"favourable" poems
I. TO DIONYSUS (21 lines) (1)
((LACUNA))
(ll. 1-9) For some say, at Dracanum; and some, on windy Icarus;
and some, in Naxos, O Heaven-born, Insewn (2); and others by the
deep-eddying river Alpheus that pregnant Semele bare you to Zeus
the thunder-lover. And others yet, lord, say you were born in
Thebes; but all these lie. The Father of men and gods gave you
birth remote from men and secretly from white-armed Hera. There
is a certain Nysa, a mountain most high and richly grown with
woods, far off in Phoenice, near the streams of Aegyptus.
((LACUNA))
(ll. 10-12) '...and men will lay up for her (3) many offerings in
her shrines. And as these things are three (4), so shall mortals
ever sacrifice perfect hecatombs to you at your feasts each three
years.'
(ll. 13-16) The Son of Cronos spoke and nodded with his dark
brows. And the divine locks of the king flowed forward from his
immortal head, and he made great Olympus reel. So spake wise
Zeus and ordained it with a nod.
(ll. 17-21) Be favourable, O Insewn, Inspirer of frenzied women!
we singers sing of you as we begin and as we end a strain, and
none forgetting you may call holy song to mind. And so,
farewell, Dionysus, Insewn, with your mother Semele whom men call
Thyone.
__________
The Homeric Hymns in the Hello Poetry collection are provided by:
Online Medieval and Classical Library.
Source site: http://omacl.org/Hesiod/hymns.html
4.2k
XXIX. TO HESTIA (13 lines)
(ll. 1-6) Hestia, in the high dwellings of all, both deathless
gods and men who walk on earth, you have gained an everlasting
abode and highest honour: glorious is your portion and your
right. For without you mortals hold no banquet, -- where one
does not duly pour sweet wine in offering to Hestia both first
and last.
(ll. 7-10) (33) And you, slayer of Argus, Son of Zeus and Maia,
messenger of the blessed gods, bearer of the golden rod, giver of
good, be favourable and help us, you and Hestia, the worshipful
and dear. Come and dwell in this glorious house in friendship
together; for you two, well knowing the noble actions of men, aid
on their wisdom and their strength.
(ll. 12-13) Hail, Daughter of Cronos, and you also, Hermes,
bearer of the golden rod! Now I will remember you and another
song also.
3.4k
Those envied places which do know her well,
And are so scornful of this lonely place,
Even now for once are emptied of her grace:
Nowhere but here she is: and while Love’s spell
From his predominant presence doth compel
All alien hours, an outworn populace,
The hours of Love fill full the echoing space
With sweet confederate music favourable.
Now many memories make solicitous
The delicate love-lines of her mouth, till, lit
With quivering fire, the words take wing from it;
As here between our kisses we sit thus
Speaking of things remembered, and so sit
Speechless while things forgotten call to us.
3.2k
tire ishq kī intihā chāhtā huuñ
mirī sādgī dekh kyā chāhtā huuñ
Your infinite love, I desire
Look at my humility what I desire
sitam ** ki ** vada-e-be-hijābī
koī baat sabr-āzmā chāhtā huuñ
Fury or your audacious-unveiling
Something fortitude-testing I desire
ye jannat mubārak rahe zāhidoñ ko
ki maiñ aap kā sāmnā chāhtā huuñ
Heavens be favourable for the religious
But us ever-so close, facing each other is what I desire
zarā sā to dil huuñ magar shoḳh itnā
vahī lan-tarānī sunā chāhtā huuñ
A tiny heart but so spirited I am
To hear those words ‘’By no means canst thou see Me’’ I desire
koī dam kā mehmāñ huuñ ai ahl-e-mahfil
charāġh-e-sahar huuñ bujhā chāhtā huuñ
Determined guest I am O’ people of assembly
Morning lamp I am, quenching I desire
bharī bazm meñ raaz kī baat kah dī
baḌā be-adab huuñ sazā chāhtā huuñ
Within a full gathering I have disclosed the secret
So impolite I am, your punishment I desire
Note:
Moses prays to God for guidance and begs God to reveal himself to him. It is narrated in the Quran that God tells him that it would not be possible for Moses to perceive God, but that He would reveal himself to the mountain, stating: "By no means canst thou see Me (direct); But look upon the mount; if it abide in its place, then shalt thou see Me." When God reveals himself to the mountain, it instantaneously turns into ashes, and Moses loses consciousness. When he recovers, he goes down in total submission and asks forgiveness of God.
✒ Translated by ℐamil Hussain
Words of Muhammad Iqbal
Apr 18, 2022
Apr 18, 2022 at 11:14 PM UTC
Don't worry about the results,
They will be really favourable,
Now we know where happiness lies,
And also where happiness lies,
Our ardent fervour will pay off,
And against the Sun we'll shine,
For we sincerely put our efforts.
May 3, 2015
May 3, 2015 at 4:50 AM UTC
I'm in you but you hide me
I'm freely own,I'm part of your life
You were born with me
I'm a balm of peace
I'm smile, I make the impossible possible.
l can heal the sick
I can heal a broken hearted
I'm a balm to a wound
I can make unfavorable situation favourable
I'm so Important in your life
I can also do the opposite
All depends on your application
Mar 21, 2017
Mar 21, 2017 at 12:29 AM UTC
The fantasies of love; I fancy myself
a glove— holding onto old befores, and
wearing out the test of time
A girl I would proudly call mine
Bribe my way into making a memory my bride; two
seductions of the tied ties, sleeping together at the odds night
And to wake up with a reasonable excuse to be tired
But I've tried to be like a peck of flightless birds—
no reason to fly south like the rest. As I encouraged
her to rest under my wing, upon my smothered talk in
her *******
Two crushing walls on my face in between thighs,
and her ****** being a tall tower close to rise
But I despise the extra seconds it takes to build up
her high. And why like vampires **** is because
they don't use much of their tongue
But by the batting of her eyes, she is close to come,
to a point of returning a tip of this favourable fun
Sep 26, 2022
Sep 26, 2022 at 2:05 PM UTC
Programmed beats program the dance.
Gift cards and bottoms shape the romance.
Their channels channel the thoughts
that twist innocence and have purity caught.
They give us pat rhymes over and over in aa bb.
They give us the truth right where we can see
it, but make it the less favourable option.
Don't go to sleep in what'll be your coffin.
Don't rush to speak, or speak to often
of things you know nothing truly of.
Your microwave can cook you a meal in 30 seconds.
But when you eat that way, food for thought has no lesson.
Jul 7, 2015
Jul 7, 2015 at 12:12 PM UTC
Blind figures, statue representative of
a forwarding thought. Ahead of myself,—
_decisions, decisions, decisions, decisions._
Too many of which, walk along the path of life.
To see as much, is seeing through the dark for
a hint of light. A sense of life; in dead still waters;
running deep of a depthful mind.
It's pen *********** is of words cutting deep,
a favourable piece, seemingly rightmove as I write.
A sight for words, breathless at times.
Annoyingly simple, but overly complicated to piece
together the masterpiece of imagination.
So as I looked up to a night sky, it filled
my head's constellations of lining routes to thoughts.
In the end—a head full of trillions of stars.
_My ideas could be bright._
Aug 4, 2022
Aug 4, 2022 at 3:55 PM UTC
Remember it always, The Bhagwad Gita already prescribed these four broad methods of worship:
1. Idolworshipping: Simple and sweet. Easy to decorate, imagine and connect with the PäräBrähmä. It promotes arts and literature.
2. Non-idolworshipping: These forms of worship don't require any stone or materialistic idols to connect with PäräBrähmä. It's also very easy to misinterpret.
3. Agnosticism: Here people are not concerned about PäräBrähmä as such but their refuting the existence of Brähmā is making them Hïnđūs.
4. Atheism: These people are fed up with the popular concept of PäräBrähmä because there's no point that they can see is favourable for them.
In Bhāgwäđ Gītā, Präbhü Śrī Kṛṣṇä lays down a very simple explanation of how all of the above ultimately lead to The PäräBrähmä.
Jan 25, 2019
Jan 25, 2019 at 1:25 PM UTC
monetary means conquered
all
lots of dollars were the power
ball
dominance bought by wads
galore
how they pleasured in the
store
suit cases of currency given
for treatment ever preferential
which ensured they'd be viewed
with more favourable credential
the complexion of a situation
can
change
when there's bucks proffered
in
exchange
business was done
this
selective
way
and it always carried
the
mega rating's
day
Jun 21, 2017
Jun 21, 2017 at 8:39 PM UTC
Draped am I, across his chest and
with heavy hands, him firmly pressed
to me, in dark rooms; split with light.
Legs are tightened and glazed eyes, bright.
To feel his lips as they swallow my tongue,
above heaving ******* of two so young,
would be transcendent if he were mine
and eloping as lovers in heat, sublime.
A shadowed denizen writhing, elated,
under a favourable mouth falling, sedated.
Grappling, unfastened, vivacious and soft
as against the wall pushed, and held aloft
was I as a body, so virtuous - yet carnal
and was held again with a hunger, infernal.
Again were we guilty in a frenzy so vicious
of a tantalizing ecstasy of resentment so delicious.
Jun 26, 2014
Jun 26, 2014 at 5:56 PM UTC
The circular confectionery tin has been there every Christmas
often replaced, often changed for a different brand
either way
every year we curse our brains and slap our wrists
for the temptation which overwhelms us
and our carefree nature, wholeheartedly encouraged by our family
''Go on, it's Christmas.''
And so, which one do we select?
of course, the one we like the most
the one with the prettiest wrapper
or the smoothest taste
the one we laugh, bewildered at others for not liking
Sneaking downstairs at night to grab a handful of our favourite flavour
to make sure nobody else can have your preference
until
eventually
all of your favourites are gone
so you settle for the ones you like, but would never choose originally
these are the second best chocolates
they have a mediocre wrapper and a pleasant taste
but they are nothing compared to the ones you would always choose
But now, you've had all of these as well
and you stare into the near-empty tin, rattling with the dull sound of the unwanted chocolates
for a moment you contemplate why anybody would eat those ones first
the colours are mundane and the taste is far from favourable
until somebody else walks past
and they peer into the tin
a hint of pleasant surprise sounds from their lips
''Oh, my favourite.''
And they select the 'dullest' chocolate left in the tin
because the faded purple is their favourite colour
and the sharp taste of orange lacquer is their favourite taste
and they wonder why you ate all the caramel chocolates first
because they would have left them until last
And now the tin is empty
every chocolate loved
by a different person
with a different taste
and when you think about what you truly love
you finally understand
Sep 20, 2013
Sep 20, 2013 at 8:46 PM UTC
Fair ship, that from the Italian shore
Sailest the placid ocean-plains
With my lost Arthur's loved remains,
Spread thy full wings, and waft him o'er.
So draw him home to those that mourn
In vain; a favourable speed
Ruffle thy mirror'd mast, and lead
Thro' prosperous floods his holy urn.
All night no ruder air perplex
Thy sliding keel, till Phosphor, bright
As our pure love, thro' early light
Shall glimmer on the dewy decks.
Sphere all your lights around, above;
Sleep, gentle heavens, before the prow;
Sleep, gentle winds, as he sleeps now,
My friend, the brother of my love;
My Arthur, whom I shall not see
Till all my widow'd race be run;
Dear as the mother to the son,
More than my brothers are to me.
935
Dear Sun,
You whipped my brow
With your lashes of heat
You made my mood sour
Your shadow burnt my feet
So now you owe me
Good, I'm glad we both agree
After wearing me out today
I ask in good faith
As you go your way
In your steady gait
Take this message for me
To my friend beyond the sea
Tell him to come back to me
I miss him so much already
My smiles have become very few
And I'm always sad, always blue
All I have left of him are
memories
That keep me in constant
reveries
Be kind Sun, be kind to him
Give him only warmth, don't
burn his skin
Don't forget to tell him all I said
And tomorrow when I get up
from bed
I await his reply from you
And I hope it's favourable too.
Jul 24, 2015
Jul 24, 2015 at 7:13 PM UTC
Lest we fashion ourselves
in artificial joy,
we must sing to this world;
the poet’s envoy.
In these days so heavy,
In these days without cure,
we forget the homeless
asleep on the moor.
They’re asleep in our wake,
they’re asleep to the hiss
of advertised pleasure,
manufactured bliss
And forget not the old,
with those faces of fault lines,
so haplessly devoid,
like the old coal mines.
They live in their shadow,
they live within their past,
this world on which they’ve learnt
that nothing’s built to last.
No notebooks in the drawer,
Nor diaries of old,
The story’s in the sale,
Not from what is told.
So, before we get lost
In day-to-day routines,
Let us piece together
What life really means:
The faded word of print,
A sugared ring of wine,
Favourable melody,
Endless stretch of brine.
The winter’s passing rain,
And August’s fatal heat,
The swaying of the tyre swing
Where lovers care to meet.
And we will return to
Our places in the skies,
Where life is lived in centuries
Devoid of all goodbyes.
We’ll weep not in longing,
We’ll weep not in our haste,
For losses felt yesterday,
For all that’s laid to waste.
Upon the explosion
Of all these dying stars,
We’ll rejoice in the so-near’s
So much as the so-far’s.
We will live out our dreams
upon that foreign shore,
and sing out to our lives,
‘till we breathe no more
Nov 25, 2013
Nov 25, 2013 at 12:01 PM UTC
contributor money will buy
a favourable outcome
this is the most favoured
beat of drum
drumming up money
in mountainous piles
brings favour's ideal
winning smiles
if favourable outcomes
are what you so seek
stack the wads of money
in heaps not so meek
drumming favours
favourably
drumming favours
liberally
the vendor of said
drum beat
will ensure favour's
so neat
to achieve this goodly
outcome
keep beating money's
opulent drum
Sep 25, 2016
Sep 25, 2016 at 9:25 PM UTC
These words must go out.
I can't keep them in.
*There was never the right time.
There were never favourable conditions.*
But tonight...
The words have formed,
the heart willing,
and opportunity ripe.
*Let fall the contents so carelessly...
So they may be caught by magnanimous ears.*
But so many variables need to align
in sync.
So many delicate parts to click nicely in place.
Tonight was a chance grossly misread.
I conveniently indulged in signs that had me misled.
So again I swallow...
For tonight no ears are ready.
Sep 5, 2017
Sep 5, 2017 at 7:42 AM UTC
Father of heaven has given command
To destroy your sin he does demand.
Grand ceremony of wisdom he does,
Still you wait for new favourable buzz.
You know sin is root of many sufferings,
Still here illusion does many coverings.
Breaking vices break bad thoughts here,
Feeling life feel you thrilling favour seer.
Sealing mind in concentration develop,
In righteous path lives all have to setup.
Envelop you make ready to send a letter,
Getting this, father in heaven feels better.
There will be no anxiety and also stress,
Destroy sin and decorate life in a dress.
Bless you will get of father will come joy,
Soul is conscious energy body is sure toy.
Pure mind knows this as soul drives body,
You drink wisdom nectar no time for toddy.
Father of heaven has given command
To destroy your sin he does demand.
Sep 16, 2015
Sep 16, 2015 at 3:47 PM UTC
A reason to love, a reason to touch,
to add a little spice.
Freedom isn't a crime, but just a dream
inside of my eye. As the temperature rise,
heating our passions that come with no surprise.
The taste of your lips, the glare of your dirt
eyes. The warmth of your breath, in the cusp
of the bodies; two curves meeting inside.
Pillow soaked emotions, crisp sheets of a former
time. Kissing and cuddling, to reimagine anew
reason why I call you mine.
The tickles down spine, river flow in streams
in it's continuous body. A candle at night,
by the side to light this activity of a nightlife.
Brushing affection under covers beneath the feet,
and such a treat. Blood rushing to the face, of
red cheeks. As like two of the sweetest overripe apples.
Toes so shaky as business hands at the longest meet
and greet, Overjoyed as if it were a last dance,
Would you at least dance one last dance with me?
A tango in the sheets—rhythms and postures, and
abrupt pauses.
Oh your sweet perfume, blows loveliness in the wind,
in a kiss of a breeze—as our tongues caught in a knot.
Twisting in the unturned direction of an advance,
a paid forward gesture of asking you out on a dinner date.
Hoping in simple conversation, we could relate. And by fate
I hoped from that day, you'd be my forever mate.
A tiny spark can start a fire, so I hoped to kindle
a little joy to burn eternally throughout the years.
For the echo flame to continue on after the children's birth.
Mother earth, of your womb and breast as a giver and
sustainer of life. Tis a pen *********** of words cutting deep
of my favourable piece. I'm seamlessly inspired as I write.
You're a sight for words, breathless at the first take, and I
could bet my words to describe, such a passion of love has even
more words to express.
But for this time, _three hundred and fifty two words_
is all I could get. I hope that's okay?
Sep 6, 2022
Sep 6, 2022 at 3:50 PM UTC
despair embodied in dark winter rain
through fitful sleep in absence of all dream
to wake pursuing the first pallid gleam
within a world marked by the human stain
there's not one thing that's simple clear or plain
nothing that honest living might redeem
from what we suffer at the last extreme
paid for in horror and in stabbing pain
there's no deliverance from what we are
nor is it chosen freely in the sun
in a light-hearted moment with a smile
by each of us no favourable star
can serve to light our steps on homeward run
nor gleam and brighten on the final mile
Dec 23, 2011
Dec 23, 2011 at 7:25 AM UTC
Foudroyant
To discover a small love, that's oscillating
Like her prismatic mottled body briskly consolidating
Twisting around the hopeless serpentine ivy
In a bed of our own wanderlust and negative reality
Desire promptly converts to favourable vernations
Enough to fulfill the automagical promise of her lack of clothes
Here I, inside the windowsill sitting in the silence I loathe
Her ******* the curtain partly drawn, has thrown a deep shadow
Jun 30, 2016
Jun 30, 2016 at 11:41 PM UTC
I imagine, quietly,
if this were it.
If, while I waited on this train platform,
this ever-romanticized,
transient in-between,
someone pushed me into the tracks.
It would be an accident, of course.
What was I waiting for, anyway?
The news would hear it first,
and they'd be the first to forget me.
Clamboring over my unremarkable story
to the next and the next and the next.
I hope I'd make a favourable statistic.
Then what family I have would hear,
once they determined who I was,
and they'd worry I wasn't pushed.
They'd have so many questions
I'd be unable to answer,
much like when I visit.
Then would come a lover,
as sad as those who loved me,
and they would keep my photo
until they grew tired of looking.
For their own sake,
I'd hope they got tired quickly.
Friends would remember me
and tell me kind words I wouldn't hear,
and I'd be of no help to them anymore.
Every once in a while,
I'd come up in a conversation,
and I'd hope they'd grin at a memory,
but it would be more likely they'd frown.
There it'd be,
my young life detailed
in saddened conversation and tears,
until I'd be left another piece of the past.
The statistic of an unremarkable life.
Jul 26, 2017
Jul 26, 2017 at 3:58 PM UTC