Horatio: In the most high and palmy state of Rome,
A little ere the mightiest Julius fell,
The graves stood tenantless, and the sheeted dead
Did squeak and gibber in the Roman streets.
line from Hamlet, Act I, Scene 1 by William Shakespeare (1599)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Two Famous Women Of History (Fun Poem 112)
Eve was the first woman
who tempted Adam with an apple,
when he went to take a bite
the worm in it hypnotised him
telling him to take her
and be damned,
and we all were.
Cleopatra was another woman
and under her spell, Mark Anthony fell.
The result of that union the Roman Empire crumbled
and also the flame was lit for Nero
to fiddle while Rome burned
and Julius before him didn’t fare too well neither.
28 February 2011
poem by David Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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When In Rome
Well, you must be from the city
'Cause you sure ain't from round here
There ain't no smoke free section
We don't sell no import beer.
You been throwin' round that attitude
Since you walked in that door
I don't know where you come from
But you ain't there anymore
When in Rome,
You can do like the Roman's
But, when your down home
You better do like us.
You been lookin' down your nose
At our water tower town
Ain't no one getting rich
But, there's enough to go around.
If ya don't like tracy's cookin'
Well, ya best still leave a tip
She's back there in that kitchen
With a baby on her hip.
When in Rome,
You can do like the Roman's
But, when your down home
You better do like us.
You put your best foot forward
When you go to meet a man
Look him in the eye
And put a good grip on his hand.
Don't cuss around the ladies
Tell us how to raise our kids
We like doing business
Like our daddys, daddys did.
When you drive off in your beamer
If ya don't do 35
Don't give no lip to Beuford
Or he might just dot your eye.
And when your at the courthouse
Before Ole judge McCall
You best not say a word
About them comandments on his wall.
Naw!
When in Rome,
You can do like the Roman's
But when your down home
You better do like us.
Yeah, Yeah Yeah
When in Rome,
You can do like the Roman's
But when your down home
You better do like us.
Mmmm Hmmmm
Better do like us boy
Don't you come in here talking all that trash
Ya just might get your nose smashed.
When in Rome,
You can do like the Roman's...
song performed by by Travis Tritt
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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St. Adrian
to St. Adrian I give thanks
the dead leader of dead Roman ranks
a silent prayer to the Roman man
that calm man like deadly white hands
his steadfast wife even locked her door
when she thought he was like her no more
so a prayer to Adrian, saint of knights
a St. only after the lion beasts rites
to him be a morsel of honor, be it true
not more flames or a blunt corkscrew
to Saint Adrian I give thanks
the dead leader of dead Roman ranks
enter the night of Adrianus Incarsaurus
the holy, now, of Rome...MARTYR US!
to Saint Adrian, the saint, the beast
oh cover us, Adrian, from Abaddon and the beast
to Saint Adrian I give thanks
the dead leader of dead Roman ranks
sing your hymn with the name on your lips
or simply, silently 'Adrian' in felt tips
to him be a morsel of honor, be it true
not more flames, or unjust undo
to the leader of dead Roman ranks
to St. Adrian I give thanks
poem by Michael Cook
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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A Spinster At Mass
She came in dressed
in the robe of a mayoress
Her hair, curly and golden
Like that of a Roman goddess
She looked round
Her eyes, large and round
Like that of a fancy bulb.
With them she me espied
In a corner under a deck
of this unnamed Church.
Behold, here's a Pandora
at mass,
As she passed;
Not even the parson
could bypass,
He stood there like a dead
wood and stared and stared
Till his eye balls fell
from its sockets
We stared and stared
And still we stood there
and stared
Till our piety fell.
poem by Efe Benjamin
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Julius Caesar Augustus: Ancient World Conquest
Julius valiant tall in stature a fair complexion
youth shapely limbs incredibly talented
fair-haired full face keen piercing black eyes
a public speaker trained in rhetoric skilled
hail Octavius Octavian exalted revered Augustus
statesman titled Father of the Fatherland imperator
conqueror destroyer builder Hail Caesar
Julius Augustus Caesar
famous for conquest of Gaul
Roman statesman general emperor
first emperor of the Roman Empire
ruled alone from 27 BC until 14 AD
amassed power sparked a civil war
emerged as sole unrivaled leader
of the Roman world played a critical
role in the gradual transformation of
Roman Republic into the Roman Empire
adopted born Gaius Octavius Thurinus
poem by Terence George Craddock
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Rome
O thou newcomer who seek’st Rome in Rome
And find’st in Rome no thing thou canst call Roman;
Arches worn old and palaces made common
Rome’s name alone within these walls keeps home.
Behold how pride and ruin can befall
One who hath set the whole world ’neath her laws,
All-conquering, now conquered, because
She is Time’s prey, and Time conquereth all.
Rome that art Rome’s one sole last monument,
Rome that alone hast conquered Rome the town,
Tiber alone, transient and seaward bent,
Remains of Rome. O world, thou unconstant mime!
That which stands firm in thee Time batters down,
And that which fleeteth doth outrun swift Time.
poem by Ezra Pound
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Names of months and their relevance
January is named after Janus,
Who is the Roman God
In charge of the world.
February is Februalia,
A time sacrifices are made
And sins atoned for.
March is Mar, God of War,
And father of Romulus,
Who ruled the Roman Empire.
April is Aperira in Latin,
Meaning to open the buds in Spring.
May is Maia, Goddess of Fertility.
June is Juno, wife and sister of
Jupiter and protector of women.
July is Emperor Julius Caesar.
August is Augustus, grandson of
Julius Caesar’s sister.
September, October, November and December
Are Septen, Octo, Noven and Decm
Standing for seven, eight, nine and ten.
The relevance of names are lost
When their connectivity is not understood.
20.03.2007
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
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Graves
I dreamed one man stood against a thousand,
One man damned as a wrongheaded fool.
One year and another he walked the streets,
And a thousand shrugs and hoots
Met him in the shoulders and mouths he passed.
He died alone.
And only the undertaker came to his funeral.
Flowers grow over his grave anod in the wind,
And over the graves of the thousand, too,
The flowers grow anod in the wind.
Flowers and the wind,
Flowers anod over the graves of the dead,
Petals of red, leaves of yellow, streaks of white,
Masses of purple sagging…
I love you and your great way of forgetting.
poem by Carl Sandburg
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A New Pilgrimage: Sonnet XXXVI
The majesty of Rome to me is nought;
The imperial story of her conquering car
Touches me only with compassionate thought
For the doomed nations faded by her star.
Her palaces of Caesars tombstones are
For a whole world of freedoms vainly caught
In her high fortune. Throned was she in war;
By war she perished. So is justice wrought.
A nobler Rome is here, which shall not die.
She rose from the dead ashes of men's lust,
And robed herself anew in chastity,
And half redeemed man's heritage of dust.
This Rome I fain would love, though darkly hid
In mists of passion and desires scarce dead.
poem by Wilfrid Scawen Blunt
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The Gods Are Dead
The gods are dead? Perhaps they are! Who knows?
Living at least in Lempriere undeleted,
The wise, the fair, the awful, the jocose,
Are one and all. I like to think, retreated
In some still land of lilacs and the rose.
Once high they sat, and high o’er earthly shows
With sacrificial dance and song were greeted.
Once… long ago. But now, the story goes,
The gods are dead.
It must be true. The world, a world of prose,
Full-crammed with facts, in science swathed and sheeted,
Nods in a stertorous after-dinner doze!
Plangent and sad, in every wind that blows
Who will may hear the sorry words repeated: –
‘The Gods are Dead!’
poem by William Ernest Henley
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We cannot afford more of this modern day Rome
Being positive, transcendent while neglecting your emotional pain, being blind to it while unconsciously projecting your hurts into others, will still cause you to succeed materially, you will still obtain your abundance, your vast wealth, Rome, The Roman Empire is a good example, you will have your desires, but at a dehumanizing cost.
We cannot afford more of this modern day Rome. Now Rome can not only destroy itself but all life. Then what, will we get a free ride on another planet. We are just going to be so welcome and simply fit in after our self-destruction. Are we that arrogant where we think we will not have to start over from dust?
poem by Michael Kavuoti
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I had rather be first in a village than second at Rome.
quote by Julius Caesar
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Where a Roman Villa Stood, Above Freiburg
On alien ground, breathing an alien air,
A Roman stood, far from his ancient home,
And gazing, murmured,
'Ah, the hills are fair,
But not the hills of Rome!'
Descendant of a race to Romans-kin,
Where the old son of Empire stood, I stand.
The self-same rocks fold the same valley in,
Untouched of human hand.
Over another shines the self-same star,
Another heart with nameless longing fills,
Crying aloud, 'How beautiful they are,
But not our English hills!'
poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
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Roman Polanski: What is There to Debate? Whether Rape is Rape-Rape?
I know he is great director.
I know that he had great stresses in his life from childhood on.
I know that he had won countless awards for his cinema, his ‘magic’ and his craft.
I know that Roman Polanski is a statutory rape predator.
I know that there was something in his psyche that little girls had done.
I know what rape means, it is control, and it’s been 32 years ago,
- he had control or am I daft.
She said “No, no, I want to go home”
“It’s been so long ago”, his fans do say.
It is sort of like meth head saying,
“I promised you $400 for that guitar I bought you from last year,
But not in future and not today.”
And the infamous Bill Clinton line
-'It depends on what the meaning of the word 'is' is. “
That one still confounds me still to this day.
(But not as much as Caitlin Upton’s response when she was asked a question in a pageant about geography I do recall.)
Roman Polanski is a fugitive from the law.
I know that Roman Polanski is a statutory rape predator
The French blame the US level of justice.
Roman elected to live in the US not France,
Do in Rome what the Romans do.
And if you ‘play’ you have to pay.
And if by chance,
You run afoul of the country’s law pity the fool.
His next stop is a prison cell door.
Especially, when you are a 40+ year old man taking advantage of a 13 year old girl.
I know that Roman Polanski is a statutory rape predator.
Roman Polanski gave her alcohol and Quaaludes,
Consensual sex, hardly it behooves the point,
Someone should lock him up for the next 32 years in the joint.
Roman’s violation of the law is not only against her,
But it is a violation against the People of California,
And consequently, the People of the United States.
I know that Roman Polanski is a statutory rape predator.
If Roman Polanski is not extradited,
- then a part of millennia of common moral law is about to fail.
If Roman Polanski is extradited he will not go free on bail.
If he were Marc Rich and President Clinton was in power,
And if Roman Polanski gave serious money to Clinton’s Library,
Roman, like Marc Rich, could be pardoned, exonerated-either or.
Roman should pay for his abuse of a child whatever years ago,
She quite older now but the state doesn’t forget.
Especially when his lawyers instigated the recent events,
-that too do they would soon regret.
But when its all said and done,
I know that Roman Polanski is a statutory rape predator.
10-2-09
poem by Joe Rosochacki
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Empire
Imperial tyrants from whence you come
to the land of American soil,
You pierce the hearts of all of us
that labor hard and toil.
You imitate the Roman legions
and your empire takes on form.
And as it builds in crescendo
there comes an approaching storm.
Enough I say, be gone with you
and all your evil ways.
The dawn of history lay to rest
and lighten up our days.
The rank and file of military strength
may march to the end of the earth.
One by one the conquerors invade
and what is it all worth?
Rome fell and so will we
and all that came before
will fill the air with the stench of blood
as death knocks at our door.
And what shall we cry to our God on high,
what can we possibly say?
We lament what we've done. We cry.
Didn't enough of us pray?
poem by Edwina Reizer
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A Vision Of Resurrection
I had a dream. The habitable earth
Its continents and islands, all were bare
Of cities and of forests. Naught remained
Of its old aspect, and I only knew
(As men know things in dreams, unknowing how)
That this was earth and that all men were dead.
On every side I saw the barren land,
Even to the distant sky's inclosing blue,
Thick-pitted all with graves; and all the graves
Save one were open-not as newly dug,
But rather as by some internal force
Riven for egress. Tombs of stone were split
And wide agape, and in their iron decay
The massive mausoleums stood in halves.
With mildewed linen all the ground was white.
Discarded shrouds upon memorial stones
Hung without motion in the soulless air.
While greatly marveling how this should be
I heard, or fancied that I heard, a voice,
Low like an angel's, delicately strong,
And sweet as music.
-'Spirit,' it said, 'behold
The burial place of universal Man!
A million years have rolled away since here
His sheeted multitudes (save only some
Whose dark misdeeds required a separate
And individual arraignment) rose
To judgment at the trumpet's summoning
And passed into the sky for their award,
Leaving behind these perishable things
Which yet, preserved by miracle, endure
Till all are up. Then they and all of earth,
Rock-hearted mountain and storm-breasted sea,
River and wilderness and sites of dead
And vanished capitals of men, shall spring
To flame, and naught shall be for evermore!
When all are risen that wonder will occur.
'Twas but ten centuries ago the last
But one came forth-a soul so black with sin,
Against whose name so many crimes were set
That only now his trial is at end.
But one remains.'
Straight, as the voice was stilled
That single rounded mound cracked lengthliwise
And one came forth in grave-clothes. For a space
He stood and gazed about him with a smile
Superior; then laying off his shroud
Disclosed his two attenuated legs
Which, like parentheses, bent outwardly
As by the weight of saintliness above,
And so sprang upward and was lost to view
Noting his headstone overthrown, I read:
'Sacred to memory of George K. Fitch,
Deacon and Editor-a holy man
Who fell asleep in Jesus, full of years
And blessedness. The dead in Christ rise first.'
poem by Ambrose Bierce
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Ideals
Better than land or gold or trade
Are a high ideal and a purpose true;
Better than all of the wealth we've made
Is the work for others that now we do.
For Rome grew rich and she turned to song
And danced to music and drank her wine,
But she sapped the strength of her fibres strong
And a gilded shroud was her splendor fine.
The Rome of old with its wealth and wine
Was the handiwork of a sturdy race;
They builded well and they made it fine
And they dreamed of it as their children's place.
They thought the joys they had won to give,
And which seemed so certain and fixed and sure,
To the end of time in the world would live
And the Rome they'd fashioned would long endure.
They passed to their children the hoarded gold,
Their marble halls and their fertile fields!
But not the spirit of Rome of old,
Nor the Roman courage that never yields.
They left them the wealth that their hands had won,
But they failed to leave them a purpose true.
They left them thinking life's work all done,
And Rome went down and was lost to view.
We must guard ourselves lest we follow Rome.
We must leave our children the finer things.
We must teach them love of the spot called home
And the lasting joy that a purpose brings.
For vain are our Flag and our battles won,
And vain are our lands and our stores of gold,
If our children feel that life's work is done.
We must give them a high ideal to hold.
poem by Edgar Albert Guest
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Sam Maneksaw
Julius Caesar won many wars for Rome.
Rome was ungrateful to grant him death.
Sam Maneksaw won a great war for India
India was ungrateful to ignore his death.
No heads, of the ministry or the army,
Partook in his sidelined funerals.
Must we do extraordinary things,
Expecting any eternal gratitude?
28.06.2008
poem by Rm. Shanmugam Chettiar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Back To Rome
One day its the morning
Another day its the afternoon light
On day, baby, without warning
Well, I tend to think were going back to rome
Back to rome
We had a dream it was behemoth
Im so sorry that I didnt work out
And Im sorry about the visigoths
Well, I think its time that we go back to rome
Back to rome
Dont you wish that we could stay?
Were going back to rome
Life is so fine
Then it goes wrong
Wrong
You think its going to miss you but that sun bitch gon get you
Yeah, it goes wrong
Wrong
Sun bitch gon get you
I believed in the cupid
I thought Id kiss you for all my life
I guess Im just a little stupid
Now Im going back to rome
Back to rome
Now I just cant wait
Im going back to rome
Love is so high
Then it goes wrong
Wrong
You think its going to miss you but that sun bitch gon get you
Yeah, it goes wrong
Wrong
Sun bitch gon get you
song performed by by Frank Black
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Godwake
He stretched himself slowly
And rubbed at his eyes,
Rolled over and got to his feet,
His breastplate was rusty, the straps and the eyes
Had mouldered while he was asleep,
And on the horizon, though barely awake
The sun struggled over the hill,
It gleamed on the droplets of dew on the grass
As the figure stood listening and still.
His eyes, they looked puzzled
His visage was grim,
He looked for the pillars of home,
And where were the votaries praying to him,
The Standards, the Legions of Rome?
And where were the barracks, the stables, the mess,
The clash of the soldiers within?
The silence of centuries caught at his ears
And the meadows lay, fallow and green.
He looked for the portals that
Over the hill,
Had stood for Minerva, his bride,
The altar, mosaics, the statue of him,
The flowers from the countryside.
The sentries that stood at attention all day
Protecting his bride at her bath,
The fountain that gushed by the altar inside,
The meandering hillside path.
He came upon hedgerows
And thickets and trees,
The landscape had altered its creed,
No sign of his goddess, the altar, the bees
That had buzzed in the glade for their mead.
He stood for a moment, a tear at his eye,
Then roared in some Latin, and groaned,
As lightning forked down at the primitive sound
That had brought every province to Rome.
A man wandered out from
A thicket down there,
A hedger who wielded his shears,
He shrunk at the lightning and pulled off his cap,
Heard Latin, and covered his ears,
The country ran deep in the old fellow's veins,
From Angle and Saxon and Celt,
Before his beloved Britannia had been
Like a slave on a Roman's belt.
The God stood a terrible
Thirty hands high,
The old man had judged, by his horse,
His helmet, though rusty, had brown-ringed the sky,
His eye had set fire to the gorse,
He looked at the old man, who fell to his knees,
And sensed there was something amiss,
He bid him arise, and he looked in his eyes
And he pointedly stared at the shears.
The hedger was cunning,
He opened his shears,
And pointed the blades at the God,
'These shears are magic, I bid you beware!
They act like a lightning rod.
These shears have cut down the Legions of Rome,
They've banished them all from our shores,
Have toppled your chapels and scattered their gods,
So none of this country is yours! '
The God turned and staggered
Way over the hill,
And down to a ribboning road,
The enemy's chariot came at him, until
He could see where the charioteer rode,
He drew out his mighty and rusty old sword,
Swung once, 'til it ran him right down,
And Mithras was shattered and battered to dust
On the outskirts of Caerleon Town!
The hedger laid Rosemary,
Parsley and Thyme
At the place where her altar had been,
He'd known in his bones that it lay in his fields
For Minerva was locked in his genes,
While a Mack eighteen-wheeler lay dead by the road
With a slash that had sliced it apart,
And a gibbering driver was heard to exclaim:
'I'm done with those purple hearts! '
19 November 2009
poem by David Lewis Paget
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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