Friar Lawrence: Be plain, good son, and homely in thy drift;
Riddling confession finds but riddling shrift.
line from Romeo and Juliet, Act II, Scene 3 by William Shakespeare (1597)
Submitted by Dan Costinaş
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Related quotes
Skepticism, riddling the faith of yesterday, prepared the way for the faith of tomorrow.
quote by Romain Rolland
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Deck Chair Blues - For lonely Deck chairs everywhere
There is nothing more distressing
Observing a deck chair that is bored
Always waiting for an attendant
Who will make them comfortable
It's quite a lonesome vocation
Laying still near the indoor pool
Standing at ease in white plastic
Waiting for the hours Renewal
Sometimes it will get a family
Breaking up a day's holiday
On others it could be a lawyer
Looking for a rest from the quay
But mostly it sits there forlorn
Marooned in somber etiquette
Immersed by riddling currents
Of Tropical ghost light silhouettes
For how will a lounge chair relax?
If it should remain unemployed
Constantly in need of a subject
To keep an annulment from the void
One day it will find contentment
Someone to fill in the right mould
Laughing in personal triumph
When it finds that person called home
poem by Kevin Patrick
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Friar Lubin. (From The French)
To gallop off to town post-haste,
So oft, the times I cannot tell;
To do vile deed, nor feel disgraced,--
Friar Lubin will do it well.
But a sober life to lead,
To honor virtue, and pursue it,
That's a pious, Christian deed,--
Friar Lubin can not do it.
To mingle, with a knowing smile,
The goods of others with his own,
And leave you without cross or pile,
Friar Lubin stands alone.
To say 't is yours is all in vain,
If once he lays his finger to it;
For as to giving back again,
Friar Lubin cannot do it.
With flattering words and gentle tone,
To woo and win some guileless maid,
Cunning pander need you none,--
Friar Lubin knows the trade.
Loud preacheth he sobriety,
But as for water, doth eschew it;
Your dog may drink it,--but not he;
Friar Lubin cannot do it.
ENVOY
When an evil deed 's to do
Friar Lubin is stout and true;
Glimmers a ray of goodness through it,
Friar Lubin cannot do it.
poem by Henry Wadsworth Longfellow
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Dualing Ideals
The voice of my souls sings aloud, for it has met yet another who shares in the fate that my angel has placed me. I am allotted such limited time as my fate strings together a most complex puzzle, yet peculiar emotion (if that is what it can be called) within my mind and body...Love
The soul weeps for those who passed while the heart feels pain from its near hollow disposition. The mind itself, simply burns with the resolve of another riddling facet...Hatred/Revenge
poem by Keenan Harris
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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True confessions
In my youth I was often told
That confession is good,
good for the soul.
In a darkened wooden booth
I was expected to tell the truth.
First a good act of contrition,
Confession and then absolution
Penance would be meted out
Thus expiation came about.
Nowadays that’s thought
Old fashioned.
My local barkeep
hears my confession.
Of course he grants no absolution,
He pours Absinthe
and shows compassion.
And I may or may not
Tell the truth
While contemplating
The Absolute.
poem by John F. McCullagh
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Necrological
The friar had said his paternosters duly
And scourged his limbs, and afterwards would have slept;
But with much riddling his head became unruly,
He arose, from the quiet monastery he crept.
Dawn lightened the place where the battle had been won.
The people were dead -- it is easy he thought to die --
These dead remained, but the living were all gone,
Gone with the wailing trumps of victory.
The dead men wore no raiment against the air,
Bartholomew's men had spoiled them where they fell;
In defeat the heroes' bodies were whitely bare,
The field was white like meads of asphodel.
Not all were white; some gory and fabulous
Whom the sword had pierced and then the grey wolf eaten;
But the brother reasoned that heroes' flesh was thus.
Flesh fails, and the postured bones lie weather-beaten.
The lords of chivalry lay prone and shattered.
The gentle and the bodyguard of yeomen;
Bartholomew's stroke went home -- but little it mattered,
Bartholomew went to be stricken of other foemen.
Beneath the blue ogive of the firmament
Was a dead warrior, clutching whose mighty knees
Was a leman, who with her flame had warmed his tent,
For him enduring all men's pleasantries.
Close by the sable stream that purged the plain
Lay the white stallion and his rider thrown,
The great beast had spilled there his little brain,
And the little groin of the knight was spilled by a stone.
The youth possessed him then of a crooked blade
Deep in the belly of a lugubrious wight;
He fingered it well, and it was cunningly made;
But strange apparatus was if for a Carmelite.
Then he sat upon a hill and bowed his head
As under a riddle, and in deep surmise
So still that he likened himself unto those dead
Whom the kites of Heaven solicited with sweet cries.
poem by John Crowe Ransom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Fragments - Lines 0667 - 0682
If I had money, Simonides, I would not feel such pain
As I do now, when in the company of the noble.
As it is, wealth recognizes me but passes by, and I am speechless
Out of want, although it would seem that I know better than most
That now, with our white sails lowered, we are being carried
Out of the Melian Sea through the murky night,
And the men refuse to bail, although the sea sweeps over
Both sides of the ship. Indeed, only with great difficulty is anyone likely to be
Saved, acting as they are: they have stopped the helmsman,
Good though he was, who kept watch skillfully;
And they are plundering the cargo by force. Discipline has perished,
And fair division is no longer carried out in an open fashion;
The deckhands are in control, and the base have the upper hand over the noble.
I am afraid that the waves may swallow up the ship.
Let this, well hidden, be my riddling message for the noble,
Though a base man too may understand it, if he is clever.
Like Father Like Son
He was raised in the english way
His daddy taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
They sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone elses rule
And he went to confession
He went to confession
Holy father wash my sins away
He went to confession
He went to confession
Mother mary take the pain away
He read letters from home at night in his bed
And got this uneasy feeling when his father said
Fear of God and the feel of the rod
Will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod
Will raise a good boy
He bought his daddys car and he learned to drive
And when he left school he got a nine to five
He met the girl and he got his spouse
And they had the child and they got the house
And he went to confession
He went to confession
Holy father wash my sins away
He went to confession
He went to confession
Mother mary take the pain away
He loved his son and he helped him build walls and fronts
He knew hed heard it before
Someone had said it once
Fear of God and the feel of the rod
Will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod
Will raise a good boy
He raised his son in the english way
And he taught him respect, he taught him how to pray
He sent him off to boarding school
Where he learned how to live by someone elses rules
And he went to confession
He went to confession
Holy father wash my sins away
He went to confession
He went to confession
Mother mary take the pain away
It must be something much deeper than fear or pain
Another child learns a pattern he wont break the chain
Fear of God and the feel of the rod
Will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod
Will raise a good boy
The fear of God and the feel of the rod
Will raise the next boy
song performed by by Rick Springfield
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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The Barefooted Friar
I'll give thee, good fellow, a twelvemonth or twain,
To search Europe through, from Byzantium to Spain;
But ne'er shall you find, should you search till you tire,
So happy a man as the Barefooted Friar.
Your knight for his lady pricks forth in career,
And is brought home at even-song bunny'd through with a spear;
I confess him in haste - for his lady desires
No comfort on earth save the Barefooted Friar's.
Your monarch? - Pshaw! many a prince has been known
To barter his robes for our cowl and our gown,
But which of us e'er felt the idle desire
To exchange for a crown the grey hood of a Friar!
The Friar has walk'd out, and where'er he has gone,
The land and its fatness is mark'd for his own;
He can roam where he lists, he can stop when he tires,
For every man's house is the Barefooted Friar's.
He's expected at noon, and no wight till he comes
May profane the great chair, or the porridge of plums
For the best of the cheer, and the seat by the fire,
Is the undenied right of the Barefooted Friar.
He's expected at night, and the pasty's made hot,
They broach the brown ale, and they fill the black pot,
And the goodwife would wish the goodman in the mire,
Ere he lack'd a soft pillow, the Barefooted Friar.
Long flourish the sandal, the cord, and the cope,
The dread of the devil and trust of the Pope;
For to gather life's roses, unscathed by the briar,
Is granted alone to the Barefooted Friar.
poem by Sir Walter Scott
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Better Version Of Me
The nickel dropped when I was on
My way beyond the rubicon
What did I do?
And the games that I could handle
And then the ones with a candle
What can I do?
I'm a frightened, fickle person
Fighting, cryin', kickin', cursin'
What should I do?
Oooh, after all the folderol*
and hauling over coals** stops
What will I do?
Can't take a good day without a bad one
Don't feel just to smile until I had one
Where did I learn?
I make a fuss about a little thing
The rhyme is losing to the riddling
Where's the turn?
I dont want a home I go
and that home
is where my habits have a habitat
Why give it term?
Oooh, after all the folderol
and hauling over coals stops
What did I learn?
I am likely to miss the main event
If I stop to cry and complain again
So I will keep a deliberate pace
Let the damn breeze dry my face
Oh mister wait until you see
What I plan to be
I've got a plan to demand and it just began
And if you're right, you'll agree
Here's coming a better version of me
Here's coming a better version of me
Here it comes a better version of me
song performed by by Fiona Apple
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Overtures
My dear and I, we disagreed
When we had been much time together.
For when will lovers learn to sail
From sailing always in good weather?
She said a hateful little word
Between the pages of the book.
I bubbled with a noble rage,
I bruised her with a dreadful look,
And thanked her kindly for the word
Of such a little silly thing;
Indeed I loved my poet then
Beyond my dear, or anything.
And she, the proud girl, swept away,
How swift and scornfully she went!
And I the frightened lover stayed,
And have not had one hour's content
Until to-day; until I knew
That I was loved again, again;
Then hazard how this thing befel,
Brother of women and of men?
'Perhaps a gallant gentleman
Accomplished it, who saw you bleed;
Perhaps she wrote upon the book
A riddling thing that you could read;
'Perhaps she crept to you, and cried,
And took upon her all the blame.'
O no, do proud girls creep and cry?
'Perhaps she whispered you your name.'
O no, she walked alone, and I
Was walking in the rainy wood,
And saw her drooping by the tree,
And saw my work of widowhood.
poem by John Crowe Ransom
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I Confess
It is true.
I confess.
I have been spoiled.
And My Father,
The Almighty...
Knows this confession best.
When I feel I have a need,
And I please My Father...
With deeds I attempt,
And some not successfully...
My Father decides,
To then surprise.
It is true.
I confess.
I have been spoiled.
And My Father,
The Almighty...
Knows this confession best.
When I pray each day,
And express my gratefulness...
I don't take for granted,
Those blessings from My Father...
I know from Him I get.
When I find I struggle,
And I am wet with sweat...
I am comforted by My Father,
Who then allows...
My peace and rest.
It is true.
I confess.
I have been spoiled.
And My Father,
The Almighty...
Knows this confession best.
Before Him I place no 'thing' I value more.
Before My Father,
I profess a love for him that is adored.
My loyalty and devotion,
Is given without thought.
And My Father and I...
Tackle those obstacles,
He assists me to abort.
It is true.
I confess.
I have been spoiled.
And My Father,
The Almighty...
Knows this confession best.
And nothing do I have do I take for granted.
I know from 'WHOM' my gifts have come.
I know from 'WHOM' has 'allowed' this to be done!
It is true.
I confess.
I have been spoiled.
And My Father,
The Almighty...
Knows this confession best.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Supernatural
Supernatural, I
Exist beyond your vision
But everywhere you look
You can see I’m on a mission
That you can’t understand
Like what your life is missin’
You’re fishing for the answers
To speak when you should listen
You’re always in a rush to shine
When you all barely glisten
Where cause and effect
Start and end with a collision
I’m cold fusion and fission
And you cannot define it
But numbers over zero
In division I sublime it
Supernatural, I
Don’t believe in good or evil
To support my being
That line was drawn by people
And it is moved and crossed
So much legal is illegal
A demon is a savior
But they’re both still lethal
And yet they’re both still worthless
To every other eye and ear
That senses they’re not worth it
They take them out the furthest
From the fearful journey
To find their tearful purpose
I don’t suffer such delusions
My illusions perfect
Supernatural, I
Never lose and never gain
Any interest in your time
Spent riddling my name
When you’re down it might seem
I don’t hear when mice scream
But I never play the game
And there is no right team
I am never one to blame
Your horrors and your pipe dreams
They are of your own design
So you deserve all the acclaim
You don’t have a prayer to be like me
Too limited and feisty
Eternity is what I see
And I’m watching it on widescreen
poem by P.R. Prosper
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Confession
Listen up
This is confession
This machine motion is sure to break my heart
Listen up
This is confession
Recorded music sticks in the throat of god.
I o u, you dont own me
I o u, you dont own me
Party time, one mor night, everybodys affected
Listen up
This is confession
You are a poison that flows into my veins.
Listen up
This is confession
Ive never been so scared of letting you down.
You know me, so come closer
You know me, so come closer
Party time, one more town, everybodys affected.
I know you, you dont need me
I know you, you dont need me
Party time, one more girl, everybodys affected
Listen up
This is confession
They tell me heaven just has to be somewhere
Listen up
This is confession
Id lie to God if I could make him believe.
You owe me, and I need you
You owe me, and I need you
Party time, one more game, everybodys affected
This is my confession
This is my confession
Party time, one more lie, everybodys affected
song performed by by Gary Numan
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Ain't It Good
Ain't it funny, time goes by, you forget about your pain,
Find yourself, with someone else, fall in love again.
Ain't it good, so good, you and me, against the world
Ain't it good, so good, it's plain to see, it's you and me baby.
Spend your life, wasting time, always chasing something.
I found out what it's all about, I got my love for certain.
Ain't it good, so good, you and me, against the world
Ain't it good, so good, it's plain to see, its you and me baby.
I used to be so lonely, I used to be so blue,
I had nothing, till I found you.
Yeah, yeah, yeah.
Ain't it good, so good, you and me against the world.
Ain't it good, so good, it's plain to see, it's you and me baby.
Ain't it good, so good, you and me against the world.
Ain't it good, so good, it's plain to see, it's you and me baby
song performed by by Bad Company
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Arcane Lightning
When lightning ripped the land
A torrent of amethyst riveted
In the landsliding current
And there, in the opposing tackles
Of eviscerating flashes
Lies the mendaciloquence
Of the heart of veracity.
In the shafts of the rasping
And the brambles of the pounding,
There was a fire ribbing
And no one understood
What bipolarity slewed
Into the ruffles of an electric heart
That the rain of fire halted.
The savage oscillation plucked
Too many emission, ejaculating
Too scarce constellations
And the riddling cacophony of
The struck zither dispensed
The jewelries into the engulfing ocean
And the lightning died in the sky.
The blade unsheathed and
The fire devoured itself
Never will the lightning reap
Its scythe into the barren deep
For the eccentric fury that propels
The esoteric fire of the veins
Never hauled the affable string.
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Drifting
drift like a leaf
carried by the flow of the river
drift like a feather
riding on the current of the wind
drift like a vagabond
on the alleys of the foreign land
drift like boat
without its rudder and engine
drift like a space craft
deep into the black hole of this universe
there is this feeling
of letting go and saying yes and not wanting to know.
poem by Ric S. Bastasa
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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1: From the Void
A rift in the bones ached
To be amongst the quakes
Of the forest's riddling dance
As I sink in fathoms futilely
Gulping ounces of buoyancy,
Aloof in the inert stance,
Siphoned of sporadic chances,
Slurring in the slopes of darkness,
Chagrined in the tranquil motion,
Lost in the stability of perpetual lost:
This malign cycle is a serpent
Chasing its own tail,
Poisoning its own cure.
The pedagogy of the night
Lies in the pitch black, point blank
Despondence buried in the sighs
In the salient grave in these eyes
Imagine the fathoms to brave
To find my core rocking slowly
Assuaging the moribund sways
Of the pendulums and hooks
That slivered the atmosphere
To sequester my soul
From my body
And from yours
And they called this place
Void.
poem by Norman Santos
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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It Is Too Late To Appease With Trite Apologies
Let me bring you up to date,
And clarify that notion...
What you 'assume' for you,
Is not too late to do.
To believe someone stands by and waits,
For you to comprehend...
What should have been comprehended,
During times that have come to an end...
Way back when...and 'then'?
It is too late to announce your understanding.
For an effect you expect to get.
To cleanse a slate.
Feelings you purposely hurt have healed.
And reminiscing a pain no one finds ideal.
Your appearance someone might appreciate.
But your conversation with excuses made...
Has long been outdated.
And it is too late to appease with trite apologies.
Your enlightenment that has awakened you,
To the feelings of others you had abused...
Is good for 'your' experience to process and digest.
But that painful healing that took place,
With a patience someone left alone to manifest...
Without your heartfelt confession to put at rest,
Has occurred with the grace only received from God.
poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Phantom Or Fact? A Dialogue In Verse
Author.
A lovely form there sate beside my bed,
And such a feeding calm its presence shed,
A tender love so pure from earthly leaven
That I unnethe the fancy might control,
'Twas my own spirit newly come from heaven
Wooing its gentle way into my soul!
But ah! the change -- It had not stirred, and yet
Alas! that change how fain would I forget?
That shrinking back, like one that had mistook!
That weary, wandering, disavowing Look!
'Twas all another, feature, look and frame,
And still, methought, I knew it was the same!
Friend.
This riddling Tale, to what does it belong?
Is't History? Vision? or an idle Song?
Or rather say at once, within what space
Of Time this wild disastrous change took place?
Author.
Call it a moment's work (and such it seems),
This Tale's a Fragment from the Life of Dreams;
But say, that years matured the silent strife,
And 'tis a Record from the Dream of Life.
poem by Samuel Taylor Coleridge
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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