The Epic Is Dead
Lean, fast
lonely greyhounds,
you are ghosts
of the past
“deserts are interesting
spiritual places”
a sad joke
on the margin
of history,
honor is meaningless
cold winds,
long winters,
infinite wheat,
the light of the plains
pushed far
no room for saints
or soldiers
no room for poets
history passed by
and silence remains
the epic is dead
eternity to rot
poem by Luis Gil de la Puente
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Related quotes
Castilla
Lean, fast
lonely greyhounds,
you are ghosts
of the past
“deserts are interesting
spiritual places”
a sad joke
on the margin
of history,
honor is meaningless
cold winds,
long winters,
infinite wheat,
the light of the plains
pushed far
no room for saints
or soldiers
no room for poets
history passed by
and silence remains
the epic is dead
eternity to rot
poem by Luis Gil de la Puente
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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This Was Once History
A grey cloud appeared today
And the rain came down
The sky was angry it seemed
Because the sun wore a frown
This Was Once History
The winds picked up again
How the silence filled the room
A vision of a lonely land
Filled with tears and gloom
This Was Once History
poem by Suelynn Walters
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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The Lonely Room
Tiptoe around the room.
What is it that is found?
Silence, except for the clock that's ticking
nothing else is around.
An empty room with nothing in it,
only the clock that ticks the minute
in this lonely room.
Why was the clock left behind
with not a soul to tell the time?
It was on the mantelpiece
with nobody to hear it chime.
Was it left as a reminder?
I think it would have been kinder
to remove it from the room.
Left alone, it had no purpose.
Who could hear it now?
Ghosts from the past that once lived here
that have taken a vow
to listen to the clock's every minute
in the room with nothing in it
but the ghosts and the time.
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Never Really Liking History
Never really liking history
When I was young, it is a mystery
How now my life is tied so fast
To the deep and distant past.
Take my love-life for example
Done and dusted (hardly ample) ,
And my best friends it must be said
Are so old they've been long dead,
Painters and poets, none in blood,
Conversing in ink and coloured mud.
To cap it all, (though I wear a hat,
An anachronism now at that) ,
As history is both taking and giving,
I fly dinosaurs for a living.
(CBB Sept 2011)
poem by Colin Breck Boardman
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The Rest Is History
Saw you across the room
Felt somethin stir inside my soul
Knew Id never be the same
Now that love had taken hold
Then when you touched me
There was no doubt
You unterstood what my heart was all about
And the rest is history
The story of you and me
For all eternity
The record will show
Well fill up the pages
Romance for the ages
There for the world to see
The rest ist history
Before we spoke a word
My heart told me you were the one
When you pressed your hand to mine
I knew my life had just begun
Like some old movie
Music filled the night
Lost held each other tight.
And the rest is history
The story of you and me
For all eternity
The record will show
Well fill up the pages
Romance for the ages
There for the world to see
The rest ist history
And the rest is history
The story of you and me
For all eternity
The record will show
Well fill up the pages
Romance for the ages
There for the world to see
The rest ist history
History ...
The rest is history.
The rest is history.
song performed by by LeAnn Rimes
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Flowers - Giving It All Away B-side
Renegades and shifting shades
And the lights in your face
And you friends talk lying
But some of them got flowers in their room
When its on and youre falling on every floor
That youre hoping to score
And youre every night ? ? ?
But some of them got flowers in their room
But some of them got flowers in their room
But some of them got flowers in their room
Hear the word that the man on the stairs
Knows your every affair and is holding your hand
And he says some of them got flowers in their room
And he screams in a face
But the smile on the face is cool and its cold
And it reads vacated
And some of them got flowers in their room
And some of them got flowers in their room
And some of them got flowers in their room
And I take someone home and I cant be alone
And theres faces to please and I walk on the knees
Oh you see, I got no flowers in my room
And I laugh with my mouth and I laugh with you
But the joke was a joke that I never really knew
Some of them got flowers in their room
Some of them got flowers in their room
Some of them got flowers in their room
song performed by by Ocean Colour Scene
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ijoma
Let me go back and eat my bones in the forest than,
Feeding me with grass and wheat;
What? ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! Don't you have heaters in this room? !
This place is too cold for me.
Ijoma, for how long have you been living in this room?
But, what can i say?
For you are like the big black spider in your own room.
poem by Edward Kofi Louis
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Black History Month
In January...
There they are making history.
In February...
There they are making history.
In March...
There they are making history.
In April...
There they are making history.
In May...
There they are making history.
In June...
There they are making history.
In July...
There they are making history.
In August...
There they are making history.
In September...
There they are making history.
In October...
There they are making history.
In November...
There they are making history.
In December...
There they are making history.
But...
It's nice to know
The shortest month of the year
Was chosen to celebrate
The great deeds of African-Americans!
However...
It is those LEAP YEARS,
That really have the blacks jumping for joy!
Note: 'Black History Month' along with other
works of interest can be found in...
*'MindPrints from Untouched Places-VOL I'*
~Now available online at a PC near you~
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Challenge Of The Day
on a rush you step outside the room
without a window
thick drapes
sealing you away from the noise of the world
solitude and silence
your treasures
as soon as you open the door
the heavy rains and traffic greet you
with a challenge
'this is the real world, come out! '
there is no place to hide
there are always places to go
and faces to deal with
amidst the crowd find the solitude and the silence
from within your soul
your heart must know and your mind must adopt
lest you shall be one of those carried by the flood of meaningless existence
out there
cold and dead
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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The Poet As A Flatterer
he loves bukowski and e.e. cummings too,
and he colors his world with their shades and hues
and the souls of other poets come to him
love us too
we are too lonely in here
our poems have turned dusty
read us too
and out of respect for those who are dead and lonely
he takes them all inside his room
lights his lamp and burns his eyebrows
(literally dissecting each flesh and vein of those
poets departed)
he writes at the break of his day
i love you all and honor you
but sorry, i have my own poems too
and like yours... forgive me...
they're dusty too and need my reading company.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Old Man's Nursery Rhyme
I.
In the jolly winters
Of the long-ago,
It was not so cold as now--
O! No! No!
Then, as I remember,
Snowballs, to eat,
Were as good as apples now,
And every bit as sweet!
II.
In the jolly winters
Of the dead-and-gone,
Bub was warm as summer,
With his red mitts on,--
Just in his little waist-
And-pants all together,
Who ever heard him growl
About cold weather?
III.
In the jolly winters of the long-ago--
Was it _half_ so cold as now?
O! No! No!
Who caught his death o' cold,
Making prints of men
Flat-backed in snow that now's
Twice as cold again?
IV.
In the jolly winters
Of the dead-and-gone,
Startin' out rabbit-hunting
Early as the dawn,--
Who ever froze his fingers,
Ears, heels, or toes,--
Or'd a cared if he had?
Nobody knows!
V.
Nights by the kitchen-stove,
Shelling white and red
Corn in the skillet, and
Sleepin' four abed!
Ah! the jolly winters
Of the long-ago!
We were not so old as now--
O! No! No!
poem by James Whitcomb Riley
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We Affect Forever
We Affect Forever
We are making history, through every day we spend.
We are here, leaving our mark, a mark that will not end.
Others before have left behind this world we now obtain.
Though it’s changed since way back when, the old shall always remain.
History is how we got here, history is who we are.
History is what led to this, yes history is not far.
It remains within our families, its tradition and unchanging ways.
It’s Christmas day, Thanksgiving, its countless nights and days.
History is what you’re becoming; it’s what you are soon to be.
And history never dies; it’s a part of everybody.
We fight to maintain who we are, to maintain who we’ve always been.
And while we fight we know this fight is not easy to win.
Many forget the past, and many never even know,
Many people never hear of how times were long ago.
Those thousands of years before us, are more than just time spent.
They are filled with real people, real feelings, and real places that they went.
The People had different life styles very different from our ways,
But it is true that there is nothing knew under the sun’s golden rays.
Stand proud to be alive, know you affect forever.
Every act that we commit we all commit together.
We are entrusted with this earth; we must love and cherish this life.
We must remember to love our existence lest love becomes our strife.
Yes we are becoming history, through every move we make.
We are here, leaving our mark, a mark ……or perhaps a mistake.
poem by Mary Murphy
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Cold Dark..
I sit alone
In this cold dark room
No windows no doors
Just icy cold air
I live alone
In this cold dark room
No family no friends
Just loneliness to share
I stay alone
In this cold dark room
No voices no sounds
Just nobody to care
I probe alone
In this cold dark room
In my mind in my world
Just a room filled with despair
I roam alone
In this cold dark room
No way in no way out
Just a worn but rigid snare
I rust alone
In this cold dark room
Not because there is no other way
Just because its easier that way....
poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
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I sit alone...
I sit alone
In this cold dark room
No windows no doors
Just icy cold air
I live alone
In this cold dark room
No family no friends
Just loneliness to share
I stay alone
In this cold dark room
No voices no sounds
Just nobody to care
I probe alone
In this cold dark room
In my mind in my world
Just a room filled with despair
I roam alone
In this cold dark room
No way in no way out
Just a worn but rigid snare
I rust alone
In this cold dark room
Not because there is no other way
Just because its easier that way....
poem by Deep Dark Soul Poet
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He Is A Trier
He once was a man who owned greyhounds going back a few decades ago
But for them he was all the poorer the dogs that he owned were too slow
And now he has shares in a racehorse but for that he's not a wealthier man
The race horse though well bred is quite ordinary as they say one more also ran
With greyhounds and horses he has had it this horse he does swear is his last
Venture in the greyhound or horse racing business these things he will put to his past
Any spare cash he has he'll invest in stocks and bonds with a far greater chance of success
It is due to greyhounds and horses that he is in a financial mess
He has erred twice but never again greyhounds and horses are now in his past
The horse has never run a place the greyhounds just could not run fast
Dabbling in the stock market his newest business venture trading on stocks and shares he will try
Fortune favours the brave some will tell you this time luck him may not deny
But never more greyhounds or horses for his mistakes he has had to pay
But credit him he is a trier and good times for him may not be far away.
poem by Francis Duggan
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One truth stands firm. All that happens in world history rests on something spiritual. If the spiritual is strong, it creates world history. If it is weak, it suffers world history.
quote by Albert Schweitzer
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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History
History is sad.
It makes me mad
that we have learned nothing.
History is the past.
It goes so fast
and still we have learned nothing.
Today's not history
and so it's a mystery
why we repeat the same old nothing?
poem by Edwina Reizer
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Santa Filomena. (Birds Of Passage. Flight The First)
Whene'er a noble deed is wrought,
Whene'er is spoken a noble thought,
Our hearts, in glad surprise,
To higher levels rise.
The tidal wave of deeper souls
Into our inmost being rolls,
And lifts us unawares
Out of all meaner cares.
Honor to those whose words or deeds
Thus help us in our daily needs,
And by their overflow
Raise us from what is low!
Thus thought I, as by night I read
Of the great army of the dead,
The trenches cold and damp,
The starved and frozen camp,--
The wounded from the battle-plain,
In dreary hospitals of pain,
The cheerless corridors,
The cold and stony floors.
Lo! in that house of misery
A lady with a lamp I see
Pass through the glimmering gloom,
And flit from room to room.
And slow, as in a dream of bliss,
The speechless sufferer turns to kiss
Her shadow, as it falls
Upon the darkening walls.
As if a door in heaven should be
Opened and then closed suddenly,
The vision came and went,
The light shone and was spent.
On England's annals, through the long
Hereafter of her speech and song,
That light its rays shall cast
From portals of the past.
A Lady with a Lamp shall stand
In the great history of the land,
A noble type of good,
Heroic womanhood.
Nor even shall be wanting here
The palm, the lily, and the spear,
The symbols that of yore
Saint Filomena bore.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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History Will Teach Us Nothing
If we seek solace in the prisons of the distant past
Security in human systems were told will always always last
Emotions are the sail and blind faith is the mast
Without a breath of real freedom were getting nowhere fast
If God is dead and an actor plays his part
His words of fear will find their way to a place in your heart
Without the voice of reason every faith is its own curse
Without freedom from the past things can only get worse
Sooner or later just like the world first day
Sooner or later we learn to throw the past away
Sooner or later just like the world first day
Sooner or later we learn to throw the past away
Sooner or later we learn to throw the past away
History will teach us nothing
History will teach us nothing
Our written history is a catalogue of crime
The sordid and the powerful, the architects of time
The mother of invention, the oppression of the mild
The constant fear of scarcity, aggression as its child
Sooner or later
Sooner or later
Sooner or later
Sooner or later
Convince an enemy, convince him that hes wrong
Is to win a bloodless battle where victory is long
A simple act of faith
In reason over might
To blow up his children will only prove him right
History will teach us nothing
Sooner or later the world first day
Sooner or later we learn to throw the past away
Sooner or later the world first day
Sooner or later we learn to throw the past away
Sooner or later we learn to throw the past away
History will teach us nothing
History will teach us nothing
Know you human rights
Be what you come here for
Know your human rights
Be what you come here for
Know your human rights
Be what you come here for
Know your human rights
Be what you come here for
song performed by by Sting
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Sorry feeling
It has different joy to tell story
It may have more to tell with feeling of sorry
Yet it is glorious past
The life may be moving very fast
The freedom and liberty has much more to do
The happiness and misery all have to go through
Nothing remains as untruth or mystery
They are real pages of our glorious history
We may wish for daily sun light
We are absolutely correct and very right
We want the green field to remain within our sight
Never to descend dark but always illuminate with light
Why do we credence more too past glory?
Why that has always remained source of worry?
It is said history never repeats
One must experience and feel defeats also
Why God has to come and taken rebirth?
Why is that beautiful aspect of the earth?
All come here to take their due worth
Let us see and visualize what is coming forth
Let us expect everybody to perform?
Be kind, sympathetic and warm
There may be little set back but no harm
Peace may be prevalent after passing of the storm
poem by Hasmukh Amathalal
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