A Million Murders
Smooth, soft, silk robes of royalty—
Sparkling, shining jewels of majesty—
Grand and great the riches uncoil—
Stones and steel rising from soil.
The coloured peoples gaping in envy
wishing they could be the whites in jealousy:
Oh, if only we had such beautiful buildings
Oh, if only our country was as inspiring.
Yet, in the ground, a buried irony—
For azalea red runs blood and ruby—
For beneath the stoic, impassioned gargoyles—
Behold! The tears of those who toiled.
Their monuments built with Asian antimony—
Their statues and artifacts, African ivory—
Their advanced machines by Eastern oil—
A thousand thefts, a people despoiled.
Smooth, soft, silk robes of royalty—
Sparkling, shining jewels of majesty—
Grand and great the riches uncoil—
Bones and steel rising from soil.
poem by Ong Kar Jin
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Related quotes
Red, Sparkling Wine
I Have Seen A Sight
Of a Man Falling Down …
… it wasn’t for a Fight
… but it was due to what He’d Found …
… Red Sparkling Wine… Does It Every Time
Red Sparkling Wine… She Should Be A Crime …
Red Sparkling Wine…
She Starts out – Flowing – Smooth
Gets in Your Blood – Then You got Somethin’ to Prove!
You Chase Her Intoxicating Perfume
… must be Brand X … or Lady-Doom …
… Red Sparkling Wine… Does It Every Time
Red Sparkling Wine… Feeling So Sublime …
Red Sparkling Wine…
… Sweet from the Vine, but She ain’t Vintage
Make You Loose Your Mind and Your Hard-Earned Wages
Her Cheap-Thrills… can’t Heal a Heart, that’s Bruised …
You ain’t in Love! … just in a Bottle of Booze …
of Red Sparkling Wine… Once in awhile is Fine
Red Sparkling Wine… Know the Warning Signs ….
of Red Sparkling Wine…
She’s Beautiful, as She Pours
Your Problems – Passed-Out, on The Floor
She’s Crystal-Blood in an Hour-Glass
Her Pity-Promises… just don’t Last…
Red Sparkling Wine… Does It Every Time
Red Sparkling Wine… She’ll have You begging for Dimes …
… to buy … Red Sparkling Wine…
She’ll leave You Broke, You won’t be able to Think
She’s ‘Madam Dope’ … if You Need One More Drink
… of Red Sparkling Wine… Just a Matter of Time
Red Sparkling Wine… Have Another… ‘ Cause I’m …
… Red Sparkling Wine …
poem by MoonBee Canady
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Soft white fog on the ground
Sunlight sparkling like jewels
Quiet peaceful morning
In the spirit of Rumi - 35 - Three answers
I asked the passing strangers
in the fine street of the wise,
‘Tell me about your Self itself’
The first man said to me
‘It is like a rose garden
planted around a fountain –
it is always beautiful,
changing, yet unchanging;
it is the very centre
of my peace and rest…’
The second man said to me
‘It is like a treasure house of riches –
full of more sparkling, deep-coloured jewels
than anyone’s imagination
could ever begin to describe;
as beautiful as anything
in heaven or on earth…’
The third man said to me
‘It is like a mine of gold and silver
where you only have to dig
and there is always more to find…’
To the first man I said
‘You are indeed blest,
O noble sir… and must have earned yourself
this great honour…tell me,
do you invite every passing stranger
to walk and sit in that garden with you? ’
He said
‘Yes; I am a poet.’
To the second man I said
‘You are indeed blest,
O noble sir… and must have earned yourself
this great honour… tell me,
do you invite every passing stranger
into your treasure house, saying,
take all you need -
to make rich their life, too? ’
He said
‘Yes; I am a poet.’
To the third man I said
‘You are indeed blest,
O noble sir… and must have earned yourself
this great honour… tell me,
do you invite every passing stranger
to come and dig whenever he so needs? ’
He said
‘Yes; I am a poet.’
poem by Michael Shepherd
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The riches of the self
Strange, to think that each of us
is filled to overflowing
with a treasure house of jewels;
sparkling when they’re known;
beyond price, beyond touch,
beyond sight – yet not beyond
the sensing in one other self..
filled, and yet doubting, towards, even, denying..
awaiting - perhaps not ardently enough? -
the moment when they’re called
to show themselves; the almost
(but not quite…) unimaginable
riches of the self..
poem by Michael Shepherd
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Rising With The Morning
Colour me bright yellow, so I reflect the sun,
Let me sink down gently when the day is done,
Rising with the morning, summer's warmth inbue,
Shining with the happiness of always loving you.
Colour me bright amber, like the autumn's glow,
Let me sink down gently, onto falling leaves below,
Rising with the morning, misty with the dew,
Enveloped with the happiness of truly loving you.
Colour me bright silver, as in the sparkling snow,
Let me sink down gently when the cold winds blow,
Rising with the morning, winter's ice to strew,
Trembling with the happiness of warmly loving you.
Colour me bright emerald, now spring's on the way,
Let me sink down gently on our soft duvet,
Rising with the morning, seeing things brand new,
Sighing with the happiness of me just loving you.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Sparkling Water
Sparkling Water drips like sugar coming from a grand white sugar cane,
Sparkling Water falls around, to the ground and speeds like cars on a freeway lane.
Sparkling Water glistens and gleams, you know it seems as real as it can be,
Nothing is real, but you hear me feel, the cold, pure breeze.
It pushes away,
In the hot summer day.
Like a frog in the green,
Those annoying little things.
They jump just like water,
Like babies tater toter.
We drink it,
We need it.
Its water, it sparkles, its beautiful, it gleams, so pure, must have it, I need it.
Sparkling Water, its life.
(Simile)
poem by Sam Panchenko
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Her Majesty the Rose
Here in my garden at the long day's close
I sing again her Majesty the Rose.
The Rose who can with magic most complete
Bring worshippers again about her feet
Forsaking other loves, who, thro' the year
Had won them by sheer beauty, shining clear.
Now, where the Queen beside the trellis grows,
Courtiers acclaim, 'Her Majesty the Rose!'
The Rhododendron by her side appears
With all that magic quality of tears;
Patrician truly, yet still lacking, she,
That touch of rare imperial majesty.
Viola, violet worship at her feet;
Proudly the flaunting poppy would compete,
Yet fails, for all her striving, to disclose
The grace that guards her Majesty the Rose.
Oh, we have walked 'mid many lovely things
In lovely gardens - walked where Lilac swings
Her jewelled censers, wreathed in wondrous scent;
Where Gladiolus, giving great content,
Holds up her prideful head to so outshine
The meeker charm of Phlox and Columbine.
And yet, how soon, how swift their threldom goes
When once we greet her Majesty the Rose.
City of Roses, herein lies your wealth
This beauty, stealing in, almost by stealth
As garden after garden springs from earth
To bless the gardener with fresh beauty's birth.
A gift most grand, a miracle to see
Of rich content and meet prosperity
Wealth dwells in beauty, as each liegeman knows
Who bows before her Majesty the Rose.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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Men may seem detestable as joint stock-companies and nations; knaves, fools, and murderers there may be; men may have mean and meagre faces; but man, in the ideal, is so noble and so sparkling, such a grand and glowing creature, that over any ignominious blemish in him all his fellows should run to throw their costliest robes.
Herman Melville in Moby Dick
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I Will Walk
I will walk across this wide brown country of mine,
Its treasures and blessing to find.
I will shake the hand of my neighbor dark and fair.
I'll give of my blood as courage bids me dare.
And carry his load with what strength is mine.
I'll fight for a 'fair go' as together we climb.
Down dusty track or up mountainous highway
Our labors this land promises to repay.
I will walk my countries sunlight beaches,
And discover its beautiful cities in far flung reaches.
Sydney with her harbor sparkling bright.
And grand lady Melbourne's Yarra lights by night.
Perth and Adelaide the jewels to the west.
Beautiful Hobart town welcomes any guest.
Brisbane the northern city of delight
Warms the traveler at her sight.
I will march against any enemy that may come.
A will defeat this enemy and my enemies sons.
As long as this heart within my chest shall beat,
I will protect this land that gives me meat.
But when my days on this earth have ticked away
Buried in her ground I will stay.
As lands go this is the one that has my love,
With her cooling rivers, golden beaches, and sunlight above.
Royalty
Consider creatures great and small
That live upon this Earth...
In fact, we cannot count them all
Or estimate their worth...
Yet here they are, they have their place,
Like birds that fill the skies!
Like fish that swim with gentle grace,
In tropic seas so nice!
On land, we find the lion rules,
A true majestic lord!
We learn of him within our schools...
How can he be ignored?
Untamed, unchanged, defiant still,
His roar sounds far and wide!
It makes the bravest hearts to chill,
That cannot be denied...
He always keeps us pondering,
The second he is seen.
This creature has been called a king...
The lioness, his queen...
As long as lions have their place,
His kingdom carries on...
Until we can no longer trace
These big cats... then it's gone...
It must be said, he looks the part!
Behold his majesty!
So bold he looks a work of art!
Like proper royalty!
The poem is based on the magnificent painting
by Stephen Gayford called 'Royalty'.
poem by Denis Martindale
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Smooth Velvet
Bright stars are coming out
the deep dark sky to light.
Glinting from far above
such blackness to ignite.
They beam towards the earth,
from so many miles away.
Worlds that now are empty
of life. They’ve had their day.
Tapestry of diamonds,
on lush smooth velvet seen.
Sparkling, all these jewels,
with the moon in between.
Twinkling with goldenness,
pin points in the blue.
Shining every night-time,
giving an awesome view.
Bright stars are coming out,
the air is fresh and clear.
No clouds to hide their rays,
they pierce the stratosphere.
The heavens are so vast,
with planets everywhere.
Will earth finally be,
another shooting flare.
poem by Ernestine Northover
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Your Majesty
Your majesty, if you will
I realize that I am not worthy
Of licking the slime from your shoes
But I would that I could
Your majesty, don't you see
You're worth nothing to me
Though the world may worship you
You're simply a chauvinistic pig
Your majesty, we can tell
That you hold yourself in high opinion
You find no self faults
And you are self-centered
Your majesty, we realize
That you are blind to your own faults
And you are blind to the trials of others
You believe yourself to be the center of the Universe
Your majesty, anyone is better
Than you, in your self-possessed vanity
And the world realizes that I
Am more beautiful than you
Your majesty, none would ever
Get in line to be your queen
Because you are ruthless, selfish, vain
And none could be uglier than you
Your majesty, we all hope
That you realize the err of your ways soon
Because if you don't, we will revolt against you
And I shall be placed upon the throne over you
Your majesty, start to change
For the people around you change
And increasingly learn to hate you
So try harder to make others happy
Your majesty, instead
Of revelling in your own "beauty"
You should be striving to make the world more beautiful
Instead of making it an even uglier mess that we are left to clean up
Thank you, your majesty
poem by Gwenevere Cornwell
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Her Majesty
Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth II: Royalty
through and through and through;
blue blood thoroughbred; 25-K golden Bough
of the Mystic Tree of Tea Tephi
Realm; Commander of the British Scone;
Crown icon of the 20th century, she's
a lady bound by merciless destiny
to a lifetime of servitude and duty
who, with platinum locks sparkling
and diamond eyes twinkling
has looked on truth askance and strangely*
but come away from that with a humility
which, simply, takes all breath away.
And there's no reason to even mention
her dignity: it's stamped in every atom,
timelessly, that her royal fingers touch.
Now, as we look back to that instant
long, long ago when Our Majesty's
Corona came down in glory and power,
a sacred seal eternal, I do solemnly pray
that, after six decades of works well done
and duties discharged, accounted all inventories,
for one square moment, our Regent may,
from that sceptered isle, that England, #
stop and savour the fruits of her labours-
and smile!
For the globe is clapping hands communally
together in congratulations, commanding Her Majesty
to have a happy, happy, happy, happy Jubilee! :
and I, a man born into a lifetime
of misery and poverty with only this tiny
poem to proffer in tribute, can finally say-
i really really really really love She!
poem by Doug Bentley
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A Healthy Body Means A Healthy Mind
Everybody wants
A healthy body
A compassionate heart
A fine smooth mind
A skin that glows
Hairs that are soft
And freely flow
As smooth as silk
As soft as a cloud
The one who has them
Makes him feel proud
To have a body like this
One does not have to do
Anything special
Has to develop
The habit of excercise
Do not eat food
That is junk and greasy
Respect and preserve
The gift god has given to you
Take Care of your body
The body shall keep you
And your heart happy
Throughout your life
Disease
Shall not come
Near you
Love your body
It shall love you
Never forget
A healthy body means
A healthy mind
poem by Nirantar Dr.Rajendra Tela
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Today... 'The Chiefest Among Ten Thousand
So radiant is my Lover to me.
The Chiefest among ten thousand is He.
With a head like pure gold and raven black hair
to Him no one else can ever compare.
His eyes are set like jewels so clear and so pure
and His lips like lilies dripping with myrrh.
His mouth of sweetness speaks of paradise
and His cheeks are perfumed with beds of spice.
His body is like smooth polished ivory
embroidered with sapphires shining in glory.
His loving arms outstretched the world to hold
and His legs like marble set in feet of gold.
This is my Lover and this is my Friend
the One in whom I can always depend.
No one on earth is as worthy as He
the Fairest of All is my Lord to me.
(see also the additional information in the Poet's notes box below)
In Arching Waters
In arching waters
the black bird dances
with graceless step,
head jerks, probing soft soil,
penetrating wet grass
when rearing back primitive eyes
it raises ivory beak
and offers a shining prize,
living, writhing.
captive
to mother-sky.
poem by Steven Federle
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The Queen's Jubilee Celebrations
'Twas in the year of 1897, and on the 22nd of June,
Her Majesty's Diamond Jubilee in London caused a great boom;
Because high and low came from afar to see,
The grand celebrations at Her Majesty's Diamond Jubilee.
People were there from almost every foreign land,
Which made the scene really imposing and grand;
Especially the Queen's carriage, drawn by eight coloured bays,
And when the spectators saw it joyous shouts they did raise.
Oh! if was a most gorgeous sight to be seen,
Numerous foreign magnatss were there for to see the queen;
And to the vast multitude there of women and men,
Her Majesty for two hours showed herself to them.
The head of the procession looked very grand -
A party of the Horse Guards with their gold-belaced band;
Which also headed the procession of the Colonial States,
While slowly they rode on until opposite the Palace gates.
Then the sound of the National Anthem was heard quite clear,
And the sound the hearts of the mighty crowd it did cheer;
As they heard the loyal hymning on the morning air,
The scene was most beautiful and surpassing fair.
On the house tops thousands of people were to be seen,
All in eager expectation of seeing the queen;
And all of them seemed to be happy and gay,
Which enhanced the scene during the day.
And when Field Marshal Roberts in the procession passed by,
The cheers from thousands of people arose very high;
And to see him on his war horse was inspiring to see,
Because he rode his charger most splendidly.
The Natal mounted troops were loudly cheered, they looked so grand,
And also the London Irish Emerald Isle Band;
Oh if was a most magnificent sight to see.
The Malta Militia and Artillery,
And the Trinidad Artillery, and also bodies of infantry,
And, as the crowd gazed thereon, it filled their hearts with glee.
Her Majesty looked well considering her years,
And from the vast crowd burst forth joyous cheers;
And Her Majesty bowed to the shouts of acclamation,
And smiled upon the crowd with a loving look of admiration.
His Excellency Chan Yin Hun in his carriage wan a great attraction,
And his Oriental garb seemed to give the people great satisfaction;
While the two little Battenberg's carriage, as it drove along,
Received from the people cheering loud and long.
And when the Dragoon Guards and the Huasars filed past at the walk,
Then loudly in their praise the people did talk;
And the cavalry took forty minutes to trot past,
While the spectators in silent wonder stood aghast.
Her Majesty the Empress Frederick a great sensation made,
She was one of the chief attractions in the whole cavalcade;
And in her carriage was the Princess Louise, the Marchioness of Lorne,
In a beautiful white dress, which did per person adorn.
The scene in Piccadilly caused a great sensation,
The grand decorations there were the theme of admiration;
And the people in St. James Street were taken by surprise,
Because the lovely decorations dazzled their eyes
The 42nd Highlanders looked very fine,
When they appeared and took up a position on the line;
And the magnificent decorations in the Strand,
As far east as the Griffin wets attractive and grand.
And the grandstand from Buckingham Palace to Temple Bar,
Was crowded with eager eyes from afar,
Looking on the floral decorations and flags unfurled,
Which has been the grandest spectacle ever seen in the world.
The corner building of St. James Street side was lovely to view,
Ornamented with pink and white bunting and a screen of blue;
And to the eye, the inscription thereon most beautiful seems:
"Thou art alone the Queen of earthly Queens."
The welcome given to Commander-in-Chief Lord Wolseley was very flattering,
The people cheered him until the streets did ring;
And the foreign princes were watched with rivetted admiration,
And caused among the sight-seers great consternation,
And private householders seemed to vie with each other,
In the lavishness of their decorations, and considered it no bother;
And never before in the memory of man,
Has there been a national celebration so grand.
And in conclusion, I most earnestly do pray,
May God protect Her Majesty for many a day;
My blessing on her noble form and on her lofty head,
And may she wear a crown of glory hereafter when dead.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Day
Day! I lament that none can hymn thy praise
In fitting strains, of all thy riches bless;
Though thousands sport them in thy golden rays,
Yet none like thee their Maker's name confess.
Great fellow of my being! woke with me
Thou dost put on thy dazzling robes of light,
And onward from the east go forth to free
Thy children from the bondage of the night;
I hail thee, pilgrim! on thy lonely way,
Whose looks on all alike benignant shine;
A child of light, like thee, I cannot stay,
But on the world I bless must soon decline,
New rising still, though setting to mankind,
And ever in the eternal West my dayspring find.
poem by Jones Very
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Requiem For The Year 2011
at the last hour
we march toward a common grave
bringing the flowers
and some stones
they year is kept inside
a niche laced with white silk
slowly the men with strong arms
lowered the niche
to the the newly dug hole
seven feet under
the women with long black hair
wept beside their innocent children
the year is buried
as we then throw the final stones
then it is covered
with its soil returned
until it is full
and then we put the flowers
it is over
now
and then we go back to our houses
it is nighttime
we close the doors
and open the windows to see
those beautiful stars
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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Tom Moore
Moore found the ballads of Green Isle,
Were oft obscured beneath the soil
As miner digging in a mine
Finds rubbish 'mong the gold so fine.
So Moore placed dross in the waste basket
And enshrined jewels in casket,
Where all may view each charming gem
In Ireland's grand old diadem.
In eastern lands his fame prevails
In wondrous Oriental tales ;
So full of gems his Lala Rookh
Hindoos and Bramins read his book,
And dark eyed Persian girls admire
The beauties of his magic lyre
Glowing like pearls of great price
Those distant gleams of Paradise.
He sang of Bryan Borohm's glory,
Renowned in ancient Irish story,
And shows the wide expanded walls
Which once encircled Tara's Halls
When joyous harp did there resound
And Ireland's greatest king was crowned
All wars and tumults then did cease,
Ireland did prosper great in peace.
He sung of meeting of the waters,
And of Ireland's charming daughters ;
Great minstrel from his harp both flows
Ireland's triumphs and her woes ;
Canada doth his fame prolong,
While she doth sing his great boat song.
And his own countrymen adore
The genial, witty, bright Tom Moore.
poem by James McIntyre
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