Identity Of Moment
At twelve of night philosopher thinks with a cup of tea
At twelve of night exuded in dream
At twelve of night cloud of blue sky burns
At twelve of night strip by strip waves fall to ground
At twelve of night full moon flashes of light
At twelve of night horn of car strikes on door
At twelve of night couple enters into dwell of love
At twelve of night loud cry of progenitors comes
At twelve of night machinegun of devilish roars
At twelve of night whistles of train strikes
At twelve of night the red sun of monument raises.
poem by Bongokobida Zakaria
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Related quotes
Twelve O'Clock
Mother, I do want to leave off my lessons now. I have been at my
book all the morning.
You say it is only twelve o'clock. Suppose it isn't any later;
can't you ever think it is afternoon when it is only twelve
o'clock?
I can easily imagine now that the sun has reached the edge of
that rice-field, and the old fisher-woman is gathering herbs for
her supper by the side of the pond.
I can just shut my eyes and think that the shadows are growing
darker under the madar tree, and the water in the pond looks shiny
black.
If twelve o'clock can come in the night, why can't the night
come when it is twelve o'clock?
poem by Rabindranath Tagore
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One Rose
Rose
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each bruise
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each time you cheated
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each time you forced me
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each pointless arguement
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each crime
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
One for each time you try to end me
One Rose
Two Rose
Twelve Rose
How many more can I live through?
poem by Lexie Night
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Before Execution.
The sun is set, and all the stars are come,
Stars I shall no more see; the air is still,
And my life waits the ruin so near now.
A little space, and I shall have done here.
Ah, God! twelve hours, twelve little hours, and, lo!
The air and these lips part, day becomes night,
Earth nothing, time a skeleton, and I
An angry ghost, or a tired phantom laid
With many others in oblivion.
Twelve hours, twelve little hours, and I shall have
A wondrous change — feel one fierce pang, and then
Fade off I know not where, or like a star
Shot fearfully from the zenith singe my way
Through chaos haply for some aeons till
I reach another air, a lower sky,
And maybe with a baleful influence
Burn in Pluto's reign.
poem by Robert Crawford
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Just A Day
doo doodoo doo...
Waking up at twelve in my clothes again
Feel my head explode from a night of gin
Another night out late
I don't want to drink, don't want to be a clown
I got to get my feet back on the ground
Before it pulls me in
How come it ended up like this
And who's gonna catch me when I'm coming down to hit the ground
again
All by myself(waking up at twelve in my clothes again)
Cause I don't want to drag you down hold you down
Cause you're a friend, I blame myself(feel my head explode from a night of gin)
I guess you think it's funny now, funny now
On the underground with the freaks and frowns
Looking at the world through silver clouds
But then it all came down
I've got to rise above the emotional flood
I've got to cut these ropes around my hands
Pull myself around
How come it ended up like this
And who's gonna be there when I've lost control I'm heading to crashland
All by myself(waking up at twelve in m clothes again)
Cause I don't want to drag you down hold you down
Cause you're a friend, I blame myself(feel my head explode from a night of gin)
I guess you think it's funny now, funny now
All by myself, cause I don't want to drag you down,
Hold you down cause you're a friend. I blame myself
I guess you think it's funny now, funny now, it's such a shame
All by myself(waking up at twelve in my clothes again)
Cause I don't want to drag you down hold you down
Cause you're a friend, I blame myself(feel my head explode from a night of gin)
I guess you think it's funny now, funny now, it's such a sin
All by myself(waking up at twelve in my clothes again)
Cause I don't want to drag you down hold you down
Cause you're a friend, I blame myself(feel my head explode in a night of gin)
I guess you think it's funny now, funny now
doo doodoo doo(x7)
song performed by by Feeder
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Twelve Years
It’s been twelve
Years, I’ve been
Feeding him
My bosom,
Yet his thirst
Remains
Unquenchable,
As my first night
With him.
And I thought,
Twelve years
Is a long time
To get used to,
And get over,
A woman’s bosom.
poem by Aparna Chatterjee
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Romans Twelve
I read and re-read Romans twelve.
Until it casted a spell.
And I saw myself,
And others like me.
Instantly I realized...
I was not as free,
As I chose to be.
In these times I'm finding,
Romans twelve has helped me dispel
What I believe I had to do...
To protect a truth I myself abused!
And to release what I thought I knew too well.
This is what I discovered as I read Romans twelve.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Sleepless Night
Oh, there's a rude little lady
Livin' next to me.
Oh, she sure loves someone,
But it ain't me.
Ev'ry night at twelve o'clock,
They start to rock with all they got.
They keep it up all night.
It just ain't right.
They O.K. by me, I'm not.
He and she, they all right.
Once they start, they never stop
Through this sleepless night.
Once I was her lover.
It was so good to be.
Now she's got somebody else and I can't sleep.
Ooh, nothin' hurts people more than other people do.
But what can you do?
Meanwhile, upstairs, they O.K.
Ev'rythin' is all right.
I wish that I could find a way
Through this sleepless night.
Ooh, this sleepless night.
Ooh, this sleepless night.
Ooh, that wicked lady,
She's got a hold on me.
Ooh, she doesn't want me,
But she won't let me be.
They play that music ev'ry night.
It rocks my bed; it shakes my light.
They ball with all their might.
It just ain't right.
Ooh, this sleepless night.
Ooh, this sleepless night.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It started twelve and went on until twelve. I never had to buy a drink all day!
quote by Michael Owen Bruce
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We spend the first twelve months of our children's lives teaching them to walk and talk and the next twelve telling them to sit down and shut up.
quote by Phyllis Diller
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Are You Doing New Years Eve
Maybe its much too early in the game
Ah, but I thought Id ask you just the same
What are you doing new years
New years eve?
Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight
When its exactly twelve oclock that night
Welcoming in the new year
New years eve
Maybe Im crazy to suppose
Id ever be the one you chose
Out of a thousand invitations
Youd receive
Ah, but in case I stand one little chance
Here comes the jackpot question in advance
What are you doing new years
New years eve?
Wonder whose arms will hold you good and tight
When its exactly twelve oclock that night
Welcoming in the new year
New years eve
What are you doing new years eve?
song performed by by Lee Ann Womack
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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It is difficult to produce a television documentary that is both incisive and probing when every twelve minutes one is interrupted by twelve dancing rabbits singing about toilet paper.
quote by Rod Serling
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I, John
(words & music by william j. gaither)
Oh well, i, john, he saw might numbers
A way up in the middle of the air
I, john he saw might numbers
Way in the middle of the air
Got to mighty move, john, you saw mighty numbers
Way up in the middle of the air
Well there were three gates in the east
And there were three gates in the west
Three gates in the north
Three gates in the south
And that makes twelve gates to the city all square wide
John, you saw might numbers way up in the middle of the air
Well john declared that he saw a man
He held twelve bright stars in his right hand
Well his eyes flashed fire like the burning sun
Old john got scared and he wanted to run
Well he wanted to run but his feet wouldnt go
Cause he felt the gospel cutting like a two-edged sword
And he heard a voice that said john, you take a look
And read what you see and then you write it in a book
And he saw twelve angels in the east
And there were twelve angels in the west
Twelve angels in the north,
Twelve angels in the south
Thats a total of forty-eight angels to the city, four squared wide
song performed by by Elvis Presley
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Klondike
Never mind the day we left, or the day the women clung to us;
All we need now is the last way they looked at us.
Never mind the twelve men there amid the cheering—
Twelve men or one man, ’t will soon be all the same;
For this is what we know: we are five men together,
Five left o’ twelve men to find the golden river.
Far we came to find it out, but the place was here for all of us;
Far, far we came, and here we have the last of us.
We that were the front men, we that would be early,
We that had the faith, and the triumph in our eyes:
We that had the wrong road, twelve men together,—
Singing when the devil sang to find the golden river.
Say the gleam was not for us, but never say we doubted it;
Say the wrong road was right before we followed it.
We that were the front men, fit for all forage,—
Say that while we dwindle we are front men still;
For this is what we know tonight: we’re starving here together—
Starving on the wrong road to find the golden river.
Wrong, we say, but wait a little: hear him in the corner there;
He knows more than we, and he’ll tell us if we listen there—
He that fought the snow-sleep less than all the others
Stays awhile yet, and he knows where he stays:
Foot and hand a frozen clout, brain a freezing feather,
Still he’s here to talk with us and to the golden river.
“Flow,” he says, “and flow along, but you cannot flow away from us;
All the world’s ice will never keep you far from us;
Every man that heeds your call takes the way that leads him—
The one way that’s his way, and lives his own life:
Starve or laugh, the game goes on, and on goes the river;
Gold or no, they go their way—twelve men together.
“Twelve,” he says, “who sold their shame for a lure you call too fair for them—
You that laugh and flow to the same word that urges them:
Twelve who left the old town shining in the sunset,
Left the weary street and the small safe days:
Twelve who knew but one way out, wide the way or narrow:
Twelve who took the frozen chance and laid their lives on yellow.
“Flow by night and flow by day, nor ever once be seen by them;
Flow, freeze, and flow, till time shall hide the bones of them;
Laugh and wash their names away, leave them all forgotten,
Leave the old town to crumble where it sleeps;
Leave it there as they have left it, shining in the valley,—
Leave the town to crumble down and let the women marry.
“Twelve of us or five,” he says, “we know the night is on us now:
Five while we last, and we may as well be thinking now:
Thinking each his own thought, knowing, when the light comes,
Five left or none left, the game will not be lost.
Crouch or sleep, we go the way, the last way together:
Five or none, the game goes on, and on goes the river.
“For after all that we have done and all that we have failed to do,
Life will be life and a world will have its work to do:
Every man who follows us will heed in his own fashion
The calling and the warning and the friends who do not know:
Each will hold an icy knife to punish his heart’s lover,
And each will go the frozen way to find the golden river.”
There you hear him, all he says, and the last we’ll ever get from him.
Now he wants to sleep, and that will be the best for him.
Let him have his own way—no, you needn’t shake him—
Your own turn will come, so let the man sleep.
For this is what we know: we are stalled here together—
Hands and feet and hearts of us, to find the golden river.
And there’s a quicker way than sleep? … Never mind the looks of him:
All he needs now is a finger on the eyes of him.
You there on the left hand, reach a little over—
Shut the stars away, or he’ll see them all night:
He’ll see them all night and he’ll see them all tomorrow,
Crawling down the frozen sky, cold and hard and yellow.
Won’t you move an inch or two—to keep the stars away from him?
—No, he won’t move, and there’s no need of asking him.
Never mind the twelve men, never mind the women;
Three while we last, we’ll let them all go;
And we’ll hold our thoughts north while we starve here together,
Looking each his own way to find the golden river.
poem by Edwin Arlington Robinson
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Sleepless Nights
Oh, theres a rude little lady
Livin next to me.
Oh, she sure loves someone,
But it aint me.
Evry night at twelve oclock,
They start to rock with all they got.
They keep it up all night.
It just aint right.
They o.k. by me, Im not.
He and she, they all right.
Once they start, they never stop
Through this sleepless night.
Once I was her lover.
It was so good to be.
Now shes got somebody else and I cant sleep.
Ooh, nothin hurts people more than other people do.
But what can you do?
Meanwhile, upstairs, they o.k.
Evrythin is all right.
I wish that I could find a way
Through this sleepless night.
Ooh, this sleepless night.
Ooh, this sleepless night.
Ooh, that wicked lady,
Shes got a hold on me.
Ooh, she doesnt want me,
But she wont let me be.
They play that music evry night.
It rocks my bed; it shakes my light.
They ball with all their might.
It just aint right.
Ooh, this sleepless night.
Ooh, this sleepless night.
song performed by by Kinks
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Thanksgiving dinners take eighteen hours to prepare. They are consumed in twelve minutes. Half-times take twelve minutes. This is not coincidence.
quote by Erma Bombeck
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Since Nine O'Clock
Half past twelve. Time has gone by quickly
since nine o'clock when I lit the lamp
and sat down here. I've been sitting without reading,
without speaking. Completely alone in the house,
whom could I talk to?
Since nine o'clock when I lit the lamp
the shade of my young body
has come to haunt me, to remind me
of shut scented rooms,
of past sensual pleasure - what daring pleasure.
And it's also brought back to me
streets now unrecognizable,
bustling night clubs now closed,
theatres and cafes no longer here.
The shade of my young body
also brought back the things that make us sad:
family grief, separations,
the feelings of my own people, feelings
of the dead so little acknowledged.
Half past twelve. How the time has gone by.
Half past twelve. How the years have gone by.
poem by Constantine P. Cavafy
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To the West
The Midland Great Western is doing its best,
And the circular ticket is safe in my vest;
But I know that my holiday never begins
Till I'm in Connemara among the Twelve Pins.
The Bank has no fortune of mine to invest
But there's money enough for the ones I love best;
All the gold that I want I shall find on the whins
When I'm in Connemara among the Twelve Pins.
Down by the Lough I shall wander once more'
Where the wavelets lap lap round the stones on the shore:
And the mountainy goats will be wagging their chins
As they pull at the bracken among the Twelve Pins.
And its welcome I'll be, for no longer I'll meet
The hard pallid faces I find in the street;
The girl with blue eyes, and the boy with brown shins,
Will stand for their pictures among the twelve Pins.
Tonight, when all London's with gaslight agleam,
And the Carlton is filled with society's cream',
I'll be 'takin' me tay' down at ould Johnny Flynn's
Safe and away in the heart o' the Pins.
poem by William Percy French
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From Far, From Eve and Morning
From far, from eve and morning
And yon twelve-winded sky,
The stuff of life to knit me
Blew hither: here am I.
Now-- for a breath I tarry
Nor yet disperse apart--
Take my hand quick and tell me,
What have you in your heart.
Speak now, and I will answer;
How shall I help you, say;
Ere to the wind's twelve quarters
I take my endless way.
poem by Alfred Edward Housman
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The Crown
She had twelve stars for diadem;
She had for footstool the full moon;
Her quiet eyes, outshining them,
Kept memories of the night and noon
And the still moms at Nazareth
When in her arms the Child drew breath.
So safe, so warm, He slept by her,
In her enfolding arms at peace,
Her milky babe, little and dear;
And yet the Tree that should be His
Grew in the forest, wide and high,
Whose branches should fill all the sky.
He made twelve stars into her crown
And set the moon below her feet.
He was King in Jerusalem Town,
With twelve spines for His Coronet
To pierce the brain and blood and bone,
Were made for Man's Redemption.
Oh, when she answered Gabriel
With 'Be it done!' could she foresee
The high pangs that she took as well?
With Bethlehem should be Calvary?
Or was that moment of high bliss
Born with sharp pangs, fierce agonies?
Hath she beneath her Crown of Stars
Remembrance of the thorns wherewith
Her people crowned her Son? What scars,
Redder than roses in a wreath,
Doth she wear in a coronal
Under the lights that rise and fall?
poem by Katharine Tynan
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The Haughty Snail-King
Twelve snails went walking after night.
They'd creep an inch or so,
Then stop and bug their eyes
And blow.
Some folks . . . are . . . deadly . . . slow.
Twelve snails went walking yestereve,
Led by their fat old king.
They were so dull their princeling had
No sceptre, robe or ring—
Only a paper cap to wear
When nightly journeying.
This king-snail said: "I feel a thought
Within. . . . It blossoms soon. . . .
O little courtiers of mine, . . .
I crave a pretty boo. . . .
Oh, yes . . . (High thoughts with effort come
And well-bred snails are ALMOST dumb.)
"I wish I had a yellow crown
As glistering . . . as . . . the moon."
poem by Vachel Lindsay
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