Related quotes: Sometimes I long to write...

Woman's Help

Sometimes I long to write an ode
And magnify his name,
The man of honor, on the road
To opulence and fame,
On whom was never aid bestowed
By any helpful dame.

To all the world I fain would show
That talent widely known,
Rare eloquence, of burning glow
To melt a heart of stone,
That all his gifts, a dazzling row,
Are his, and his alone.

But him, of character and mind
Superb, alert, and strong,
I never study but to find
The subject of my song,
Some paragon of womankind,
Has helped him all along.

He may not know, he may not guess,
How much to her he owes,
How every scion of success
That in his nature grows,
Developed by her watchfulness,
Becomes a blooming rose.

From buffetings in humble place,
And labors ill begun,
To proud achievement in the race
And laurels grandly won,
His trials all she dares to face
As friend and champion.

The bars that hinder his advance
And half obscure the goal,
The stubborn bond of circumstance
That irritates his soul,
The countershafts of arrogance,
All yield to her control.

He builds a tower--she below
Is handing up the bricks;
His light is brilliant just as though
Her hand had trimmed the wicks;
He prays for daily bread--the dough
A woman deigns to mix.

poem by Hattie Howard
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Unknown Warrior

Not that broad path chose he, which whoso wills
May tread, if he by pay the fatal price,
And for such sweet as earthly life extils,
Slaughter his heaven-born soul in sacrifice.

But he, though loving these, cast yet with strong
Hands all aside, and took the obscure way,
Which few may find, or finding, follow long,-
O let not weak regrets hinder me, nay,

Health, wealth, fame, friendship, all that I hold dear,
I’ll spend, nor seek return, O what dark crown
Be his, he cares not, who thus gives; how near
May hang yet his lost laurels of renown:

Yea, who dares thus die, haply he may see,
Suddenly, unsought immortality.

poem by Elizabeth Daryush
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Untitled 7

Fame surrounds us with a glory,
Dazzling as the noon-day sun,
And upon the page of story,
Blazons deeds of greatness done.
But 'tis love that sheds a brightness
Round us that can ne'er depart,
And with its own gentle lightness,
Writes its records on the heart.

Fame may stir the soul within us,
Half with pleasure, half with pain;
And a world's applause may win us
With its many-echoed strain.
But the song of love's own singing,
Though 'tis breathed by one alone,
Ever to the heart is bringing,
New-born raptures in its tone.

Give to me one fair form near me,
And I'll sigh no more for fame;
Better one sweet voice to cheer me,
Than the heartless crowd's acclaim.
Of fame's gifts I ask not any,
Its proud temples will I shun;
For the voices of the many,
Give to me the heart of one!

poem by Owen Suffolk
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Who Can Ascend

Who can ascend God’s holy hill?
Who can call God his friend?
Who can declare he’s done God’s will
And so his soul defend

Can you with heart and soul deny?
That sin has held your hand
So innocent you’ll never die
As God has always planned

Can you stand Jesus face to face?
Stand eye to eye with light
Declare your life’s so full of grace
In robes of brilliant white

Have you a soul so dazzling clean
A heart so rich and sure
That nothing can enter in between
Revealing ought impure

If yes is not your answer friend
If one of them is no
Then help you need before the end
Before to sleep you go

You need God’s Flame to burn inside
God’s Son to stand you by
Accept God’s Lamb for you has died
Before my friend you die

With God there is no darkness there
With God there is no night
No lie will live nor have a share
Where God displays His Light

No place for sin no place for shame
No place for flesh is made
Eternal stands The Righteous Flame
Who’s radiance cannot fade

poem by Michael P. Johnson
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Let the Light Enter

"The dying words of Goethe."

"Light! more light! the shadows deepen,
And my life is ebbing low,
Throw the windows widely open:
Light! more light! before I go.

"Softly let the balmy sunshine
Play around my dying bed,
E'er the dimly lighted valley
I with lonely feet must tread.

"Light! more light! for Death is weaving
Shadows 'round my waning sight,
And I fain would gaze upon him
Through a stream of earthly light."

Not for greater gifts of genius;
Not for thoughts more grandly bright,
All the dying poet whispers
Is a prayer for light, more light.

Heeds he not the gathered laurels,
Fading slowly from his sight;
All the poet's aspirations
Centre in that prayer for light.

Gracious Saviour, when life's day-dreams
Melt and vanish from the sight,
May our dim and longing vision
Then be blessed with light, more light.

poem by Frances Ellen Watkins Harper
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Reflection of A Daughter 08

become more attuned
to each other needs
it was like the story of Cinderella
the dazzling miracle of creating new day

the blooming of white roses
is a delightful sight to behold
nature has bestowed
many precious gifts upon heart

poem by Ahmad Shiddiqi
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Enough For Us to Know

You magnify more than just love in my mind.
I can not define it!
And to say it is love alone...
Seems so limiting.

You bring to me a radiance and glow.
Only my heart feels it without description.
In my head my mind has you there all the time.
I envision us in a togetherness.
A completeness felt,
Others say they can not find.

A void of emptiness I had experienced is gone.

You magnify more than just love in my mind.
I can not define it!
And I waste no time...
Trying to understand why it is you that comes,
To occupy my life like this...
With an easiness for me to welcome.

And I am left feeling happiness for us.
In a devoted loyality...
I neither doubt or question.
Or confuse with lust.

To have such a blessing bestowed...
Is enough for us to know and trust.
As it within us,
Seems to nurture and grow.

Glowing and showing it...
As it grows to glow.
With you and I alone knowing,
What it is that is there to love.
And we are in it to give and receive.
That is all I know we have and can believe.

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Charactered Nature

Keeping my soul is like keeping faith,
Character is important, like the balls of fire
That rage on in the very halls of fame.
They have fame as a grace, they have ugly traits
But beautiful on the outside.
The fire is strange, of keeping the soul,
Character is important.
May the goodness of life strike rich with success,
Too much success is developed with the character built.
May the outer happiness be an inner happiness,
Keeping the soul is like keeping character.

poem by Naveed Akram
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Just Another Of The Broken With No Soul

Another conversation with woman behind the camera
Shatter the glass
Run for its a hail marry pass
Again I want to save you, as if your actually in danger
You give a daily night show
But I will just not go
You offer it for free as if that even matters
You tell me about a threesome as if it that just for starters
You sick pleasure is a disease
Just stop trying to victimize me
The heart felt scorn held inside comes to the rise
For I have had a friend who had to trade her body for a place to stay
On a constantly daily basis
Finally I gave her a home at no cost of her own
I wanted nothing from her
This was the weirdest circumstance I have ever been
I could have had her any way I wanted
But that's just wrong
She was my little sister in heart and mind
So I tell you women
Your sickness is on the inside
There is just something not right about you
You spiffed up your words so brilliant
Only to defile yourself with what your trying sell
These wounds won't heal
Prostitution through a screen with a voice and a name
Just another of the broken with no soul

poem by Ace Of Black Hearts
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Song About The Moon

If you want to write a song about the moon
Walk along the craters of the afternoon
When the shadows are deep
And the light is alien
And gravity leaps like a knife off the pavement
And you want to write a song about the moon
You want to write a spiritual tune
Then nah nah nah
Presto
Song about about the moon
If you want to write a song about the heart
Think about the moon before you start
Because the heart will howl
Like a dog in the moonlight
And the heart can explode
Like a pistol on a june night
So if you want to write a song about the heart
And its ever-longing for a counterpart
Write a song about the moon
The laughing boy
He laughed so hard
He fell down from his place
The laughing girl
She laughed so hard
The tears rolled down her face
Hey songwriter
If you want to write a song about
A face
Think about a photograph
That you really cant remember
But you cant erase
Wash your hands in dreams and lightning
Cut off your hair
And whatever is frightening
If you want to write a song
About a face
If you want to write a song about
The human race
Write a song about the moon
If you want to write a song about the moon
You want to write a spiritual tune
Then do it
Write a song about the moon

song performed by by Paul Simon
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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A Light Woman

So far as our story approaches the end,
Which do you pity the most of us three?
My friend, or the mistress of my friend
With her wanton eyes, or me?

My friend was already too good to lose,
And seemed in the way of improvement yet,
When she crossed his path with her hunting noose
And over him drew her net.

III

When I saw him tangled in her toils,
A shame, said I, if she adds just him
To her nine-and-ninety other spoils,
The hundredth for a whim!

And before my friend be wholly hers,
How easy to prove to him, I said,
An eagle's the game her pride prefers,
Though she snaps at a wren instead!

So, I gave her eyes my own eyes to take,
My hand sought hers as in earnest need,
And round she turned for my noble sake,
And gave me herself indeed.\

The eagle am I, with my fame in the world,
The wren is he, with his maiden face.
You look away and your lip is curled?
Patience, a moment's space!

VII

For see, my friend goes shaking and white;
He eyes me as the basilisk:
I have turned, it appears, his day to night,
Eclipsing his sun's disk.

VIII

And I did it, he thinks, as a very thief:
"Though I love her--that, he comprehends--
One should master one's passions (love, in chief)
And be loyal to one's friends!"

And she,--she lies in my hand as tame
As a pear late basking over a wall;
Just a touch to try and off it came;
'Tis mine,--can I let it fall?

With no mind to eat it, that's the worst!
Were it thrown in the road, would the case assist?
'Twas quenching a dozen blue-flies' thirst
When I gave its stalk a twist.

And I,--what I seem to my friend, you see:
What I soon shall seem to his love, you guess:
What I seem to myself, do you ask of me?
No hero, I confess.

XII

'Tis an awkward thing to play with souls,
And matter enough to save one's own:
Yet think of my friend, and the burning coals
He played with for bits of stone!

XIII

One likes to show the truth for the truth;
That the woman was light is very true:
But suppose she says,--Never mind that youth!
What wrong have I done to you?

XIV

Well, any how, here the story stays,
So far at least as I understand;
And, Robert Browning, you writer of plays,
Here's a subject made to your hand!

poem by Robert Browning from Men and Women (1855)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Phases Of The Moon

An old man cocked his car upon a bridge;
He and his friend, their faces to the South,
Had trod the uneven road. Their hoots were soiled,
Their Connemara cloth worn out of shape;
They had kept a steady pace as though their beds,
Despite a dwindling and late-risen moon,
Were distant still. An old man cocked his ear.
Aherne. What made that Sound?
Robartes. A rat or water-hen
Splashed, or an otter slid into the stream.
We are on the bridge; that shadow is the tower,
And the light proves that he is reading still.
He has found, after the manner of his kind,
Mere images; chosen this place to live in
Because, it may be, of the candle-light
From the far tower where Milton's Platonist
Sat late, or Shelley's visionary prince:
The lonely light that Samuel Palmer engraved,
An image of mysterious wisdom won by toil;
And now he seeks in book or manuscript
What he shall never find.
Ahernc. Why should not you
Who know it all ring at his door, and speak
Just truth enough to show that his whole life
Will scarcely find for him a broken crust
Of all those truths that are your daily bread;
And when you have spoken take the roads again?
Robartes. He wrote of me in that extravagant style
He had learnt from pater, and to round his tale
Said I was dead; and dead I choose to be.
Aherne. Sing me the changes of the moon once more;
True song, though speech: 'mine author sung it me.'
Robartes. Twenty-and-eight the phases of the moon,
The full and the moon's dark and all the crescents,
Twenty-and-eight, and yet but six-and-twenty
The cradles that a man must needs be rocked in:
For there's no human life at the full or the dark.
From the first crescent to the half, the dream
But summons to adventure and the man
Is always happy like a bird or a beast;
But while the moon is rounding towards the full
He follows whatever whim's most difficult
Among whims not impossible, and though scarred.
As with the cat-o'-nine-tails of the mind,
His body moulded from within his body
Grows comelier. Eleven pass, and then
Athene takes Achilles by the hair,
Hector is in the dust, Nietzsche is born,
Because the hero's crescent is the twelfth.
And yet, twice born, twice buried, grow he must,
Before the full moon, helpless as a worm.
The thirteenth moon but sets the soul at war
In its own being, and when that war's begun
There is no muscle in the arm; and after,
Under the frenzy of the fourteenth moon,
The soul begins to tremble into stillness,
To die into the labyrinth of itself!
Aherne. Sing out the song; sing to the end, and sing
The strange reward of all that discipline.
Robartes. All thought becomes an image and the soul
Becomes a body: that body and that soul
Too perfect at the full to lie in a cradle,
Too lonely for the traffic of the world:
Body and soul cast out and cast away
Beyond the visible world.
Aherne. All dreams of the soul
End in a beautiful man's or woman's body.
Robartes, Have you not always known it?
Aherne. The song will have it
That those that we have loved got their long fingers
From death, and wounds, or on Sinai's top,
Or from some bloody whip in their own hands.
They ran from cradle to cradle till at last
Their beauty dropped out of the loneliness
Of body and soul.
Robartes. The lover's heart knows that.
Aherne. It must be that the terror in their eyes
Is memory or foreknowledge of the hour
When all is fed with light and heaven is bare.
Robartes. When the moon's full those creatures of the full
Are met on the waste hills by countrymen
Who shudder and hurry by: body and soul
Estranged amid the strangeness of themselves,
Caught up in contemplation, the mind's eye
Fixed upon images that once were thought;
For separate, perfect, and immovable
Images can break the solitude
Of lovely, satisfied, indifferent eyes.
And thereupon with aged, high-pitched voice
Aherne laughed, thinking of the man within,
His sleepless candle and lahorious pen.
Robartes. And after that the crumbling of the moon.
The soul remembering its loneliness
Shudders in many cradles; all is changed,
It would be the world's servant, and as it serves,
Choosing whatever task's most difficult
Among tasks not impossible, it takes
Upon the body and upon the soul
The coarseness of the drudge.
Aherne. Before the full
It sought itself and afterwards the world.
Robartes. Because you are forgotten, half out of life,
And never wrote a book, your thought is clear.
Reformer, merchant, statesman, learned man,
Dutiful husband, honest wife by turn,
Cradle upon cradle, and all in flight and all
Deformed because there is no deformity
But saves us from a dream.
Aherne. And what of those
That the last servile crescent has set free?
Robartes. Because all dark, like those that are all light,
They are cast beyond the verge, and in a cloud,
Crying to one another like the bats;
And having no desire they cannot tell
What's good or bad, or what it is to triumph
At the perfection of one's own obedience;
And yet they speak what's blown into the mind;
Deformed beyond deformity, unformed,
Insipid as the dough before it is baked,
They change their bodies at a word.
Aherne. And then?
Rohartes. When all the dough has been so kneaded up
That it can take what form cook Nature fancies,
The first thin crescent is wheeled round once more.
Aherne. But the escape; the song's not finished yet.
Robartes. Hunchback and Saint and Fool are the last crescents.
The burning bow that once could shoot an arrow
Out of the up and down, the wagon-wheel
Of beauty's cruelty and wisdom's chatter --
Out of that raving tide -- is drawn betwixt
Deformity of body and of mind.
Aherne. Were not our beds far off I'd ring the bell,
Stand under the rough roof-timbers of the hall
Beside the castle door, where all is stark
Austerity, a place set out for wisdom
That he will never find; I'd play a part;
He would never know me after all these years
But take me for some drunken countryman:
I'd stand and mutter there until he caught
'Hunchback and Sant and Fool,' and that they came
Under the three last crescents of the moon.
And then I'd stagger out. He'd crack his wits
Day after day, yet never find the meaning.
And then he laughed to think that what seemed hard
Should be so simple -- a bat rose from the hazels
And circled round him with its squeaky cry,
The light in the tower window was put out.

poem by William Butler Yeats
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When Love Grows

When love has just begun, and two hearts beat as one
And when two minds connect to each other
You will protect one another.

When love grows so strong that there is
Nothing else in view
That is when I get closer to you.

When all I see is you in my mind
And I long to be with you till the ends of time
And when your eyes take me on a journey
That I've never been before
And you seem to open up all closed doors
That is when I love you even more.

When you can look beyond all my faults
And see a light come shining thru
That is when I thank GOD that I have you.

When we can walk hand in hand
And look ahead to this promised land
And see nothing but beautiful bright lights
Then we know that everything is all right.

That is when your soul takes flight
Like an eagle in the night,
And when your heart fills up like
A piñata, and then it explodes
It shows ' what matters'.

That is when love truly grows
And in all you do -'it does show.'

poem by Louis Rams
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Much Love For Jessica

Deep soulful brown eyes—
the essence of nature—
from which everything grows!
Face of light and love, a
rosie luster of innocence.
Robust character and wit,
an independent thinker. You hurdle troubles with grace.
Hand in your homework on time.
A song bird's laughter—stunning
smiles through ruby lips
grow roses in my being.
I thank you for your gifts. I've watched you develop
with substance.
Watched you cuddle your pets.
Proud of your cheerleading years.
But most of all I'm proud of you
for being yourself—a lover or a giver
a unique beautiful achiever!!!!!
I have much love for Jessica!

poem by Alexandra Mars Edmonds
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Escape

At times that were sporadic
he became nomadic,
moving around from place to place,
never having to show his face.
This solitary life he lived for now
became his choice which did allow
escape from a world that does not care
which he had searched for everywhere.

A victim of circumstance beyond his control,
he wandered around and became a lost soul.
The psyche of his mind after the war
had destoyed all that he had been before.
Gone was the faith he had in mankind.
Gone was the belief that he could ever find
peace in his heart for humanity.
He lived with the thought that he'd always be
able to kill at the sound of a gun
and so he kept moving, following the sun.

Hoping to gain some sense of calm,
reciting in monotony the 23rd psalm,
praying for sanity to find him again,
praying for forgiveness from all dead men
lying on battlefields, never to know
how his heart was aching so.
Buddies and strangers all of them gone,
nightmares at night and waiting for dawn
to erase the scenes that wouldn't let go.
Better to roam and watch the sun glow.

poem by Edwina Reizer
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Citius, Altius, Fortius

The audience has gathered, the stage is set-
Now is the time to see if your expectations are met
With victory as the only acceptable outcome:
You came in search of a gold medal and will not leave without one.
You test yourself against the very best in the world,
In hopes that when all is said and done, Old Glory is unfurled.
As the event unfolds, the battle for supremacy
Causes you to question your training's efficacy
For a brief moment, until you dig deeper than ever before.
The pain builds in your body-but, you must ignore
It until you achieve your Olympic dream;
You have done it-above all others, you reigned supreme!
The Stars and Stripes shall wave highest, to mark this achievement.
While all others are consoled, in their moments of bereavement,
You revel in your goal's fruition: to be the very best.
You trained for many years and excelled at every test
Along the way, in preparation for this moment in time.
The road has not been easy, and long has been the climb,
Yet, on this day your feat is unmatched and your nation is proud.
You represented us with honor and courage and our cheers are loud.
With the world as your stage, you were the embodiment of the Olympic creed:
'Citius, Altius, Fortius'-faster, higher, stronger indeed,
Than all others on this day-when it matters the most.
Though, you have no time or want to brag or boast-
You have too much respect for the efforts of all who showed.
You pray a silent prayer, for the obligation owed-
To Him, and all who have helped you along the way,
Then congratulate all others who have competed today.
This was you time, and this, your place-
And now, all the world is privy to your artistic grace,
Unrivaled speed and herculean strength-today, you shined!
All your sacrifices and skills today, combined
To make you the champion that you were rightly crowned-
The best in the world showed up, and you were the best around!

-Maurice Harris,3 August 2012

poem by Maurice Harris
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Schooling Relationship

you are the subject which i study
understanding and getting to know you psychologically
learning new ways to do right
ways to out do the wrong
you are the subject which i study
practicing and testing the goods and bads
you are the subject which i study
the time has come graduation is here
learn the subject by studing its psychology
understanding is the only way for success
now we move on to the next step
you are the subject which i study to major
as i take hold of your hand
guide you through rough times throughout this life
you are the subject which i study to major
as time goes by ticking away
i studied you all those days
i understand your past history life
your psychology means alot to me
mentally physically emotionally speaking
you are the subject which i study to major...

poem by Diara Armstead
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To The Prophetic Soul

What are these bustlers at the gate
Of now or yesterday,
These playthings in the hand of Fate,
That pass, and point no way;

These clinging bubbles whose mock fires
For ever dance and gleam,
Vain foam that gathers and expires
Upon the world's dark stream;

These gropers betwixt right and wrong,
That seek an unknown goal,
Most ignorant, when they seem most strong;
What are they, then, O Soul,

That thou shouldst covet overmuch
A tenderer range of heart,
And yet at every dreamed-of touch
So tremulously start?

Thou with that hatred ever new
Of the world's base control,
That vision of the large and true,
That quickness of the soul;

Nay, for they are not of thy kind,
But in a rarer clay
God dowered thee with an alien mind;
Thou canst not be as they.

Be strong therefore; resume thy load,
And forward stone by stone
Go singing, though the glorious road
Thou travellest alone.

poem by Archibald Lampman
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Why I Write?

I write poems for myself and I write for the readers
I write for the masses and I write for the leaders
I write to imprint my thoughts in people's mind
I write to make the bad guys helpful and kind
I write to light up our path to Great God
I write for everyone home and abroad
I write to preserve values new and old
I write to make my ink precious like gold
I write for peace and I write for progress
I write to make the world a better place
All major issues I want to address
I write to see smile on God's face

poem by Asif Andalib
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Colored Masks

You the people with million character and face

Absolutely in every story you find for yourself a place

Your colored characters even the best actors may find it hard to play

You're the best one in every situation and place

Your selfishness kept your soul slave

To win the glory of being the most appreciative you can make any mistake

The world is suffering but there absolutely you can't find for yourself a place

Only the world's bright side and its shining colors attracts your imagination for whom is your hard race

Hard to control your ego to convice you that all the people at this world are and deserve the same

But your selfishness has made you the hero for your cheep rat race

And every while you put on a different mask to play your new piece

And at every new script you choose a new role and face

But everywhere and always you take the best characters and place

poem by Sossi Khachadourian
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Happy Friendship Day!

A friend is a person
You bump into one day,
In a strange way
Like a Fay!
Making you gay,
Listening to all that
You got to say!

A friend is one
Amongst a few,
Who cares for you,
Telling you what to do;
At times, cautioning too!

A friend is a soul
With an important role,
Helping you attain your goal,
Making your life whole!

A friend is a rare find
Who enters your mind
In a way pre-destined;

A friend adds
meaning to your life;
Helping you in your strife;
Becoming even
Your husband or wife!

A friend is for ever
Intimate and never
Always clever.

A friend is a bond of love
That shouldn’t sever,
But remain strong forever!
Copyright by Dr John Celes 8-3-2006

poem by John Celes
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