with lifted arm
Protect their oven; let the cups and all
The sacred vessels black well, and, baked
With good success, yield them both fair renown
And profit, whether in the market sold
Or streets, and let no strife ensue between us.
But, oh ye potters! if with shameless front
Ye falsify your promise, then I leave
No mischief uninvoked to avenge the wrong.
Come, Syntrips, Smaragus, Sabactes, come,
And Asbetus, nor let your direst dread,
Omodamus, delay! Fire seize your house,
May neither house nor vestibule escape,
May ye lament to see confusion mar
And mingle the whole labor of your hands,
And may a sound fill all your oven, such
As of a horse grinding his provender,
While all your pots and flagons bounce within.
Come hither, also, daughter of the sun,
Circe the sorceress, and with thy drugs
Poison themselves, and all that they have made
Of centaurs, as well those who died beneath
The club of Hercules, as who escaped,
And stamp their crockery to dust; down fall
Their chimney; let them see it with their eyes
And howl to see the ruin of their art,
While I rejoice; and if a potter stoop
To peep into his furnace, may the fire
Flash in his face and scorch it, that all men
Observe, thenceforth, equity and good faith.

poem by William Cowper
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Related quotes

The House Of The Rising Sun

There is a house down in new orleans
Down in the vieux carre
A house they call the rising sun
Where love and money are made
My father he was a gambler
Mother died when I was young
And Ive worked since then
To please the men
At the house of the rising sun
There is a house
Down in new orleans
They call the rising sun
Its been the ruin of many a good girl
And oh god, you know Im one
So mothers you go telling all your daughters
Not to do what Ive done
To live a life of sin, shame and strife
In the house of the rising sun
There is a house in new orleans
They call the rising sun
Its been the ruin of many a good girl
And oh god, you know Im one
Oh god, you know Im one

song performed by by Dolly Parton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Its A Killer

(g. rossington, j.& d. van zant, e. king)
Theres a rumour goin round on the backside of town
Jake is out to get some revenge
Has fire in his eyes since his brother died
Shot down by a so-called friend
For a fifty dollar gram is what the neighbors say
Drugs had control of his life
Caught up on crack youre tryin to think back
The devil had him hooked you could see it in his eyes
Its a killer
Theres a cold house at the corner of the street
The kids come and go there at night
Jerry drove up in front of the house
Somebody pulled out a knife
Jerry freaked out and went for his gun
Shot him right between the eyes
All he ever wanted was a twenty dollar high
But now hes locked up for the rest of his life
(chorus)
Its a killer theres no way out baby once your in
Its a killer steal from your family
Then youll turn on your friends
Its a killer it can happen to you
So dont you never, never give in
Its a killer
The neighborhood I used to call home
These days its lookin like a war zone
Unemployment on the rise but the black market thrives
Money just keeps changin hands
The laws are gettin tough sometimes its not enough
To satisfy supply and demand
Trouble breaks out theres fightin in the streets
Bullets flyin all around
An innocent child caught in the line of fire
All because there werent enough drugs to go around
(repeat chorus)
(repeat chorus)

song performed by by Lynyrd Skynyrd
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Monument Of All Our Wrongs

i build a house
no one likes it.

the house is empty
i put some chairs.

someone comes and
says, this house is

lonely, it needs
a sound

it is boring and needs
a paint

i put a tree beside
its stairs

i grow another
fence

i put a lone bulb
on a post

and leave the house
for good

that is what the
house is made

there is always
missing

something is
always wrong

this is the house
of regret

it is the monument
of all our wrongs.

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Let The Slave

(incorporating the price of experience. text: william blake)
Let the slave grinding at the mill run out into the field
Let him look up into the heavens and laugh in the bnght air
Let the inchained soul, shut up in darkness and in sighing
Whose face has never seen a smile in thirty weary years
Rose and look out; his chains are loose, his dungeon doors are open;
And let his wife and children return from the oppressors scourge
They look behind at every step and believe it is a dream
Singing: the sun has left his blackness and has found a fresher morning
And the fair moon rejoices in the clear and cloudless night
For empire is no more and now the lion and wolf shall cease
For everything that lives is holy
For everything that lives is holy
For everything that lives is holy
For everything that lixes is holy
What is the price of experience? do men buy it for a song?
Or wisdom for a dance in the street? no, it is bought with the price
Of all that a man hath, his house, his wife, his children
Wisdom is sold in the desolate market where none come to buy
And in the witherd field where the farmer plows for bread in vain
It is an easy thing to triumph in the summers sun
And in the vintage and to sing on the waggon loaded with corn
It is an easy thing to talk of patience to the afflicted
To speak the laws of prudence to the homeless wanderer
To listen to the hungry ravens cry in wintry season
When the red blood is filld with wine and with the marrow of lambs
It is an easy thing to laugh at wrathful elements
To hear the dog howl at the wintry door, the ox in the slaughter house moan;
To see a God on every wind and a blessing on every blast
To hear sounds of love in the thunder storm that destroys our enemies house;
To rejoice in the blight that covers his field
And the sickness that cuts off his children
While our olive and vine sing and laugh round our door
And our children bring fruits and flowers
Then the groan and the dolor are quite forgotten
And the slave grinding at the mill
And the captive in chains and the poor in the prison
And the soldier in the field
When the shatterd bone hath laid him groaning among the happier dead
It is an easy thing to rejoice in the tents of prosperity:
Thus could I sing and thus rejoice: but it is not so with me

song performed by by Van Morrison
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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God’s House

Walking through the doors fill like a sin,
Hundreds of years of faith instilled in these walls.
His house is cheapened by lights that are charged by the dollar,
Take a postcard,
Religion comes at a price.
Flashes from cameras fill out his heaven,
Where people come for mass,
To look for guidance in these dark days.
We’re taking away the faith instilled in these walls.
These are now a places of history,
Not a haven for those with faith.
I feel a presence at ease,
Searching within myself for faith.
We all need a saviour in a time of need.
We walk along the same path,
Our hands are covered in his blood,
We seek an answer for the crimes we’ve committed.
Only to find his house sold for the highest price.

poem by Joseph Tanner
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Old Black Tom

My dad sold black Tom our old work-horse when he had known a better day
But what happened to him after that I do not know for to say
Suppose he was slaughtered for dog meat few work-horses of old age do die
To say that all work-horses become children pets would be telling a lie
Any way old black Tom would never have been any good as a child's pet
A few nips he gave to me I never will forget
Old Tom he was surely not gentle or quiet
And given the opportunity he surely would bite
Five out of ten for him would seem a fair score
He was a good work-horse that and nothing more
Not the finest equine west of Millstreet Town
For Tom the old rogue horse no such a renown
He was sold to a horse dealer more than three decades ago
And what happened to him after I cannot say I do know.

poem by Francis Duggan
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Black On Black II

Daddy's little soldier boy
Mama's little pride and joy
Both hands on her apron strings
"Don't you touch that dirty thing"
A warning signal from above
Inspection with a clean white glove
They say that opposites attract like right and wrong
Black on black

Like pleasure and a little pain
The sacred and profane
Ice and fire counteract like black on black
The oldest story known to man
The willing sacrificial lamb
Behind the light a shadow falls
The code of silence shakes the walls
A whisper to a silent scream
The power is so frightening
They say that opposites attract like right and wrong
Black on black

Like pleasure and a little pain
The sacred and profane
Ice and fire counteract just like black on black
A warning signal from above
Inspection with a clean white glove
They say that opposites attract like right and wrong
Black on black

Some things seem so sacred
Like a loaded question the power of suggestion
Like the face of danger the kindness of a stranger
Like a Judas Kiss like pleasure and a little pain
I'mmaculate seduction absolute corruption
Ice and fire counteract no turning back like black on black
Black on black.
Black on black

Like pleasure and a little pain
The sacred and profane
Ice and fire counteract like black on black
Like pleasure and a little pain
The sacred and profane
Ice and fire counteract just like black on black
Black
A little pain
Just like black on black
Black
Black on black
Black on black
Black on black

song performed by by Heart from Desire Walks On
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Get Your Biscuits In The Oven And Your Buns In The Bed

(Kinky Friedman)
You uppity women I don't understand
Why you gotta go and try to act like a man,
But before you make your weekly visit to the shrink
You'd better occupy the kitchen, liberate the sink.
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed
That's what I to my baby said,
Women's liberation is a-going to your head,
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed.
Early every morning you're out on the street
Passing out pamphlets to everyone you meet.
You gave up your Maiden Form for Lent
And now the front of your dress has an air scoop vent.
Every single brakeman that's ever come along
Had a little woman always tellin' him that he's wrong.
Eve said to Adam, ?Here's an apple you horse?
And Delilah defoliated Samson's moss.
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed
That's what I to my baby said,
Women's liberation is a-going to your head,
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed.
Mean-hearted harpies are breaking all the laws
Tearing up their girdles and a-burning up their bras,
Now the air is dirty and the sex is clean
And your coffee makes my hair turn green.
So damn emancipated in your mind and your body,
Gonna have to cancel all your lessons in karate.
If you can't love a male chauvinist
You'd better cross me off your shopping list.
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed
That's what I to my baby said,
Women's liberation is a-going to your head,
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed.

song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Death Threats

You're threatening my life?
Because I won't give you my money for taking care of my mother.
Let me understand this right.
You owe taxes on the house your currently staying.
You owe money to the V.A. acquired for her.
You receive 1100 a month in her pension.
You married my sister
You make 25 an hour, and your wife make 34 an hour.
You already drained all our mothers saving accounts.
You took everything out of my moms house and sold it..
How dare you.
I'm losing my house and already lost my mothers.
No thanks to your kids.
Who did so much damage to hers.
That I went bankrupt in all the repairs.
Yet you still believe I owe you more.
I am her power of attorney, that doesn't mean I have to work for you..
If you think I have a check ready and waiting.
You are sadly mistaken.
If you come to my house be prepared to leave abruptly by the sound of gun fire.
Your children even hate you.
You made them your slaves by the giving them the abuse you so craved.
My mother took pictures which really pissed off my sister.
Always on the drugs, how do you think it will look if you come to my house high making death threats.
Do you think that is something I will regret?
But don't fret its only a lean.
Till debts are repaid.
Oh I'm just letting you know I'm not afraid.

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Potters Wheel

This song appears on three albums, and was first released on the different directions album, and has also been released on the john denver collection - annies song album. it has also been rele
On the john denver collection - calypso album, as a live version.
The world is fast becoming younger
The news is all theyve ever known
Theyve seen the wars, the hurt, the hunger
How will they choose when they are grown
What do you tell forevers children
When its their turn to hurt and heal
Whatever spins a grim tornedo
Can also turn a potters wheel
Take a little clay
Put it on a wheel
Get a little hint
How God must feel
Give a little turn
Listen to a spin
Make it into the shape
You want it in
Tell with your life the bloody story
Teach to theyre dreams not burning steel
Its not in bombs where lies the glory
But in whats shattered on the field
The potters wheel takes love and caring
Skill and patience fast and slow
The works it makes are easily broken
Once they survive the potters throw
Take a little clay
Put it on a wheel
Get a little hint
How God must feel
Give a little turn
Listen to a spin
Make it into the shape
You want it in
Some day some children will be digging
In some long forgotten ground
And theyll find our civilisation
Or whats left of it to be found
Theyll find the weapons of destruction
But buried deeper in the hole
Theyll find a message and a promise
In the sand, the potters bowl
Take a little clay
Put it on a wheel
Get a little hint
How God must feel
Give a little turn
Listen to a spin
Make it into the shape
You want it in
Earth and fire and wind conspire
With human hands, and love, and fire
Words and music by bill danoff

song performed by by John Denver
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A cake is a very good test of an oven: if it browns too much on one side and not on the other, it's not your fault - you need to have your oven checked.

quote by Delia Smith
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Get Your Biscuits In The Oven & Your Buns In The Bed

(kinky friedman)
You uppity women I dont understand
Why you gotta go and try to act like a man,
But before you make your weekly visit to the shrink
Youd better occupy the kitchen, liberate the sink.
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed
Thats what I to my baby said,
Womens liberation is a-going to your head,
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed.
Early every morning youre out on the street
Passing out pamphlets to everyone you meet.
You gave up your maiden form for lent
And now the front of your dress has an air scoop vent.
Every single brakeman thats ever come along
Had a little woman always tellin him that hes wrong.
Eve said to adam, heres an apple you horse
And delilah defoliated samsons moss.
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed
Thats what I to my baby said,
Womens liberation is a-going to your head,
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed.
Mean-hearted harpies are breaking all the laws
Tearing up their girdles and a-burning up their bras,
Now the air is dirty and the sex is clean
And your coffee makes my hair turn green.
So damn emancipated in your mind and your body,
Gonna have to cancel all your lessons in karate.
If you cant love a male chauvinist
Youd better cross me off your shopping list.
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed
Thats what I to my baby said,
Womens liberation is a-going to your head,
Get your biscuits in the oven and your buns in the bed.

song performed by by Kinky Friedman
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ulster

("Their webs shall not become garments, neither shall they
cover themselves with their works: their works are works
of inquity and the act of violence is in their hands." --
Isaiah lix. 6.)

The dark eleventh hour
Draws on and sees us sold
To every evil power
We fought against of old.
Rebellion, rapine hate
Oppression, wrong and greed
Are loosed to rule our fate,
By England's act and deed.

The Faith in which we stand,
The laws we made and guard,
Our honour, lives, and land
Are given for reward
To Murder done by night,
To Treason taught by day,
To folly, sloth, and spite,
And we are thrust away.

The blood our fathers spilt,
Our love, our toils, our pains,
Are counted us for guilt,
And only bind our chains.
Before an Empire's eyes
The traitor claims his price.
What need of further lies?
We are the sacrifice.

We asked no more than leave
To reap where we had sown,
Through good and ill to cleave
To our own flag and throne.
Now England's shot and steel
Beneath that flag must show
How loyal hearts should kneel
To England's oldest foe.

We know the war prepared
On every peaceful home,
We know the hells declared
For such as serve not Rome --
The terror, threats, and dread
In market, hearth, and field --
We know, when all is said,
We perish if we yield.

Believe, we dare not boast,
Believe, we do not fear --
We stand to pay the cost
In all that men hold dear.
What answer from the North?
One Law, one Land, one Throne.
If England drive us forth
We shall not fall alone!

poem by Rudyard Kipling
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Princess And The Black Horse-II

The sun came out with smiling face,
from the horizon of deep blue sea.
The sky became as crimson red,
They crossed the blank-blank lea.
There they met, a good wizard,
he listened her all history.
Gave her a magical flower-dust,
which he kept in a hole of a tree.
They had together, the sunflower juice,
and drank the dazzling ray of the sun.
Her Bird-horse, ate too all which she had.
They set out, as before the day did burn,
they had to reach friend's kingdom.
She took the dust, and the wand with her.
Rode on the winged-horse and bade good bye.
'Blackberry, fly fast'-She whispered, in his ear.
'Yes, Ma'am, 'it seemed the bird answered.
The breeze was rustling, bright was the noon.
The princess was afraid, could she reach,
his father's friend's castle so soon?
'If night drops down her black curtain,
the power of the wand would go away,
The bird would be horse then again!
'Yes, '-Black-berry said his head did sway.
What to do was to take rest in an inn,
or in a very safe and enemy free place,
in a house of simple man, or in a tavern,
'No fear, we will be saved by God's grace! '
Uttering these words, she embraced her horse,
and said-oh! fatigued am I, now feel sleepy,
but I may fall, and face thus my end.'
'You can sleep, my princess, your eyes are droopy.'

poem by Nilakshi Das
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Servitors of the highest God

On the plain of Dura
a twenty-seven meter high
golden statue stand,
that people can see for miles far
and the esteemed people,
commanders and princes
and the king is there
with a big crowd
and almost everybody that serves him.

In different languages it is announced
that everybody must fall down,
have got to pray to it
when the music instruments play
and we see the king
sitting boldly on his throne

and the people are excited,
it’s a great festival
and suddenly there is silence,
in the big fire oven
flames shoot up brightly
and expectation is written on faces.

All at once the sound rises
of horn, zither, flute, lute
harp and bagpipes
and all kinds of instruments.

Around us the crowds of people bend down
onto the earth and the three of us stand
while a light winds is pulling on our cloaks
and I lift my hand
to shade the sun from shining in my eyes

while the music is inundating
and everybody can hear the music
and friends shout in fear to us:
“Bend! Bend down!
Bend before the master and lord! ”

Armed soldier take us
right up to king Nebuchadnezzar
and it’s clear that he is raging
and indignantly he gets up from his throne

and walks right up to us
and in anger he wants to know
if we are impudent
to disobey his commands?

“Are you too stupid to know
that no God
can save you from my hand? ”

We say that the God that we serve
is almighty and if He does not rescue us,
it will be known that we serve
no other gods.

At that moment Nebuchadnezzar gets angrier
and his face is red with rage
and in his eyes hate is glowing
and he stops talking
shouting loudly for the fire to be made
seven times hotter

and his servants run in fear
to the oven to make it still hotter
and there are flames and clouds of smoke.

“Take them to the fire,
take them to the fire, I command you, ”
Nebuchadnezzar roars at the strongest men
of his army and we are cuffed
and in our clothes
are thrown into the fire
causing us to fall right into the flames
and those that threw us in
are immediately killed by the great heat

and we cannot even
feel the heat
and nothing of us is burning
and while we are still talking
with each other
the Son of God
himself visits us right there

and a distance from the oven
the king shouts in great fear:
“Shadrach, Meshach and Abednego
servitors of the highest God,
come out of the fire! ”

poem by Gert Strydom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Hungry Angels

Tonight I will not sleep
I will call you in my eyes.

My hands were trembling
when I opened the book.
Words you uttered long back
tumbled out ashen-faced.
I started burning inside.

Where did we take a wrong turn?
The oven had baked a burnt-out
face. They are altering genes.
Suddenly it is going to start
a riot among the gods,
a pure kill.

Frightened I move in circles around
the little black hole in the center.
Martians would throw the boys
to appease the hungry angels.

poem by Satish Verma
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Dirty old fire

Fire in my hair
Fire in my eyes
Fire between my thighs
Thank you for the fire

Fire gone and burned down my house
Fire deflowered me
Fire drew me in

Fire on the television
Fire dancing in the nude
Fire the best liar of them all
Thank you Fire

poem by Lindsay Crosby
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Black Key

You should come into the beautiful house
It’s a spaced out palace
You’d never find a mouse
Come into the beautiful house
For all you misfits out there
Who love to howl

Who love to cry
Don’t care to die
Who want to fly
Take a look in the eye

You should come into the beautiful house
It’s the only rocket
To escape from this clouds
Come into the beautiful house
For all the living out there
Who love to cry

The ones who forget
Without some regret
Who watch the sky
In paradise

poem by Frosted Fire
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For The Misfits