Whatever is produced in haste goes hastily to waste.
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Sonnet VII
No haste but good, where wisdom makes the way,
For proof whereof behold the simple snail
(Who sees the soldier's carcass cast away,
With hot assault the Castle to assail)
By line and leisure climbs the wall,
And wins the turret's top more cunningly
Than doughty Dick, who lost his life and all
With hoisting up his head so hastily.
The swiftest bitch brings forth the blindest whelps;
The hottest Fevers coldest cramps ensue;
The nakedest need hath ever latest helps.
With Nevil then I find this proverb true,
That Haste makes waste, and therefore still I say,
No haste but good, where wisdom makes the way.
poem by George Gascoigne
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Dancing flesh.
The precious waste of a woman is a baby,
The unavoidable taste of the bodies that display,
The uncontrollable haste of the man that overlooks,
The new generation of human is produced without avail.
The creation of Gods, serve them no more
The creations of Man serve them so well,
The net that entangles quarter of population,
Dismantle the family bond without any trail.
The sweat may change the landscape,
The hard labor may chase away the poverty,
The thought may think to discover,
The memories may stop to recover.
We are the remnants of the waste, but priceless,
What we eat, seek, save, inherit and then leave,
Garbage that collected in our body and soul,
What that can't be seen, are our only luggage.
poem by Veeraiyah Subbulakshmi
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Sonnet VI
For why the gains doth seldom quit the charge:
And so say I by proof too dearly bought,
My haste made waste; my brave and brainsick barge
Did float too fast to catch a thing of naught.
With leisure, measure, mean, and many moe
I mought have kept a chair of quiet state.
But hasty heads cannot be settled so,
Till crooked Fortune gave a crabbed mate.
As busy brains must beat on tickle toys,
As rash invention breeds a raw devise,
So sudden falls do hinder hasty joys;
And as swift baits do fleetest fish entice,
So haste makes waste, and therefore now I say,
No haste but good, where wisdom makes the way.
poem by George Gascoigne
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Jamie doesn't like to do anything hastily, and I like to do everything incredibly hastily. So therein you have the dichotomy of our patterns.
quote by Adam Savage
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Old Man Say (Make Haste)
The beast rest there!
Go before the night draw near
Before ill-times wake
Cause then, It may all be late
So lad make haste
- *Guh dear lad!
Before next day
Harken to what *dis old man say
Make hay my lad
Unless be sad
Say I, make haste
Don't make good times waste
It's a wild wild world
- out *deh mi lad
And di wolves dem *nat suh kine
Go on now *mi lad
*Mek haste before its night
And me sure all will be right
*guh - go *mek - make *mi - my
*deh - there * kine - kind *di - the
*nat suh - not so *me - i'm *dis - this
Copyright © 2012
poem by Godfrey Morris
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Make Haste
Make haste, make haste, no time to waste,
the sandman’s on the move!
The minutes chased, missspent, misplaced,
swift scattered are, remove
from life the paste thats interlaced
with love to leave the groove
by others faced with fears encased
within themselves! Improve
your chances paced by those who’ve raced
where most may fear, disprove
the double-faced, minds [s]oft, effaced.
let no one disapprove
Strong spirits graced with soul true, chaste,
which ever must reprove
all evil based on base, poor taste, -
which ever seeks to prove
Good may be traced, Right be embraced
in confidence – for you’ve
the need to haste to truth, yes haste,
for Time is on the move!
poem by Jonathan Robin
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The consequences of things are not always proportionate to the apparent magnitude of those events that have produced them. Thus the American Revolution, from which little was expected, produced much; but the French Revolution, from which much was expected, produced little.
quote by Charles Caleb Colton
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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What Is It To Waste A Night?
WHAT IS IT TO WASTE A NIGHT?
What is it to waste a night
When I have wasted years?
Why worry now so close to the end
Hasn’t it all been a waste?
Won’t it all be a waste one day
No matter how I play the game
Of seeking to make my name eternal?
But this is this night and no other
And I writing this now
Am redeeming it from ‘waste’
And fooling myself for one more day
‘It has not been a waste nothing is a waste
when I can write a real poem now.’
I
poem by Shalom Freedman
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Anyway, it fell through because they ran out of money. That was when I learned not to waste your time getting your hopes up or to believe something until it actually happens. We broke up for various reasons, but it was a good band. Jim and Don produced some magical music.
quote by Jamie Muir
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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haste makes waste
every bill
must go through the mill
quote by by John Celes
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The Lion
The Beasts that be
In wood and waste,
Now sit and see,
Nor ride nor haste.
poem by William Morris
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The Rose
I.
Sweet serene skye-like Flower,
Haste to adorn her Bower :
From thy long clowdy bed,
Shoot forth thy damaske head.
II.
New-startled blush of Flora !
The griefe of pale Aurora,
Who will contest no more ;
Haste, haste, to strowe her floore.
III.
Vermilion Ball that's given
From lip to lip in Heaven ;
Love's Couches cover-led :
Haste, haste, to make her bed.
IV.
Dear Offspring of pleas'd Venus,
And Jollie, plumpe Silenus ;
Haste, haste, to decke the Haire
Of th' only, sweetly Faire.
V.
See ! Rosie is her Bower,
Her floore is all this Flower ;
Her Bed a Rosie nest
By a Bed of Roses prest.
VI.
But early as she dresses,
Why fly you her bright Tresses ?
Ah ! I have found I feare ;
Because her Cheekes are neere.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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To Lucasta, the Rose
I.
Sweet serene skye-like flower,
Haste to adorn her bower;
From thy long clowdy bed
Shoot forth thy damaske head.
II.
New-startled blush of Flora!
The griefe of pale Aurora,
Who will contest no more,
Haste, haste, to strowe her floore.
III.
Vermilion ball, that's given
From lip to lip in Heaven;
Loves couches cover-led,
Haste, haste, to make her bed.
IV.
Dear offspring of pleas'd Venus,
And jollie plumpe Silenus;
Haste, haste, to decke the haire,
Of th' only sweetly faire.
V.
See! rosie is her bower,
Her floore is all this flower;
Her bed a rosie nest
By a bed of roses prest.
VI.
But early as she dresses,
Why fly you her bright tresses?
Ah! I have found, I feare;
Because her cheekes are neere.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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To Lucasta. The Rose.
I.
Sweet serene skye-like flower,
Haste to adorn her bower;
From thy long clowdy bed
Shoot forth thy damaske head.
II.
New-startled blush of FLORA!
The griefe of pale AURORA,
Who will contest no more,
Haste, haste, to strowe her floore.
III.
Vermilion ball, that's given
From lip to lip in Heaven;
Loves couches cover-led,
Haste, haste, to make her bed.
IV.
Dear offspring of pleas'd VENUS,
And jollie plumpe SILENUS;
Haste, haste, to decke the haire,
Of th' only sweetly faire.
V.
See! rosie is her bower,
Her floore is all this flower;
Her bed a rosie nest
By a bed of roses prest.
VI.
But early as she dresses,
Why fly you her bright tresses?
Ah! I have found, I feare;
Because her cheekes are neere.
poem by Richard Lovelace
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Curia
Say poetry
in a must,
in a quick,
Time won’t tell,
You must tell.
No time to rest
Or to waste,
Not to haste
Poetry must.
Curia this is, you say
Why now.
The matter of curia
Or say poetry must.
What’s poetry?
Like a must do say.
What’s poetry?
To get furia.
What’s poetry?
Say it, not waste.
A cast to not know
Waste for me to blow.
What’s poetry?
Opposed is to curia.
Then no choice but furia
Opposed to not know.
poem by Deepta Protik Osman
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Wasting My Hate
Ain't gonna waste my hate
Ain't gonna waste my hate on you
I think I'll keep it for myself
Ain't gonna kill no more
Ain't got the time to help you score
I think it's time you pleased yourself
Yourself
Good day how 'ya doing
And I send a smile to you
Don't waste
Waste your breath
Now I will waste my hate on you
Waste my hate on you
You think your worthy now
You think enough to even raise the brow
And to life that tip that you belong
When I see my hate I see my feet
I feel that blood that pumps in me
Where the hell's my mind
Don't know
Don't know now
Good day how 'ya doing
And I send a smile to you
Don't waste
Waste your breath
Now I will waste my hate on you
Waste my hate on you
Then I'll keep it for myself
Hey
Ain't gonna waste my hate
But I don't clean it when they say
Better to give then to recieve
Ain't gonna waste my hate
Ain't got time to waste my hate on you
I think I'll keep it all for myself
For myself
Good day how 'ya doing
And I send a smile to you
Don't waste
Waste your breath
Now I will waste my hate on you
Waste my hate on you
Think I'll keep it for myself
Yeah
Hate
song performed by by Metallica from Load
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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You can't get the visual thing on the record as much as you'd like to. We produced this album, and we'd never done that before, except when we produced singles for ourselves.
quote by Alice Cooper
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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On the Road to Jericho
On the road to Jericho
Mark the stricken one,
Moaning in his agony,
Prone beneath the sun.
Prone beneath the blazing sun,
Naked and alone,
Bleeding from a score of wounds,
Stricken to the bone.
Now his tossing arms lie still;
Now his moans grow faint.
Is there none to succor him
Publican or saint?
Publican or Pharisee
Are none passing by
On the road to Jericho
Is he left to die?
On the road to Jericho
Hurry, hurry, priest!
'Twere a sin wert thou away
From the saintly feast.
Haste thee, Levite, tarry not.
At the Temple waits
Holy work for thee to do;
Haste thee to the gates.
God will guard the stricken one.
Leave it all to Him.
(Now the blood dries on his wouds.
Now his eyes grow dim.)
Yet - ah tell it! Save the shame -
Save the name of Man!
On the road to Jericho
One Samaritan!
On the road to Jericho -
'Voices call 'Make way!
See, the Bishop's carriage comes;
He's in haste to-day.
He's in haste to tend a Prince.
Let the good man through,
He is lordly; he is rich . . .
Not like me or you.
He'll 'consider' your appeal.
He's no time to waste!'
O, despised Samaritan,
Haste thee hither, haste!
Priest and Levite pass along,
Bishops go their ways,
On the road to Jericho
As in olden days.
poem by Clarence Michael James Stanislaus Dennis
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